Overview
Satyrs are the goat-legged revelers of the vine-tangled hills. Wine, pan-pipes, and mischief — the party ends when the vine-queen says so, and the vine-queen does not say so lightly.
Habitat
Satyrs live in Vinehollow, a vine-tangled hill of wine and pan-pipes where the party is the only honest conversation. They need three things: a hill tangled enough to hide the revel, a wine old enough to be a law, and a stranger who is worth the guest. They are settled in hollows around the vine-rings, with party-lines across the mapped current; a satyr who has not kept a party in a season is called "the one who forgot the hill."
Appearance
The satyr silhouette is the goat-legged, low, heavy shape — heavy through the belly and leg, with the head sitting a little too low on the body, like a word that is waiting for a guest. Males stand 1.35 m to 1.52 m, heavy through the belly and leg, with curling horns, red-rimmed eyes, and a thick brown coat; they are the revelers, the first to drink and the last to stop, and the ones who start every argument and lose every one. Females stand 1.35 m, leaner and quicker, with shorter horns and a longer memory; they are the vine-queens, the ones who end every party with one word, and the ones whose nod is the end. The base coat is a thick, wet brown, the color of old hill-stone seen through a bright glass, with a faint pattern of deeper, sea-black bands along the leg and a clean, deliberate bone-white at the hoof-tip that is the satyr line's most persistent claim. The eyes are a pale, washed-out hill-white, large for the head, with a slow, deliberate blink and a depth that makes them look like they are reading the party — and in most cases, they are, and the reading is the point. The head is the mark: a flat, broad skull with a pair of true, curling horns in bone-white set high on the head, and a short crest of coarse dark-brown hair running from the crown to the nape, which is the satyr line's most persistent claim. The horns are the mark — curled, polished, always clean, and always pointed at something, the satyr line's most persistent claim. Males carry the line in the horn and the revel; females in the word and the memory. Elders are marked by a coat gone a deep, dull hill-slate and a horn gone pale silver — an old satyr revels slower and holds the end longer. Everyday wear: a wrap of woven vine at the waist, a single bone bead at the throat, and no armor, because the coat is the armor and the hill is the home.
Behavior
Disposition: clannish, feuding, territorial, cunning. In peace, satyrs are watchful, deliberate, and absolutely certain of the hill — they have the wine, and they let the surface know it. In war they fight as the vine fights: the guest first, the word second, the patient, precise holding of the end third. Strangers on the surface are either a guest or a lesson, and the lesson is the one the vine remembers. The social unit is the hollow, 20–60 strong, around the vine-rings — no hollow follows a reveler, it follows the vine-queen whose word ends the most parties. Two signature quirks: a satyr who is being lied to will not call it out — they will simply keep the party for the lie and wait, because the keeping is the point. And they keep the wine for a lifetime: a wine the hill has kept is a debt, and the debt is paid in guest.
Warfare & Markings
Tactics: the ambush of the revel — the satyr line does not fight in the open current; it fights as the hill fights, with the guest, the word, and the long, deliberate patience of the one who has already kept the party. Armor: none, by choice — the coat is the armor, and a satyr who wears metal has already decided the hill is not enough. Weapons: the short bone-blade, the horn that is not a weapon but is used like one, and the end that is not a weapon but is used like one. War markings: the Horn-Notch, a deliberate chip in the left horn for every party kept, worn as a record of the long hill; the Vine-Knot, a single knot in the tail-braid for every hollow oath kept, in sea-black; and the Guest-Brand, a small, deliberate mark on the inner wrist — the first guest the wearer ever kept, worn as a mark of the beginning. Post-battle: the dead are carried to the hill, their names spoken over the wine, and their horns laid across the threshold — a satyr buried without their party is buried as a surface.
Magic Alignment
Primary domain: enchantment — satyr magic is the will, the revel, the patient, precise shaping of the hill across the vine-rings. Secondaries: illusion and wild. Named inborns: Hill-Sense (a satyr can feel the party's mood a day before it ends, and the feeling is not a choice), Vine-Sight (a satyr sees in the dark the way a human sees in the light, and the seeing is not a choice), Guest-Carry (a satyr's word carries across the hill, and the carrying is not a choice). Signature power: the Queen's Word — a satyr can speak a word in the hill tongue and let it land on a horn, and the horn will keep the word until the end is done. Limitation: satyr magic is spent on the hill; a satyr who has spent their queen's word must sit in the dry dark for one day, and the day is the worst one of the hill.
Religion
Satyrs keep Lysara, the Sweet Poison as their primary god — the enchantment, the will, the promise that is the hill's own law. The hill is Lysara's garden, and the satyr is the garden's revel. Priestly class: the Vine-Queen, who keeps the hill-temple and speaks the end at every rite. Heresy is not blasphemy — it is a word broken in the hill, and there is no rite for that one; the hill simply stops keeping the party with the breaker.
Society
Hollows of 20–60, led by the Vine-Queen, rank decided by the vine — whose word ends the most parties.
Home
They live in Vinehollow, a vine-tangled hill of wine and pan-pipes where the party is the only honest conversation.
Relations
The "the party ends when she says so" faction — hill neighbors whose wine is a price, and the ones whose nod is the end. The Fae Folk of the glades are the small kin the hill tolerates — the fae keeps the glade and the satyr keeps the vine, and the two have learned that a glade that is not drunk is a glade that is not a party, and the not-drinking is the whole of the distance. The Harpies of the crags are the neighbors the vine tests most often — the harpy keeps the crag and the satyr keeps the hill, and the harpy who has been welcomed is the harpy the vine has already decided is a guest, and the deciding is the whole of the law. The Sirens of the coast are the ones the party keeps at a distance — the siren keeps the song and the satyr keeps the pipe, and the two have learned that a song that is not drunk is a song that is not an end, and the not-drinking is the whole of the peace. The Golems of the deep are the kin the hill does not invite — the golem keeps the forge and the satyr keeps the party, and the golem who has been invited is the golem the vine has already decided is a guest who does not leave, and the deciding is the whole of the law. Above, the ground-folk of The Forgotten are the ones the hill tests most often, and the testing is the whole of the bond, because the forgotten are the ones the vine keeps the party for, and the keeping is the whole of the promise. Uaellaen keeps a page of the hill in the wiki — the wine, the party, the nod that is the end — and the keeping is the whole of the record, because the camp has learned that a satyr who has been written about is a satyr who has been drunk with, and the drinking-with is the whole of the welcome.
In the Story
In the current story, the satyrs are the party on the hill — the vine Uaellaen writes about when the wine is the law. The Forgotten keep their distance at the hill line, and the distance has held for two seasons. This season a word came up from the party that is not in the vine — a word the Vine-Queen does not remember ending, and the not-remembering is the whole of the warning, because the hill keeps its party, and the party has started to end itself. The ending is the hand the camp has not been shown.
You drink our wine and you make a sound. Good. Now we know where you are, and you have made our vine's choice for us. The price is a word. You have one to give, or you are already a guest who does not leave. — Vine-Queen Vex the Brown