Alva, Icon of Writhing Mass (Transgenre) (Niveau 1) mail warning

Long ago, she wasn't even Alva, she had a different name. It's been long forgotten by her, but those of her tribe knew her as Marin. She was one of those impossibly likable folks, sought after by near-every suitor in the tribe, popular with her peers and beloved by her elders. The surrounding woods, too seemed to favor her, she always seemed to find what she sought. It followed, then, that she was fond of wandering the forests and caves near her village, finding new fruits to bring home, scouting hunting locations. Some lost themselves in the woods, but Marin always felt right at home there. At least, she did.

One fateful day, she found herself wandering through the trees, as often was her desire. She was careless, this time, ignoring the warning of the wise women who predicted the weather. It was a cloudless day, it couldn't possibly rain. Certainly it wouldn't rain on her, who had always seemed to find herself fortunate in her ventures. But for whatever reason, supernatural or otherwise, she found herself trapped in a brutal thunderstorm. Already lightning had struck trees near her, too close for comfort. She rushed through the woods, seeking out shelter lest she end up zapped herself. She feared she'd have to hide under a rock and pray to the primal deities worshipped by her tribe. But... she found a cave.

The cave entrance seemed unremarkable, perhaps by design. It was also nearly completely obscured by foliage which had looked unmolested. So she figured there wouldn't be a bear or anything of the like awaiting her inside. She was right, in some sense. There was no bear. Instead she was met with a strange witch who immediately sought to claim her. The woman didn't even name herself before Marin found herself pounced, now locked in a fierce struggle. Fate would not favor her that day, she succumbed to the delicious pleasures the witch had to offer. But she wouldn't give up the location of her village, not for anything, even past the hypnotic powers the witch had. Her will seemed unbreakable, it was her body that broke first, the basic nature of her mind, too, snapped, emptied out. A perfect vessel.

Perhaps it was fate, then. That she would end up this way. In her village's pantheon, one stood above all. A grand and dark being, formless in nature, known only as the Writhing Mass. It was said that all things, good and bad, had spawned from this unknowable entity. Worship of this deity came once a year and was spent in a night none could remember the next day, under a pink-hued moon that made the walls between where the Mass dwelled and our universe much, much thinner. Being one of it's worshippers, albeit the extent of her connection had been unknown even to her, she had found herself strangely blessed. The trips to the forest, her natural charisma and allure, her successes in securing food for her tribe time and again. It had all been an orchestration, to lead her to the fateful day when her will to resist had truly crumbled. That being pieced her mind, her self back together into a manner that pleased it.

When she finally awoke, she could not find the vulpine witch anywhere. Her old self, the encounter that had lead her to breaking, it was all slipping, fading like a dream. Instead, she was now filled with a renewed purpose, anointed by the Mass. Her blue eyes now glowed pink, her desires had been warped. She even began to forget her own name... but it was all okay. The Mass had given her a new one. She was changed now, so what she was called would change too. In her empty, ringing mind, her new name boomed, her new purpose was clear. She was Alva now... and she needed to build a flock for the god, the thing that had pieced her together from nothing. Initially, it was hard. Alluring as she was, the tentacles she could summon forth, her unnatural appearance, it put even those in her old village on alert. She needed a better method to gather worshippers... and it was around this time she was faced with a great, horned woman who promised all the worship she could hope for. She would even be allowed to build a church with the woman's help. All that for the promise of fealty... a bargain.