Bayak Quenel

Name (Etymology):

Bayak — A Thrennwood name once used for memory-keepers called Barkscribes. In old Wendmorian, bael means “to watch closely,” and yakka means “to hold something without changing it.”
Quenel — Comes from queneth, meaning “to keep safe” or “to stop from fading.”

Together: Someone who watches change and makes sure it isn’t lost.

Details:

• Age: Appears around 60 (middle-aged for Owlkin)
• Gender: Female (She/Her)
• Race: Owlkin (Far-Seer)
• Occupation: Historian of Change
• Region: The Thrennwood (off-map forest)
• Affiliation: Far-Seers of Seven Mile Bottom

Appearance

Bayak’s face is marked with white and chestnut-brown feathers in a pattern that calls to mind the shape of a heart or an open mask. Her eyes are warm amber, sharp but kind — the sort that seem to notice what you meant, not just what you said. She wears a deep blue wrap embroidered with curling gold thread, and her hair is shot through with feather-dark streaks.
She moves with the distinctive silent grace of her people, believing silence is the surest way to notice what others overlook. Like most Owlkin, her fingers end in subtle talon-like nails—perfect for the delicate art of bark etching that her people have perfected over centuries.

Home

Bayak lives in a small, crooked-roof cottage on the edge of Seven Mile Bottom, where the forest begins. A twisty old tree leans against one side, and a round window watches the path like a quiet eye. The chimney bends a little, like it’s listening in.

Inside, the house is calm and cozy. Strips of carved bark hang near the windows, and wooden shelves are filled with scrolls and bark-strips tied with twine. Bayak’s desk sits right under the round window, where sunlight moves across her notes and star maps. Visitors might notice the distinctive lack of candles—Owlkin eyes need little light to read by.

Most people don't knock. They leave a small wooden token or folded note in the hollow beside her door. By morning, a reply might appear — a short phrase etched onto a slip of bark, a marked star chart in her window, or simply a book left open to the right page.

Background

Bayak grew up in the Thrennwood, a quiet forest where stories are carved into tree bark and history is remembered by watching how things change. She trained as a Barkscribe, a keeper of ledgerbark — special trees used to record events without erasing the past. Her job was to notice the differences between now and then, and to mark them gently.

But over time, she began to feel that writing things down wasn’t always enough. Some changes needed to be watched while they were still unfolding. So she left the Thrennwood and came to Seven Mile Bottom, where she now serves as the Historian of Change.

She doesn't always agree with Azar, the tavern keeper. He likes to twist stories for fun. She prefers to follow them as they drift. One way fills the room with laughter. The other makes sure no one forgets how the story started.

Skills

• Recognizing small shifts others miss
• Tracking how stories and meanings change over time
• Etching layered memory into ledgerbark
• Reading constellations and how their names evolve
• Giving silence the space to do its work
• Night vision (a common Owlkin trait)
• Enhanced hearing that can detect a whisper at fifty paces

Notable Belongings

• A strip of blank ledgerbark she has never written on
• A thorn-tipped stylus carved from Wyrmspine wood
• A weathered star chart with old names crossed out and new ones added
• A bark-thread ring worn on her feather-finger — tied once, never untied
• A small vial of moon-dew—a rare substance Owlkin use to enhance their vision during astronomical observations

Reputation

Bayak is respected in the way stone walls are — solid, unassuming, and indispensable once leaned upon. She speaks sparingly, but never repeats herself. Her voice carries more weight for its rarity, and her silences are never empty.

There’s a calm that settles when she arrives. Conversations soften. Disputes lose their sharpness. She doesn’t command the room — she listens with the kind of presence that makes others want to choose their words more carefully, and mean them.

The children call her “the one who writes the weather,” ever since she corrected a storm’s name on the village board. Someone had called it Greyturn, but Bayak knew better — this was Farseep, the kind of storm that clears the air so well, even the far hills seem to lean in closer.

Bayak has never carved a mark into Azar’s Tall Tale Tally, though her eyes have lingered on it more than once. When a visiting scholar dismissed it as “folk nonsense,” she replied only:

“If you track the exaggeration long enough, you can see when the village is feeling bold — or scared.”

Azar hasn't let her forget it. He insists it was a compliment. Bayak insists it was just an observation.

Ongoing Project: The Renaming Sky

Bayak has a quiet project: renaming constellations. She believes the stars don’t move, but meanings do. If a story changes shape, its name should change too — not to erase the past, but to show where you're standing now.

She lets children rename a star pattern once they know the sky well enough to notice when something no longer fits. Then she carves the new name into her ledger.

Quote

“The stars don’t change, but we do — so we rename them.”