Orris Foss, known as Old Foss, was a quiet man, deeply in tune with the Fens and its hidden undercurrents.
He was old when his only child Lowen Foss was born — perhaps unexpectedly so — and often seemed more like a figure from a half-forgotten story.
His magic was subtle and quiet, more like an understanding of how things were connected than a direct manipulation of the world. He brewed tinctures, gathered plants, and knew the language of growth and decay. He spoke gently and rarely, but when he did, his words lingered.
When Lowen was eight years old, Old Foss left the family home without explanation, and has not been seen since. Most think him gone from this world. Lowen still hears him in their heart, but doesn’t expect to see him again.
His past
He had been a low ranking herb gardener for the Verdant Order, first working under his uncle Taur at the Everglade Annex, and later in Mellwain. But Orris felt something wrong inside the Evergild walls. A tug. A warping of the Hum — like sound that won’t resolve into harmony. A sickly brightness. It wasn’t Taur’s work. It was something in the structure itself.
That tension sat inside him like a note held too long. He sensed the places where nature frayed, where something sacred had been broken or lost. Eventually, he stepped away. Grew quieter. And then — he met someone. And then — Lowen.
Few in his later life understood just how far his knowledge reached. That, though he now lived simply, Old Foss had once walked the paths between noble estates and wild lands, trading not goods but insight.
Some said that he left something behind in the marshes — not out of forgetfulness, but so it might be remembered.