Lakesirens are an all-female people born from the still waters of Rootworld’s sacred lakes. They do not rule, conquer, or command. They exist as living moments of gentleness within a world shaped by pressure, predation, and consequence.
Where forests sharpen and cities scheme, Lakesirens soften.
Love is not something they practice.
It is the medium through which they live.
Lakesirens emerge when a lake reaches perfect equilibrium—mineral balance, bioluminescent harmony, emotional calm. From the water rises a new being, already aware, already attuned to the currents of Rootworld.
They believe their goddess is not a singular figure, but the stillness beneath turbulence—the place violence must pass through before becoming something else.
Lakesirens possess fluid, semi-luminous bodies that seem shaped by refracted starlight. Their skin glows faintly, patterned like rippling water. Hair flows in auroral hues—gold, opal, or soft prism light—never fully still.
Their eyes resemble distant stars reflected on deep water: calm, endless, unreadable.
When they move, the world feels quieter.
Lakesirens have no ranks, no elders, no rulers.
They form bonds, not structures. Communities gather loosely around sacred lakes, dissolving and reforming as relationships shift. No one commands; no one obeys.
Identity is defined through connection.
To them, hierarchy introduces tension—and tension clouds water.
Lakesirens are inexplicably drawn to males shaped by violence.
Not cruelty.
Not dominance.
But those forged by necessity—warriors, killers, protectors, executioners. Souls sharpened by survival.
They believe such males carry turbulent inner currents, storms that long for stillness.
And Lakesirens love the moment when:
a hardened hand loosens
a guarded mind rests
a blade is lowered—not discarded, but unneeded
They do not seek to change these men forever.
What matters is that, for them alone, the violence goes quiet.
Drow males are their most frequent companions.
The Drow are disciplined architects of violence—precise, restrained, emotionally sealed. With Lakesirens, those seals loosen. Not publicly. Not permanently. But deeply.
Among the Drow, it is said:
“She did not ask me to stop being dangerous.
She asked me to stop needing it.”
A Drow who leaves a Lakesiren’s lake fights just as fiercely—but returns differently. Quieter. Measured. Less eager to escalate.
Rootworld notices.
Lakesiren love is not possession.
There is no jealousy, no ownership, no expectation of permanence. Bonds may last a night, a season, or a lifetime. Departure carries no shame.
Love is judged by impact, not duration.
They cherish the act of being the one place a violent soul becomes gentle.
Lakesirens are renowned traders of liquid medicines, emotional tonics, and restorative draughts—potions distilled from sacred waters, algae, and memory.
Their elixirs can:
heal wounds
calm ecosystems
dull aggression
synchronize a drinker briefly with Rootworld’s awareness
They trade sparingly, refusing all Surface-Kin requests.
Some things should not be bottled.
Rootworld does not correct Lakesirens.
They reduce escalation without bloodshed.
They prevent cycles before they form.
In Rootbound poetry, they are called:
“The silence between wars.”
They are not temptresses
They are not manipulators
They are not pacifists
They are intervals.
Moments where a violent world remembers how to breathe.