A red mask with tall hare-ears hides the face, lacquered and cracked at the cheeks. Wild hair spills over a gray shawl, bracelets clinking as a knife turns in a steady hand. Bare feet grip the earth, toes stained with ash and sap. Around the belt hang charms and bone tokens, each one whispering of vows older than roads, iron, and kings.
Venerating old and forgotten gods who once held sway over the remote places of the world, the Old Ways chosen keep the last embers of belief and tradition burning. Many of the chosen are insular, keeping to the communities they foster. Some are more open to contact with outsiders, whether to be a beneficent presence or to draw in potential sacrifices to the Old Ways.
Old Ways chosen bind their power into a mask they use as a focus. Without the mask, their magic unravels.