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Author Topic: ❣ Gwenn: Kinloch's Hold ❣  (Read 5766 times)

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❣ Gwenn: Kinloch's Hold ❣
« on: April 08, 2014, 06:58:17 AM »
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Name: Gwenn Fisher
Meaning: Blessed
Age: 21 Yrs.
Race: Human
Circle Mage/Sorceress
Origin: Other (Gwaren, Ferelden, Thedas)



“Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.” - Soren Kierkegaard


Character Generation - Dragon Age: Origins - Inon Zur (Gwenn’s Theme)
« Last Edit: January 24, 2021, 11:55:02 AM by emptyanima »

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Prologue: Part I
« Reply #1 on: April 08, 2014, 07:05:57 AM »

Gwaren.

In the Divine Age, this dwarven settlement was overrun by barbarous humans, jealous of the salt pools that have long since dried up. Now in this, the Dragon Age, this town bears no resemblance to the former pride of the dwarves, but is instead populated by humans and elves, making their living by cutting the timber that is there found in abundance, or, given its coastal position, they fish its fecund waters.
It was in fishing that one young married couple made their living. Honest and hard-working, and possessed of good virtues, the Maker smiled on his children, and soon, they gave birth to a little girl, with russet hair and eyes of pale green. The couple were happy, and named her Gwenn, rejoicing in the blessing that she was upon their lives.
 

When Gwenn turned one, in 9:11 Dragon, change came to Gwaren, the place that flies the yellow wyvern on its banners. A new teyrn took up the post - Loghain Mac Tir. This change affected the higher echelons of those who dwelt in Gwaren, those settled close by, and even the names that danced on the lips of the rich huddled in The Gnawed Noble Tavern, far to the north in Denerim. But through all this change, the Fisher family, with their little Gwenn, remained the same. They were content.

But would it last?
« Last Edit: January 31, 2015, 12:27:47 PM by emptyanima »

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Prologue: Part II
« Reply #2 on: April 08, 2014, 07:10:14 AM »
The year was 9:16 Dragon.

Gwenn was six years old, her auburn hair bedraggled and tangled as it met her shoulders, a wide smile on her freckled face. Six years old, and given to play, down near the waters’ edge. The fish lingered close to the surface, their scales glimmering like silver pieces, perhaps fitting given how they paid for Gwenn’s clothing and food.

The two boys chased her over the grass, and she giggled as she did her best to avoid tumbling and skinning her knees. As they played, Douglas, a boy of eleven years, son of a blacksmith and a large creature with a crooked nose, approached. One of the boys scarpered.

Angus, a boy of seven, crowned with bright blond locks, hid behind Gwenn. He was a small creature, his eyes bright blue, possessed of both a wiry frame and a nervous disposition. As Douglas drew nearer, his thin lips were pulled into a smirk, and his large hands moved over his thick wrists to roll up his sleeves. He taunted, and Angus shook, stifling a yelp. Gwenn frowned. She was a gentle soul, kind, if sometimes mischievous, but she was not predisposed to cruelty. And although she was still very young, she knew that one must stand by a friend, if the bond of friendship is true. She spoke, her tone serious, if painfully innocent in its childish lisping.

“Leave him alone, you big bully.” Douglas snorted a laugh.

“Stay out o’ this, Fisher. Angus ough’ to learn to stop ’is snivelling. Ain’t that right?” Angus gave a yelp as the barrel-shaped boy swung a clenched fist towards his cheek. Gwenn kicked at Douglas’ shin ineffectually, and he guffawed, turning his attention to the little girl. She darted, and he gave chase. Douglas called out as they ran. “If yer can’t run fast enough, I’ll clobber ‘im twice as ‘ard!”

She knew she had little chance of outrunning him, given his greater height and strength, and she began to despair, pleading for help inwardly. But who could hear her, save the Maker? And even then, he had turned his face from the world, or so the grown-ups would tell her. Why would he listen to little Gwenn, of all the people in Thedas? She looked over her shoulder at her pursuer, and held her palm up defensively.

A flash of white streaked across the shore.


When Gwenn became aware of her surroundings once more, she saw Douglas laid upon his side, clutching his arm and crying out. He was bleeding, staining the stony beach about him. But where he lay, there was more than stone. Under his legs, it was clear that ground was different. It held a bluish tint, appeared solid… and cold. She looked down at her hand, and frowned in her confusion, as snowflakes faded from sight about her fingertips, and as she brushed the palm of her hand, it felt icy. She gasped, shaking her head quickly, and looked at Angus. His bright eyes were wide, and he was stood statuesque. She took one step forward. He turned and bolted.

Slowly, the realisation came. Gwenn was one of them. The robes. The spellbinds.

A mage.

She looked again at the boy she had hurt, and approaching, he cried out, calling her a freak, and a danger, and a blight upon Gwaren. Gwenn’s eyes filled with tears, and her sight became blurred. She ran, her cheeks quickly dampening, towards her home. She had to find her mother. She had to find her father. She had to say goodbye.

Before they took her away.

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Prologue: Part III
« Reply #3 on: April 08, 2014, 07:17:43 AM »
It was night, and Gwenn lay on her side in her little bed. Although it was late, and their faces were heavy with weariness, and already in mourning at what they knew was to come, her parents sat either side of her. Her father spoke gentle words of encouragement.

“Gwenn, they’ll teach ya letters, readin’ and writin’, and how to speak proper. You’ll be a little clever clogs. The clev’rest Fisher there ever was.” Her father smiled, but even the little girl, through her young eyes, could see that her father held back tears. Her mother had already lost that battle. She ran her fingers gently through her daughter’s hair, singing gently, a hymn[1] that was often heard to echo within the Chantry walls.

The Maker stands beyond the Veil,
Andraste is his bride.
She brought his chant back to the world,
He raised her to his side.
His works are all made manifest.
All men, the sea, and sky.
His righteous he is sure to bless
The wicked are denied.

The sound of footsteps came into earshot, growing more swiftly closer. Gwenn felt her mother’s hand tremble as it moved through her hair.

His children are all of his hand,
the greatest to the low.
From kings to slaves and in between,
The Maker made them so.
They are the just who in his sight,
tell truth and good deeds show.
And those who rightly do his works,
He’ll make his peace to know.

The footsteps came closer, closer. Voices could be heard. The sound of chain as it moves, nearer, nearer. She felt her father’s hand tense at her shoulder. Her mother’s voice came, softer, softer.

My spirit will not wander lost
when trav’’ling through the Fade.
For I shall rest at your right hand,
the place for me you’ve made.
His children are all gathered to
his side when their time comes.
No more as strangers nor bereft
but children in their home.

A metal-plated fist struck hard against the door. Gwenn was tugged into a tight embrace, and she held her parents close. She took a breath. Salt. Light sweat. A hint of rose water. Warmth. Love. Her mother spoke again, her voice strained, and Gwenn felt her hair dampen as her mother cried.

“We love you very much, dear. We know you will use this blessing the Maker has given you well. You’re a good girl, Gwenn. Remember to say your prayers, and brush your hair, and to tie your laces tightly when you put your shoes on, and-“

“Open up! Bring the mage child quickly, and there’ll be no trouble.” Her parents kissed her cheeks, lingering for as many moments as they felt they could take before their door was broken down. Her father’s voice was hoarse as he lost the battle with his tears.

“We’re so proud o’ you, Gwenn. We’ll ne’er stop thinkin’ o’ you.”

One templar took her left arm. Another took her right. And as Gwenn was dragged from her parents' sight, and everything she knew, she heard a cry of anguish - her mother’s - pierce the silence of the dark.

 1. ((Hymn taken from http://musicofthedas.tumblr.com/post/42281660736))
« Last Edit: May 22, 2016, 11:34:29 AM by emptyanima »

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Prologue: Part IV
« Reply #4 on: April 08, 2014, 03:08:06 PM »


It was not until she lay on her bottom bunk in the stillness of her first night in the Circle of Magi that Gwenn cried for her parents. Her utter confusion, her abject terror, had numbed her to tears for a long time. It had taken them several days to make the trip from coastal Gwaren, up through the Bannorn, and through Redcliffe before they reached Lake Calenhad. And erect and cold, that peninsula of isolation, stood Kinloch Hold. As she laid eyes upon that place, her confusion melted away, the realisation coming that she was far, far away from home. She looked to one of the templars as they boarded the boat which would ferry them to the tower.

“’scuse me, ser… when am I going back home?” The templar almost laughed, but remained stone-faced.

“Oh, little one. You’re never going home.”

*

She had been led through the large halls, across the stone floor, past the ornate windows and high arches, ever under the watch of the templars, their expressions unreadable through their helmets, thin visors allowing only a glimpse of their stony eyes.

The children shared a quarters of their own - an enchanter kept a room opposite to ensure mischief was kept to a minimum. She buried her face in her pillow to muffle the sound she made, fearing that weeping too loudly would bring the ire of the enchanter, or worse, the templars upon her. Although Gwenn had done her best to quieten her tears, she heard shuffling, and soft movement, a robe brushing the stone floor. A childish, but clear whisper came, a voice pointing to good breeding.

“It’s alright. It will be alright.” She felt a hand gently rest atop her head. She lifted her head from the pillow, her eyes tinged red. A little girl stood there, appearing to be close to her age. Long raven hair spilled to the small of her back, and her blue eyes looked closer to violet in the low light. Gwenn smiled a little, seeing that the girl seemed to care, and watched her kneel carefully. “You’re new here, aren’t you? I saw the templars walking with you before. What’s your name?”

“Gwenn.” She spoke softly, her voice a little hoarse. The girl smiled.

“Gwenn. That’s a pretty name, pretty like your hair!” The two of them giggled, and Gwenn’s smile became a little more genuine, her freckled features brightening somewhat. She looked at the girl's hair more closely, appearing well-kept and healthy. She ran her hand over her own locks, brittle with sea salt.

“Thank you. Wha’s your name?”

“Saorise. Ser-shee. Lots of people say my name is tricky.” Gwenn giggled.

“Saorise sold sea shells on the sea shore! It is a bit tricky… but I like it, Saorise.”

“Oh, good! That means we can be friends, doesn’t it?” Gwenn sat up a little, thoughtful. Saorise was a mage like her. She wouldn’t run away because of the state into which they had both been born. She wouldn’t flee in fear, like Angus had done. Gwenn nodded firmly.

“Yes, friends. Now you are my friend, will you tell me why your hair is so nice? ”

“Oh, you have to wash it three times every week!” Saorise nodded sagely, smiling. “And count to one hundred when you brush it. That’s what my nanny used to tell me.”

“Your nanny? What about your mammy?”

“Oh, my mother is very busy. My father’s a bann, in Waking Sea, so my mother has to help him.”  Gwenn’s eyes widened, and she bent her head respectfully, flushing red.

“Lady Saorise…”

“No, Gwenn. When the templars came to take me here, my mother and father had to make a big promise. They had to say that they would let them take me, or they couldn’t be nobles anymore. Well, it would get the people in Waking Sea in an awful mess if they had to stop being nobles, so I am just Saorise now.” Gwenn looked at her sadly, and hugged her tightly.

“Not just Saorise. /Gwenn’s friend/, Saorise.” The girls giggled, but the sound of footsteps on stone hushed them, and the raven-haired girl hurried to her bed.

When the enchanter peered into the dormitory, she sighed lightly, seeing all within were still and quiet. She could spare her ire for the perpetrators of another night’s mischief.
« Last Edit: December 04, 2015, 04:38:41 AM by emptyanima »

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Prologue: Part V
« Reply #5 on: April 08, 2014, 04:01:17 PM »
Strengthened by friendship, Gwenn managed her tender years at the Circle. She rose early each morning for breakfast, then assisted with the chores to allow the older apprentices and mages more time to study. After that came her own lessons. The enchanters spoke carefully, dictating as the children wrote. Although she was reluctant to admit it, Gwenn enjoyed learning her letters and words, and puffed up a little with pride as she saw her spelling, script and spacing improve. Her lessons blurred into one, fragments dancing around her mind long after her study was done for the day.

“Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.”
“The mages sought to usurp Heaven, but instead, they destroyed it.”
“He had given the power of creation to his new children--and in return they had created sin.”

Other than this, her lessons worked to teach her control, queenship over the power that lay in her blood, that she might strengthen her grasp, but also increase the power of her spells, that she might have control over the ice that had leapt from her palms, and bolster its power. Other powers too, did she discover with her tutors’ help.

But though she found some comfort, some reward, in her improvement, she continued to suppress the pangs of homesickness that wracked her. Saorise remained close, always, and they often spoke of their former lives, so different, one almost a princess, the other, a pauper. But in the Circle, where the one bond was the arcane, the barrier between the haves and the have-nots was faint, if it existed at all.

*


Soon enough, Gwenn stood at the threshold of puberty, a time already complex enough. In the Circle Tower, privacy was a foreign concept to all but the most advanced mages.

In her thirteenth year, taller, gangly and out of proportion, Gwenn wrestled with the first touch of womanhood, her cheeks as red as the marks on her bed-sheet as she whispered to the enchanter, begging that she might be permitted a little space alone to launder it. She struggled with the awkward shifts of maturing, swings in mood, pangs of growing pain, the war the female body wages with itself each month. The girls in her dormitory watched either in the sympathy of shared experience, or the concern and curiosity of those who had not known such yet. The boys were puzzled, but indeed, had problems of their own - the shifting pitch of their voices, the desire for steel to shave their faces, and more besides.

And as if the difficulties were not enough on their own, they were magnified by this fact - their birthright’s behaviour. It was at this stage that control over ones spells was most strained and tested. Emotion could run high, and that made them the greatest danger to themselves, and those around them, for were a ball of flame to meet fabric, or water be turned to ice, the problems would be much greater.

Even the mild Gwenn found a spark of rebellious flame within her at that time - she took more risks, and found herself in trouble often. But deep down, Gwenn worried. She knew that soon, she would be taken from the children’s quarters to live with the other apprentices. Would they baby her? Would she find herself burdened with shame and embarrassment in the face of the young men who soon began to tug at the teenage girl’s mind?  And the most troubling thing of all - the heightened watch of the templars. She heard rumours that they watched the women bathe.

Aged fifteen, she was moved to the adult’s quarter, and Saorise with her. Her best friend, the little girl filled with kindness and hope, was changed. She was more reserved, quieter. No longer did she count to one hundred when she brushed her hair, and weariness clung to her features. Gwenn remained close by, in friendship and loyalty. She was worried for her friend, made concerned by the longing manner in which she watched the Tranquil; they were like the dead walking, beings without emotion, wearing only an empty smile. The brands they bore upon their foreheads, a disc aflame, only served as a reminder of the truth.

Here, in the Circle, the Chantry held the power.
« Last Edit: April 08, 2014, 04:06:15 PM by emptyanima »

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Prologue: Part VI
« Reply #6 on: April 09, 2014, 01:02:43 PM »


Gwenn had been right to fear as she did. For it was worse than she had even dared to imagine. At every moment, even if she could not see the ones who stared, she felt their eyes against her, cold and unfeeling. There were times when Gwenn wondered if the creatures housed in the steel plate and flowing purple robes of the templars were truly human. She felt their gaze everywhere - when she studied in the library, practicing at the summoning fonts and reaching beyond the Veil into the Fade, where the source of her power lay, she felt their gaze. When she ate with her fellow mages, food prepared beyond their sight, simple and in large amount and without great flavour, she felt their gaze. When she wept, looking over her thin body as she bathed, her head bent in shame, she felt their gaze. 

There existed no quiet place, nowhere for one to be alone, at peace, relaxed. The nights were filled with whispers, tears, and for many, brief, meaningless bouts of passion. Among the mages, a truth unspoken. Many emotions would run high among them - but love would be most suppressed. Gwenn gave herself to craning over books, working her hands as she sought to draw new power from the Fade. She did all she could to lose herself in the burden of her blood. So wrapped up was she in this, that she did not speak to Saorise for a week.

It was not long before it came to a head. As she lay in her bed that night, covered in the thin blanket of light sleep as she paddled the waters of the Fade, her time came. The time to be tested. The senior enchanter came quietly, and shook her awake. She was barely cognitive when the words hit her ears, but one jerked her awake.

"Harrowing.”


She rose quickly, her bare feet soft upon the stone floor. She looked to where Saorise lay, and uttered a silent prayer to the Maker that she might survive her test, if only to offer comfort to her friend, and assuage her fears.

Clad in the blue garb of the apprentices, Gwenn hurried through the dimly-lit halls, her heart thumping in her chest. The Harrowing was a ritual shrouded in secrecy. All she knew was this - those who failed their Harrowing were never seen again. She ascended the stairs, clutching at her thin robes to keep from tripping, until she reached the high chamber in which her Harrowing was to take place. First Enchanter Irving stood there, beside Knight-Commander Greagoir, the leader of the templars stationed at Kinloch Hold.

Sleep still clung to her as the Knight-Commander began to speak;

"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Thus spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin. Your magic is a gift, but it's also a curse, for demons of the dream realm - the Fade - are drawn to you, and seek to use you as a gateway into this world."

Although Irving did his best to offer some small advice, at the behest of Greagoir he was made to stop, that Gwenn might complete the task ahead alone. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, approaching a wrought-iron brazier that stood in the centre of the chamber, raising her hand. Lyrium, distilled into a blue liquid that was precious to mages seeking to cast beyond their power, swirled within the brazier, and as she lifted her palm, it was ignited with arcane light. The chamber was filled with a white light, as Gwenn’s body sank to its knees, her head tilted back and her eyes, while open, were dim. Her spirit had stepped through the Veil and into the Fade. Her task?

To slay a demon.
« Last Edit: December 04, 2015, 04:38:54 AM by emptyanima »

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Prologue: Part VII
« Reply #7 on: April 11, 2014, 07:59:02 AM »

Being human, and as such, given to dreaming, Gwenn was no stranger to the Fade. The Black City forever loomed on the horizon, a constant reminder of the magisters’ foolishness and the corruption they birthed. But she could not afford to loiter - were she to be deemed too slow in completing her tasks, the templars would kill her. She took a deep breath, her world ebbing and flowing like water, and steeled her mind, advancing.

*

As the demon of rage dispersed and fell away into nothing, Gwenn lowered her staff with an exhalation of relief. She had completed her task - she had passed her Harrowing. A flash of white filled her minds’ eye, and she saw nothing.

When she woke, she saw the bottom of the bunk above her, blurred at first, and suddenly, like when one breaks the surface of water, having been submerged, her ears suddenly filled with sound.

“Gwenn, wake up… are you alright? Gwenn?”

“Mmm…” Her sight came into focus, as one of the apprentices stood over her.

“Oh, thank the Maker. You’ve been unconscious for three days. Congratulations… for passing your Harrowing.” Gwenn managed a weary smile. “Not everyone manages, you see. Not everyone feels brave enough to try… poor Saorise…” The apprentice’s eyes widened as Gwenn’s did.

“What? What’s happened to Saorise?” The apprentice’s voice softened.

“I am sorry… of course, you would not have known… she woke us as she was taken for her Harrowing. She was pleading with them, begging that she not be made to undertake the task… She’s in the stockroom now, with Owain… but she is not as she used to be. She’s…”

“Tranquil…” As the word passed her lips, Gwenn felt the air about her seem to thicken, her shoulders sinking. She rose quickly, not even bothering to brush her hair as she hurried to the stockroom, slowly shaking her head in disbelief. Soon, she passed through the doorless archway into the hall were the stockroom was kept. Her green eyes darted over those within, with their dead eyes and empty smiles, and there among them, the young woman with raven hair and violet eyes, the former now limp, and the latter vacant. She looked at Gwenn, pausing in her work, her expression devoid of emotion, and the brand of Tranquility stark on her forehead.

Gwenn sank to her knees, bringing her hands over her face, and sobbed, despite how hard she fought to keep her sadness internalised, but the harder she fought, the faster it seemed to grow, and she soon erupted, her body shaking, near screaming in her anguish. Saorise was no longer the friend she had long held dear. But her body, that shell, remained, a mockery to haunt her. Gwenn’s innermost thoughts were a shame to her, but she could not shake them. She would have preferred for her to be dead.

Her mind darted, and she recalled her friend’s former tears, words cried in despair.

“My parents didn’t love me! They held to titles and riches, and cast out the daughter who would keep them from such things. I was nothing to them. I did not know them. They saw me and saw my curse. This magic... It ruined everything! It poisons everything it touches! The Maker loathes us, for what our ilk did to his Golden City… and he will remind us until the world draws its final breath.”

And this was the final, sharpest blade in Gwenn’s heart - the knowledge that Saorise was free of that self-loathing, that anguish and despair. Without the burden of emotion… she would not dream, and she would not be troubled. Gwenn lay prostrate, shaking.

“Why didn’t I do more to help her?” Gwenn’s heart screamed. No answer came.
« Last Edit: January 31, 2015, 12:31:15 PM by emptyanima »

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Prologue: Part VIII
« Reply #8 on: April 11, 2014, 11:19:42 AM »
As she was dragged away by the templar recruits, her head was bent low, weary from her tears and still not fully recovered from her Harrowing. She strained to listen to them as they exchanged their gambled coin, laughed between themselves, and she fumed quietly. Her mind was overwhelmed with memories of the friend she had lost. For thirteen years they had been friends. They had worn the trials of the mage tower together, their friendship a bond to challenge the imperceptible chains of Kinloch's hold. The tower itself seemed to have limbs that held and restrained them, holding them back, unseen hands binding their mouths when their sadness was too much. And now, aged nineteen, that bond had been broken. Her heart was a large void.

She went to the chest next to her bunk to collect her few possessions, and turning, she saw the First Enchanter.

"Gwenn," he began, "I understand your sadness. But this was her choice. It is better for her this way." Gwenn remained silent as he continued, "Come, child, for you have passed your Harrowing, and are now a full member of the Circle of Magi. I have here your new robes, a fine staff, and a ring bearing the Circle's insignia." She nodded gratefully, setting them down on her bunk. "I will give you space to change, Gwenn, and then I ask you to accompany me to your new quarters. They are ready for you now."

*

There was much at which Gwenn could marvel in her new quarters. For one, she had her own bed, a dressing table, desk and wardrobe, and in the corner, granting a little privacy, her own chamber pot and bath, with a little jug for pouring water. She smiled a little. She was no longer dressed in the blue robes of the apprentice, but instead wore orange, purple and white, the mark of the full mage. She sat before the mirror at her dressing table, and ran a brush through her auburn hair.

"One... two... three..." She whispered, meeting her own pale green gaze as she continued to brush. "Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one-hundred."

As she laid down to sleep that night, she expected she would be welcomed into the Fade's embrace only moments after her head hit the pillow. But one thought continued to return to the forefront of her mind, keeping her from rest.

"I am alone."

*

In her loneliness, Gwenn was vulnerable. Though her room was partitioned with stone walls, it was shared with others. One of these was a young man, a year older than Gwenn, named Aedan. A few weeks passed where they would whisper quietly as they turned vellum pages in the dimly-lit libraries, exchanged glances as they honed their casting skills, and laughed softly as they ate at the long tables with the other mages.

Intimacy was inevitable, brief and passionate, but in the Circle, as Gwenn continually reminded herself, there was no love. Love was too powerful and deep a force to be permitted to exist in such a place. A force stronger than magic.


Only a matter of months later, Gwenn's life would change forever. The year was 9:29 Dragon, and news came to the Circle that a nobleman's daughter, living near Gwaren, had been seized by a demon. Demonic possession, while not a common occurrence, was known to take place in houses of fame or fortune, given the desire for magic to be kept clandestine. But magic does not bow for wealth or titles.
Gwenn knew that well enough.

She was called by the First Enchanter to be part of a group that would make the journey there, to perform a ritual with lyrium, that might permit one of the mages to venture into the Fade in a waking state, and rid the girl of the demon without any harm coming to her. She collected her things, and descended lower and lower into the tower, past the locked chamber where the phylacteries were kept, containing the blood of all mages kept within, that should they escape, they could be traced. The doors were flung open, and Gwenn squinted at the light, harsh on a her pale skin. As they stepped outside, the group inhaled, drinking in the fresh air. The scent of salt filled her nostrils, and tears ran down her cheeks.  They came to the jetty, groups of three, led by a templar, assigned to each boat. As they rowed away, Gwenn looked up at Kinloch Hold, and prayed inwardly that she might never be made to return.
« Last Edit: September 12, 2014, 08:45:04 PM by emptyanima »

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Prologue: The End of the Beginning
« Reply #9 on: April 11, 2014, 11:38:40 AM »

The journey was long on foot, but Gwenn revelled in the fresh air and limited freedom. They headed south, through the Hinterlands, and then east, through the Brecillian Passage. Weary, but close, they walked warily, well aware of the legends of the passage, which spoke of it being disorientating and tricking those who sought to walk the path. Gwenn kept her head bent as she walked, next to Aedan, her cheeks flushed with shyness and shame. They had not spoken since their bout of passion, and it was strained between them. Her thoughts were accompanied by the sounds of footfalls, a light breeze brushing her hair over her face.

As she walked, she began to realise that the sound of footsteps grew fainter, fainter, until only one sound filled her ears. Her own footsteps. She looked up, and realised that she was totally alone.

"No... no, no!" She looked about feverishly for a trace of the others, but could find none. "I have to find them... I can't be made an apostate... I can't!"

Her eyes, blurred with tears, did not take in all that surrounded her, and in her desperation to find her companions, she hurtled headlong into something. Something thick and cold.

Mist.

« Last Edit: April 12, 2014, 08:51:22 AM by emptyanima »

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« Reply #10 on: April 12, 2014, 08:50:10 AM »
« Last Edit: April 12, 2014, 09:12:58 AM by emptyanima »

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« Reply #11 on: April 12, 2014, 09:09:57 AM »
[With her journal opened to a fresh page, Gwenn rests the quill to her lips, thinking. The candlelight flickers upon a desk in the Lady's Rest. She sighs gently, enjoying her privacy, and with her mind cleared of drunkenness, and for now, of fear, she begins to write.]

Quote from: Gwenn's Journal
And now, more quickly and invigorating than I could have imagined, freedom.

Of a few things, I am now certain. One, I am no longer in Thedas. Two, these lands are known as the Core, and this place, Vallaki. And thirdly, I have lived more in the last two days than I have done for the last thirteen years. I am stronger. I discover even now more power has lain dormant in my blood.

To breathe the fresh, cold air, drink it like water, to feel the sunlight on my skin... it has been so long since the air was new - I had grown accustomed to the cloying, stale air of the Circle, air breathed a hundred times, with only a scarcely opened window or door letting the place gasp for breath.

There is so much sound, and meetings, some messier than others. So much life. Ale flows and I drink of it, become dizzy and giddy in its haze. There are friends. Ghail, dressed in white, who does not speak the Common tongue, and yet has such personality.
Even the templar who was also taken here by the swirling mist has been good to me. There are many reasons I have to dislike him. He was the one who harrowed Saorise. The templars took me from my family when I was six, never to be seen again. I have lived in their sight for thirteen years, and privacy has been rare. And yet, away from the Knight-Commanders and Circle Tower, he treats me well, and I find I cannot help but treat him in kind.

There are others too. Names, so many names, those of different colours, lands, talents... this land is rich, for the mist seems to pluck between worlds. There is such variety here.

But there is also danger. Shambling abominations, resembling dead men, stalk the places where the deceased should find rest. Strange creatures fill caves, huge varieties of more common insects... large and noisy and bearing a strange stench. Blood stains the ground, and I hear whispers of rat-men, werewolves and other dark creatures.

I have stumbled from one dangerous land to another, for the templar tells me that even Thedas was filled with similar things.

And they told us mages that we were dangerous.

Gwenn Fisher of Gwaren, Mage of Kinloch Hold, and unwitting apostate.
« Last Edit: April 14, 2014, 02:23:33 PM by emptyanima »

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« Reply #12 on: April 13, 2014, 02:18:16 PM »
[A new page is illuminated by the light of the braziers and torches in the Sanctuary of the Coming Dawn. She brings a hand to her forehead, dabbing at the beads of sweat gently, and scorns how cold she feels. She glances about the sanctuary for a few moments, before taking her quill and beginning to write, her hand shaking slightly.]

Quote from: Gwenn's Journal
Today was filled with blood. The blood of others, and my own.  A woman was brought into the inn, her foot and part of her leg in the maw of a trap. I held her shoulders as she was placed in the chair, and upon examination, was brought upstairs. I found the stench of blood too much, and fainted. When I woke, the floor of the room was stained with blood, and the desk chair stood at angle, missing a leg.

While trying to assist others below the temple, I was struck across the back of the head, and I fell. I had tried to run, but the dead move with such swiftness. When I next opened my eyes, I felt as though my being had been sucked into my body, and I was afraid. Had I been dead? My lessons had always taught me that once the soul had departed the body in death, there was no return, and thus, those who gave themselves to healing had to act quickly. It seemed far too stressful a path for me.

To earn back the coin that it had taken to bring me back, Ser Lucien (for the templar finally gave me his name) and I took a delivery of letters to a nearby fishing lodge. I kept the bag slung over my shoulder, dagger in hand, while Lucien watched for danger. We met a traveller on the road who also sought the lodge, and we gave him company for the last leg of the journey. Upon reaching the place, and setting the letter bag on the bar, the barkeep passed me a pouch of coin, and mentioned to me that he had a few barrels of fish to be taken back to Vallaki. Between the three of us, we carried the heavy barrels. I inhaled, and felt my eyes water a little, but I kept it hidden. The scent of fish brings back images of home. Upon our return, we were well paid for our trouble. Lucien assures me we can take more work there in future.

Upon our return to the temple, we found it filled with people, and so very noisy. I met another fellow, and we both expressed displeasure at the din. We went quickly over the road to the tavern, and there began speak in the relative quiet.

Just then, a fellow burst through the door, and said that there were wolves on the road. Foolishly, I believed he meant common wolves, but upon our exit, we saw huge, great hulking weres, the kind that ravaged Gwaren, many years ago. One struck me with its clawed paw and I fell, cursing my foolishness, and uttering silent prayers to the Maker, should he even hear me here.

Just then, I felt myself recover but a little, and my sight was cleared, and standing, I saw a man, dressed in black. I nodded, offering my thanks, and waited for him to help the others that lay upon the grass. He did not. Instead he told me to look at him, and I did.  After a moment, he grew angry, and I was puzzled. It was then that he hissed, revealing huge fangs and red eyes. I screamed. This man… he was possessed by a demon of hunger. He moved with unparalleled swiftness, and leapt upon me, gripping me tight as he sank his teeth into my neck. I expected great pain, and it did flare at first, but the more he drank of my life, the more numb it felt. As he let me go, he cried out for more, but with effort, he pushed me away, declaring I was no use to him dead. And then, he left me, and I took the body of the man who had spoken with me, and dragged myself towards the temple.

When I came inside, Lucien took the body from me. Relieved of that burden, I sank to the floor, weak and sweating, and damp with my own blood. He took me to the side and began to care for me, and soon, a name was uttered, on the lips of Fabrizio, Renzo, and more besides.

Vampire.

A man left a clove of garlic beside me as I lay in rest, told me it would help prevent my turning into one such creature. It was not much later that Ghail appeared, and continued my care, resting my head in his lap and brushing back my hair as he dabbed at my wounds and cleaned me of perspiration. Another drew closer, and he remained protective. Ghail is a strange creature, for at any one moment, he is close to either pushing me about, saying ‘no’, or acting in a very defensive manner over me. I have found, using my scant knowledge of Tevene, I can understand a little of the tongue he speaks. I have been in rest for a long time, and I feel myself growing gradually better.

I have much for which to be grateful.

Gwenn Fisher of Gwaren, Mage of Kinloch Hold, and unwitting apostate.

« Last Edit: April 13, 2014, 03:29:26 PM by emptyanima »

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« Reply #13 on: April 14, 2014, 07:59:58 PM »
[She writes with a trembling hand, illuminating the page with an arcane light. It is dim, cupped within her free hand, flickering as her hand quavers, in shock, in fear, and in weariness.]

Quote
To think that so much can happen in a day - the truth of it is frightening.

Ghail and I continue to work for coin, taking deliveries of letters, spools of wool, and barrels of fish. While notably less eventful than other methods of making money, it is steady work that pays reasonably, and allows us both fresh air and exploration. I had worried for his feet - he is dressed for the summer seasons, at this, the swan-song of winter. Fortunately, in the village of Krofburg, the destination for one of our deliveries, we found a merchant selling warm winter boots, for which Ghail was most grateful.

I learned a little more of his past. He was a slave once, before he became a priest. A Priest of the Seven, as he described it, but he spoke of gods beyond counting, if I understood him correctly. His Common is improving, and I have come to realise that my use of Tevene is offensive to him, thus, I will keep to the language, High Valryian, which he is teaching me, as well as to hand gestures and the words he currently knows. I am confident we will manage.

I’ve made several new friends, performers of all stripes. Nadya made the boldest impression. She is so energetic, and witty, and really rather naughty, and we have such fun conversations. I fear I got drunk again… and continued the habit of shaming myself, if what my friends tell me is true. She is also loyal and brave, but… more on that at the proper time.

I saw Lucien again, accompanied by an older man named Caleb. We spoke a while, they having rescued me from a little predicament. I admit I was… impassioned. Angry. I brought up old wounds and made quite the fool of myself. We waited out the night in the warehouse of Vallaki. Lucian spoke to me then.

I cannot bring myself to write what he said to me fully. He bears a heavy burden, and lacks the means to battle it now. His supply has dried up. He has made… a request of me. And should the time come when that request becomes needful, I will make good on my promise. I am afraid. I am not sure if I have it in me to make good on this promise, or the other I made. And it is not that I have no intention of keeping them, far from it, but it is whether I will be prevented… I promised him I would not die.

 It seems there is always a new obstacle to that goal. Shambling undead, men seized by demons of hunger… and now, something unknown, powerful and dark.

I watched Nadya’s performance group, the Cirque De Luna if I remember the name correctly, and for the most part, it was wonderful. There was such colour, quick music that filled my soul - I was moments away from dancing. It was a fun, exhilarating spectacle, if somewhat crude in places. But then, such wonder, such bewitching things…

There was a man who did not speak, garbed in white. They called him the Mime. He seemed to construct a wall that was invisible, but by Andraste’s teeth, I tell you it was tangible. One suggested it could be broken with an invisible hammer, and with a faithful strike, it shattered.

Next, he drew a circle about Nadya, and transported her from the low grass to the height of a ledge above us. Such magic… my lessons told me that such transporting magic was impossible. It seems that reality is different here… overwhelming.

And overwhelmed I was. I begged with the mime that he might make me fly as Nadya had done, and he drew closer. I could scarcely breathe for my excitement. He moved his hands to a belt that was imperceptible, withdrew something, dipped that unseen something into a vial. What was about to take place? My eyes were wide, my chest heavy, and my excitement palpable.

And then, there was blood. And pain… such excruciating pain. For a few moments I was numbed with shock and the rush of excitement like a river through me. I looked down, and saw my robe stained red, pierced with a dagger. Those moments felt so slow, so uncertain. And then I realised that this was no illusion.

I screamed, cried for help as the pain seized me, and I collapsed among the cacophony of panic. The audience, and performers, ran amok, seeking out the man to exact justice, only to find he had vanished from sight, no doubt drawing on the same magics he had displayed before. Such a blur of sound, of screams and shouts, but in the din, I heard Nadya’s voice, and then felt her beside me, protecting me. I heard prayers, felt healing energies rush through me.

That was when I felt it moving in me, something darting through my blood like a tongue of fire, and my screams were desperate and pained again. I felt as though my whole being was aflame, burning from the inside. The panic increased, so much sound…. I was stunned numb, carried away to be treated. Finally, the crowd began to dissipate, and I was taken to the Vistani for healing.

A woman named Tallulah offered all her gold to help and, although the woman was reluctant at first, the Vistani began to incant. My skin… bubbled as it healed. It was painful, but eventually, the ordeal was over.

It seems the cirque has endured much hardship, and I worry for them. I must keep myself fixed on my promises. That seems the surest way forward.

I am grateful to be alive.


Gwenn Fisher of Gwaren, Mage of Kinloch Hold, and unwitting apostate.


[A list of High Valryian vocabulary, with Common translations, is scrawled below, phonetic in nature.]

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« Reply #14 on: April 17, 2014, 08:42:33 AM »
[Gwenn scrawls, her eyes heavy, occasionally pausing to tug at her uncomfortable disguise.]

Quote from: Gwenn's Journal
And now, like the apostates from home, I am forced to hide. And yet, I do not regret the circumstances of my need for disguise.

Having saved coin from honest ventures working with Ghail, I purchased for myself a new staff and an amulet. As I bought them, Ghail appeared behind me and shook his head, looking uncomfortable. Nonetheless, I bought them. When I saw him next, I did not understand all of his words, but the language his eyes spoke was universal. Betrayal. Gradually, he was able to explain the reason behind his deep discomfort to me.

Artaxerxis Gulthraeln, merchant and lord, is a slaver. I looked again to the items I had bought, seeming dirty now. I went back to him and tried to return them, but he refused. Knowing I have caused a slaver’s coffers to swell but a little made me feel ill. Next came anger, unbridled. If I could not wipe the slate clean, I would have to send a message.

I erected a campfire, wrote a sign and placed it before the wood.

“Lord Gulthraeln,” it read, “Your soul’s fate.”

I threw the items onto the fire, and the staff burnt away to ash. The amulet however, sputtered a moment, before the whole pit exploded. The ground shook, and a strong arcane light shone out over the outskirts. A few were knocked off their feet… including the Lord.

“Sorcerer! Assassin! She tried to kill me!” He cried. I fled.

I ran and ran and ran, night close to falling, until I reached a safe place. It took me several moments to calm myself and consider the path to take. I pled that I might be able to send a message, somehow. I incanted, drawing on my blood-bound power to summon a small winged creature. I looked at it, wondering how I might be able to see through its eyes, find those I knew. As I wished, I felt myself tugged, torn from my own body into the little form of the pixie. I looked for a moment at my own face, my eyes white. Were I to be found in that state, I would be unable to defend myself. Thus, I flew quickly.

I flew. It was freeing, if dangerous, and I flitted across the darkened roads towards places known. Approaching the camp the Cirque de Luna keeps, I saw Ghail. After a great deal of struggle with the language barrier between us, he followed, with a few others, as I led the way. I know that they met peril, and when I lost sight of the region and was sucked back to my body, I felt ill for a few moments, and returned to hiding. Fortunately, Ghail found me, and informed me all had found safety. He carried some of his old clothes, and I dressed in them quickly. Finally, I cloaked the both of us, that I might return with him to ponder my next step. As we journeyed, I saw Artaxerxis, but he did not see me, Maker be praised. I remained off the beaten path to avoid such a meeting.

Having reached the Cirque camp, Ghail found usefulness in their supplies, disguising me as bearded young man. It seems to be working thus far, for the Lord has passed by me and not known me by sight.

When I revealed my true identity to Nadya, Ghail made a suggestion that she believed most clever. I hope it works.

It is harder than I thought it would be, to act as a man does. To hold myself in the right manner, to walk and stand as a man would. Presently, the most common comment I receive comes from those bemused by my slightness, but this seems less conspicuous when they come to know of my talents, that require strength of mind over strength of arm.

*
I have uncovered more of my own ability. I now live up to the name that Nadya gave me - the girl of fire and snow. But I am still not as resilient as I wish to be. And many things still give me cause to fear… things like the little boy fashioned of painted metal… tick, tock, tick, tock, he went…

He believed he was flesh and blood. His metallic screech will haunt my thoughts.

“I AM REAL.”

But my heart is heavy for another reason. I had to make good on my promise to Lucien. He led us to privacy, quivering with his lyrium-deprived madness… he drank of a vial, and we watched him die. It was as he wanted. I’ve some of his effects to pass to Rith, one with whom he found companionship in his last days. To Ghail he gave a sword. And when his spirit had passed into the Maker’s hands, I laid him in funerary pose, and burnt his body, as would have been done back home. I do not believe they usually use the incantations of mages to set bodies aflame. I hope he has found peace.

He was kind to me when he could easily have not been, gave help and comfort, and protection. I only wish there was more I could have done to keep him from that cruel fate. I suppose I should be grateful. He had the strength of will to carry out his end before madness fully seized him. That would have been… an agonising death.

I hope that one day soon I might be able to cast off my disguise once more, and be free again. My state of being is only further proof of the Lord’s disgusting methods. Because of him, I cannot live in freedom. I am a slave to his search, and my tongue is a slave to my need to hide, lest I be discovered.

The taste of freedom I have had is hypnotising as a drug, and I crave it.

Gwenn, the girl of fire and snow.

« Last Edit: April 27, 2014, 04:08:17 AM by emptyanima »

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« Reply #15 on: April 20, 2014, 03:06:09 PM »
[Gwenn writes, the pages illuminated by gentle candlelight and the face of the bright full moon, looking down upon a small encampment shared by Ghail and herself.]

Quote from: Gwenn's Journal
I had need to only hide a few days, and those days were the longest of my life.

To masquerade as male, I had to hold my tongue, bind my chest, keep my head constrained in a wig and give my skin cause to itch with that beard. However, I suppose I’ve no reason to complain, given how safe the disguise kept me. I was not recognised by those I knew, unless I revealed myself to them by speech. I know this, for I passed him, the lord, several times, and saw no glimmer of recognition in his eyes.

During my time in hiding, I remained in plain sight. Ghail referred to me as his brother, Gweren. Together we continued to travel, and to assist those Ghail calls friend. Together we accomplished quite the task, clearing the crypts below the temple of all the dead that walked, without anyone succumbing to death themselves. At times we drew close, but working quickly, to protect and defend, we subdued them, and were rewarded for our efforts.

I longed to pronounce my congratulations, but could do nothing but smile.

Nadya came to me, at last, and keeping to her word, she had resolved the matter. All I had to do was speak to the lord, give my apology and retract my claim. Although I paused at this, considering for a moment my integrity, I deemed freedom more worthwhile, going against what I believed to be true that I might show my face without fear. Thankfully, the lord was merciful. He granted me assistance later on, but I will write of that in due time.

When I next spoke with two of my companions, Fabrizio and Layala, they asked me where I had been. Having informed them I had ‘not been myself’, I proceeded to take the beard from my back, draping it girlishly over my chin. At first, they were astounded, secondly, they begged to know the tale behind it, and knowing it, thirdly, they laughed. They seemed more willing to believe the accidental nature of the explosion, and for that, I am grateful.

Nadya and I also took more work, with assistance from one of those in the employ of House Gulthraeln, named Gilos Sinclair. He agreed to accompany us on the proviso that we pay him a fifth of our earnings. This agreed, we made our way to Krofburg, with two oxen. The ox I led, I named Angus. I am not sure why I did such. However, it did make his passing at the teeth and claws of the crag cats somewhat more poignant than I had expected. Gilos sighed, saying he had warned me against giving him a name for that very reason. He is a seasoned mercenary, full of stories, many of them lewd, and perpetually wearing a sly grin. He was a shameless flirt, but I enjoyed his company, as well as his anecdotes. It will be good to see him again.

Nadya and Gilos went ahead the next morning, as I wished to take more work back to Vallaki. Unfortunately, more crag cats tore down the mountainside, rending the flesh of the second ox and leaving me bloody beneath the fence that snaked along the precipice. By the Maker’s providence, Artaxerxis found me, and he took me within a nearby miner’s cave. He bade me strip to my smalls that he might examine my wounds, which he did carefully. He poured a fragrant liquid upon them to keep them from infection - bull’s urine. I was grateful for the bath upon my return.

It was not so much later that I accompanied a group led by Fabrizio to a wolf den, near the fishing lodge, and Ghail met us on the road. The worgs were no match for our blades, bolts and balls of flame, but the weres posed a tough challenge. Thankfully, no one sustained fatal injury, and several were on hand with healing ability. One woman acted most recklessly, endangering us on several occasions, and was quick to run to where treasure could be found. We feared she would pose a difficulty to our plan of fair division, but thankfully, when questioned on her behaviour, she took her leave. When we returned, weary but victorious, I had a new dagger, of fine make, and was paid a large share of the six thousand we plundered in goods from the caves.

Ghail and I also tried to sell a little of what we have found; a few weapons, and potions he has made himself. We found some success in this, so I am confident we will attempt this again in future.

I write this beneath the moon’s gaze, large and bright, by the dwindling fire I will rekindle when I am finished - the page gleams with the nearby candlelight. The camp we keep is comfortable, the air fresh, the food well cooked (Ghail’s work), and our closeness to water keeps our thirst slaked and bodies clean.

I have yet to tell him the fulness of what transpired between the lord and I. I hope when I brave enough to do so, I will not be left short of a friend.

Gwenn, girl of fire and snow.

« Last Edit: April 27, 2014, 04:08:59 AM by emptyanima »

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« Reply #16 on: April 25, 2014, 06:30:18 AM »
[She writes this entry with a wide smile on her face, humming a tune to herself.]

Quote from: Gwenn's Journal
Today has been a good day, in all.

While looking for a bed for the night, I found Gilos again. I do enjoy our conversations - he seems so confident in himself, despite all he has endured, and at times can be really rather cheeky. Still, he did not send me away, and we shared a drink and a few more words.

I left his bed when morning came. My smile has only faded once in that time.

I had ventured to Krofburg again to take more work - having donated to Gilos’ cause against the cultists I have heard about, I was a little short on coin, and went to remedy this. Taking a shortcut through the sewers, I became aware that I was not alone. Turning, I saw a man blocking my path. This did set me on edge - all girls are taught to be wary of men when we are alone, especially in such places. He told me I would only be able to leave when he willed it, and this made me more afraid.

I incanted softly, held a globe of light in my palms that I might see my captor more fully. His face was pale and gaunt, and he had a long black cloak which swayed over his back. His eyes were dark and cold, and they squinted as I called for light. He asked me to stop, and the idea seized me. I called for more light, over and over, and he shouted at me. He stared at me, and I felt… something try to tug at my mind. But I remained steadfast, and whatever he attempted, I kept out. He stumbled into the wall as the light assaulted his eyes, and I bolted for safety.

See? See! I am not so helpless now. I am learning. I feel now that I was more deserving of completing that task, my Harrowing. Others have questioned how one such as me could slay a demon in my slumber.

I think I have an answer, at last. It is not strength of arm and steel that killed that demon. It was strength of mind and will.

I can do this.

Gwenn, girl of fire and snow.


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« Reply #17 on: May 05, 2014, 10:06:45 AM »
[She curls up, contemplative as she rests quill to parchment.]

Quote from: Gwenn's Journal
I have paid my debts. The staff I wield is finer now, and something shimmers in the robes I wear that draws a little more from my blood, ensures I show all of my potential and power.

Strange to consider, that if Gilos’ plan has success, then I will be one who hunts, no longer one hunted. One of a unit, bound my a common goal, and not the circumstances of our birth.

He was pleased with my power, and puts faith and trust in me. I will do my best to ensure that he does not regret his decision.

I’d never imagine I might know the life of the mercenary. Let us see how well I take to the task.

Gwenn, girl of fire and snow.

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« Reply #18 on: September 16, 2014, 09:28:28 AM »
[She watches the flame dance atop the candle's wick for a moment before writing.]

Quote from: Gwenn's Journal
I feel something in me calling me back, to this place, where my life truly began. I have become too lax in living, not enjoying these moments as any other would. I am not any other. This was the life denied to me by my birth, and I intend to live it fully, this moment on.

For my mother. For my father. For Saorise. For Lucien.

For me.

Gwenn, girl of fire and snow.

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« Reply #19 on: September 18, 2014, 05:31:28 AM »
[She glances over to a sleeping woman with a protective smile, then begins to write.]

Quote from: Gwenn's Journal
Another from the Circle has come. One I thought I would never see again. Niavren, please don't see this place as a punishment from the Maker. Do not scorn your gifts. I don't want to lose you to self-loathing. Not like Saorise.

She said she had much to tell me. That much happened in my absence. I'm just glad to see that she's alright.

Gwenn, girl of fire and snow.

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« Reply #20 on: December 17, 2014, 07:30:51 AM »
[She lights a candle, hand shaking, in a private hiding place, beginning to write.]

Quote from: Gwenn's Journal
It was foolish of me to expect anything else, not when I have been used to a fear and loathing of magic all my life. It's what saw me taken from my family, locked away for the safety of others.

The Barovian, Ygor, was so despondent when I met him first, sat alone with his beer. I had hoped that company would help him, and for a while, it did. He laughed and smiled, and helped me wrap my tongue around some Balok words. But then he pried deeper, belligerent with his questioning, and I had to reveal what I am to him. He appeared so hurt, betrayed...

I lost myself in the woodland for a time, channeling my emotion through my magic, but I soon came into trouble. I managed to take on a larger form, stronger and bug-like, and could then deal with the skeletons that assaulted me between the trees. But when I was finished, I was tired and bleeding... I knew that if had to return to my own, smaller body, the transfer of injury might kill me. I risked being killed on sight, and dragged myself back to civilisation. Night had already fallen, but some were gathered outside. A man with a hunched back and distorted face approached, waiting long enough to hear my plea, despite the cries of others to strike me down. As my injuries were treated, I could take it no more, and I let go, slipping back into my own body. I nearly blacked out, but thanks to the man's efforts, I was able to stay on my feet. He led me to the temple for healing, and I offered him a grateful embrace, having nothing else of worth to give. The way he is, I imagine the guards of this place do not give him the benefit of the doubt, the way he did for me. He is honourable.

I sought rest in the inn, by the warmth of the fire. When Ygor saw me approach, he took the chair I had wanted, so I moved. There was an elf there, playing his violin. I tried to concentrate on the music... I didn't hear much of it growing up. But it was difficult to enjoy it, while Ygor and I threw snide remarks back and forth. But his words became ever crueller...

He told me something I did not know. That disfigured man who helped me... he is a caliban. A caliban being a baby twisted in their mother's belly. By what? Magic. It does not even have to be any magic that the mother has in her... just nearby. I didn't know! If I ever pass through their cities, I'll be sure to keep away from any women with child. I don't want to hurt anyone. And I didn't want to hear about how the caliban often kill their mothers during their births, some tearing their way out...

I brought my hands over ears. That was my biggest mistake. Ygor stood and grabbed by arms... I had to bite my lip so hard to keep my abilities from flaring out of control, that my lip began to bleed. I could barely speak, but I told him that I knew what we mages can do. We are dangerous. Why else would they lock us away, watch us sleep, eat and bathe? There was no sympathy in his eyes. He freed a hand, holding back both my arms with one, and brought his thumb over my lip... I thought he was going to hit me, but instead he wiped the blood over my collar, let me go, and told me to get out.

I couldn't leave quickly enough.

I wept a little, but the elf came and comforted me. I told him about the Chantry's teaching on the sin of mages, and how much destruction it has caused. Destruction. I hear that war is coming soon...

It may be foolish, but I want to stay. I want to show Ygor, and the rest, that mages can do good. I'm just not sure I'll be able to bear the bloodshed when it comes.

Gwenn, unwitting apostate, a mage by the Maker's hand.

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« Reply #21 on: December 18, 2014, 07:35:17 AM »
[With books on the desk before her, a candle flickering to illuminate, Gwenn uses the privacy to pen her thoughts.]

Quote from: Gwenn's Journal
I'm so very afraid. Since the moment we heard just how many men Wachter had, I knew that we were lost. Forbidden by the terms of law, and fear of the people, from using my gifts, the staff to which I held seemed like a splinter in the face of this adversity. Without my magic, I am weak.

I cowered in the Tigan's Rest as they descended on Vallaki... it was over so quickly. But knowing their sheer number, the outcome was decided long before blades were crossed. When I dared to leave at last, I saw rubble and smouldering embers in the streets, and trails of blood slick on the cobbles. I was almost sick.

I found some air on the road outside the walls, spoke with Selyth, one I met before. While we spoke, the victorious soldiers came out on patrol. I couldn't understand much of what they said, but I complied with their commands as best I could. They are even more fearful of magic than the prior guards were. But I don't want to leave. Much of this place is beautiful, and I know it well now. I know its nooks and crannies, grow accustomed to its ways... I am wary of change.

I hope that the Templar is well... we spoke a long while yesterday, he of Ezra, myself of Andraste and the Maker. Ezra reminds me a great deal of Andraste, in fact, two great fighters who wished to defend, both giving themselves in sacrifice, whether to the Mist as Ezra did, or to the flames of the stake like Andraste. Still... I cannot help but feel that it was in part a loathing of the Tevinter Imperium, for their enslavement of the Prophet, that causes the Chantry to treat the mages as they do.

"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him." Magisters rule in Tevinter, and keep slaves. The Imperium revoked the freedom of many, but so did the Chantry. For thirteen years I breathed stale air, lived in close quarters with others at all times, and found escape in books, living vicariously through the heroes of legend and history.

I told the Templar of the Rite of Tranquility... he spoke of one that sounds similar - The Rite of Purification. It is sometimes fatal, he told me, but it divorces a mage from their magic completely. Unlike the Rite of Tranquility, the mage still keeps their mind, their emotion... Saorise would have done her very best to have a strong enough faith, had she been given the chance, I am sure.

He suggested two books to me, and I sought them out. I have them here beside me, an abridged history of Barovia, and another talking about an event called The Great Upheaval. I may not know as much of life as others, having not lived a great deal myself, but I consume knowledge. I want to learn as much as I can of this place. Perhaps one day, I'll pen a book of my own, tell others about life back home. Though I might leave out mention of the Rite of Tranquility... I wouldn't want anyone trying to replicate it. Then again... only the templars of the Chantry knew how it was done.

I should stop worrying... none of the Wachter men and women know of my powers. At least, I do not think they do... surely they would already have me if they knew? I still worry for Ygor... I've not seen him since this all started. He wasn't among the men of Vallaki who fought. Perhaps it is possible that, like me, he hid? No... he loves the fight far too much for that. If I could see him, just one more time... I'd prove to him that not all mages are monsters.

Gwenn, unwitting apostate, a mage by the Maker's hand.
« Last Edit: December 18, 2014, 07:38:02 AM by emptyanima »

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« Reply #22 on: December 18, 2014, 05:14:30 PM »
[Sat out on the grass, Gwenn prises open her book and writes on a fresh page.]

Quote from: Gwenn's Journal
It transpires that I was right to worry over Ygor... but for the wrong reasons. He has in fact, all this time, been one of the Wachter militia. When I saw him in that uniform, I paled. I thought I was done for, about to be killed for the crime of being as I am. But he's given me a chance... one chance. He'll only tell them what I am if I give him reason to.

I can breathe a little easier for it, thankfully. Though I still have to be careful. Their sergeant paid me a great deal to keep making clothes for the people of Vallaki. It seems all my darning and repairing of robes in the Circle has paid off.

I hope this will all be over soon. If Vallaki is always like this... I will have to move on. Perhaps go to Dementlieu, as the templar suggested, and seek out the Erudites. I have freedom now, and with freedom comes choices. And with those choices come responsibility. I've no longer got my phylactery binding me to the Circle. It's time to start living like it.

Gwenn, unwitting apostate, a mage by the Maker's hand.

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« Reply #23 on: December 20, 2014, 05:46:52 AM »
[Curled up on soft cushions, Gwenn puts quill to page.]

Quote from: Gwenn's Journal
They're gone, all of a sudden. Ygor is changed. Well, he's not Ygor, his name is actually Toma. He apologised for his behaviour towards me, actually embraced me. Poor man. I could see many emotions twisting in his eyes, but so few I myself can understand. Give me books and I'll devour them. Present me with a tome written in Tevene, and I'll translate it for you. But present me with a person's face, and I'll need longer to work them out.

My head's as full as one of a wizened tutor, but my heart is still child-like. But that too changes. With all they see here, I imagine children must grow up quickly. With Selyth, I saw demons, with several strange heads. We found a library with strange sigils on the floor, perhaps for summoning. It would explain all the demons. Selyth tells me there were many more we avoided on the path, strong ones. Perhaps when I am a little stronger in my gifts, I'll deal with them. In the library, we found several items of use to me. Scrolls which I could comprehend, and hope to use with further study. Gloves that, when worn, steel my mind and keep it focused upon my magic. Selyth is strong, and she kept me safe as we fought. I hope to travel with her again someday soon.

Speaking of travel, soon, I will go to Port-a-Lucine. I've been told I'll fit in there. I hope they are right. I feel I'll be spending a great deal of time in the library... oh, and what of the university? Aha! I am so very excited.

Gwenn, unwitting apostate, a mage by the Maker's hand.

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« Reply #24 on: December 23, 2014, 07:40:00 AM »
[At the desk in her room at the Manor Retreat, Gwenn writes.]

Quote from: Gwenn's Journal
I am very much enjoying my time in Port-a-Lucine. There is much to see and do, so many books to read at the library. I've not yet visited the university, but I would very much like to!

I saw Toma here, but he saw me first. Came behind me with a dagger and led me into one of the library's reading rooms. He wanted to make sure that I hadn't been sent to find him. He's thankfully seen the truth, and we can speak more freely. He is teaching me Balok, and I am finding him books on Barovian history. I am happier now to see him smile. It is good to know that the minds of others can be changed.

Gwenn, unwitting apostate, a mage by the Maker's hand.