Within the swirling Mist (IC) > Biographies

S. Veneva: An Account

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hot dog:
The sheets were tangled and drenched when she woke.  Another restless night had come and gone.
From her small inn room she could hear the ruckus below as men and women alike began to prepare
for another day.  Her skin prickled with goosebumps as she swung her bare legs over the side of the bed.
Convincing herself to rise was never difficult as it came as a relief from the nightmares which often plagued
her dreams.  With bare feet she padded across the room, falling into her normal morning routine of washing,
dressing, arming herself and then tugging aside the dresser she always shoved in front of the door the eve
before - because one could never be too careful, could they?

hot dog:
"I had a strange dream the other night."

"Did you?  Tell me of it."

"I was here, in Hazlan.  It was darker.. foggier.  I was running, but my feet were bare."

"When did you dream this...?"

"Maybe three nights ago.. why do you ask?"

"I had the same dream, but... it was I that you were running from."

"But why would I be running from you?  That doesn't make sense."

"Because, Sterre.. I was trying to kill you."

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For nearly two days she laid in the small, dank inn room of Tigan's Rest.
Even among the less fortunate of Vallaki's populace she still looked rather disheveled, and
despite Zina's friendly 'encouragement' she couldn't bring herself to make the short trek
from her personal residence to the washroom next door.  Food hardly sounded appetizing
and the thought of forcing a drink down her throat made her cringe.

It had been two - perhaps three days, even, since she'd last seen her closest friend.  The
woman had been uncharacteristically agitated, and it was clear that her feelings of discontent
had been burning wildly.  She played the events of their last meeting over and over in her mind,
and still she couldn't understand where things had gone so wrong. 

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The pair had been in Blaustein, a favorite hunting ground where they often found unique
items to pawn or trade for other goods.  They were preparing to set out once more - a trip
to Ghastria sounded promising.  Down the cliff they climbed, finally reaching the rowboat
which would safely deliver them to their next destination.  Sterre tossed the numerous packs
which carried their precious cargo aboard one of the small boats.  She then settled herself in
and turned about to assist her partner, should she require aid.  Lazula stood near the shoreline,
her eyes dark and her hand clenched around the staff she often toted about.

"Lazula?  Are you coming?  The boats are ready - we could be there by morning."

She was greeted with an eerie silence.  Lazula offered no reply of her own, but instead turned
in a slow, fluid motion and began walking directly towards the nearest mistbank.  Out of instinct
Sterre rose and clambered out of the boat, splashing through the water towards the woman who
was, soon enough, completely enveloped by the dense fog.  Without thinking Sterre gave chase,
and likewise found herself swallowed up by the mist.  Her vision grew cloudy and she could hardly
breathe.  The strange sensations seemed to last an eternity.

Once her vision cleared she found herself in a familiar place.  The sky was dark cloudy and the land itself
consisted of thick grass and an overabundance of dead trees.  Perhaps the most curious thing of all was
that, upon inspecting her own person, she found that her shoes were nowhere in sight.  Her feet were
bare and cold and each step left remnants of a stinging pain as twigs and thistles dug into her flesh.
Lazula was nowhere in sight and she was surrounded by an unnatural silence that sent shivers up
her spine. 

She tried to go back the way she came but it seemed as if whatever passage had brought her to this
place was long gone.  And so she ran - one bare foot falling before the other despite the uneven ground.
Strange creatures seemed to manifest from thin air.  Arrows, claws and bursts of magic aimed in her
direction threatened to fell her.  Wholly unprepared for such an altercation she continued to run.  It was
difficult to say exactly how long she gave chase, but by the time the fog seemed to clear and the surroundings
gave her a sense of familiarity she was near exhausted.  The bottoms of both feet were raw and bloody, caked
with dirt, pebbles and thistles.  A busted lip, blackened eye and a back splattered with burns was all she had
to show for her efforts.

She drug herself to the caravan and drifted off to sleep as the captain navigated his way to Barovia.

hot dog:

Violent wind rattled the wooden shutters against the rickety structure of whatever small
inn Sterre had found temporary comfort in.  The bruises on her face had begun to fade, and the blisters
splattered across her back had drained, leaving dead skin to flake off each time she bathed.  Once more
she'd found an appetite for food and drink.  Her thirst to explore had returned, and she quenched it without
hesitation. 

Constantly traveling brought her a sense of relief - perhaps because she never feared having to withstand
the feeling of being unwelcome if she ushered herself along with her own sense of urgency.  Although most would've
likely found her to be flighty or fickle, the truth ran far deeper in the form of a truth she shared with very few.

As rain pelted against the window she curled up beneath the layers of blankets and furs piled upon the straw mattress.
It had been so long since she'd last seen Lazula that she was certain the woman was dead.  Part of her felt an urge
to travel to Hazlan - though her reasoning made the risk in itself seem silly.  She'd considered returning to
The Mists but this too seemed to be an unwise course of action.  It was a rare moment when she, Sterre Veneva,
lacked any sort of elaborate plan or scheme.

Sleep called and she answered.  Tomorrow would be a new day for such uncomfortable thoughts.

hot dog:
For a brief moment in time she'd caught a fleeting glimpse of what her future might've held.  Perhaps she'd
be content to settle down and abandon her love of travel and the earning of coin.  The idea of remaining too long
in a single place made her feel physically ill. 

For hours she'd laid awake, staring up at the ceiling and watching shadows dance in rhythm to the flickering flame of a
dimly lit candle.  Beside her he'd slept, at least she assumed given the slow and steady sound of his breathing.  She
should've felt happy or content, but she didn't.  She felt trapped in something that neither of them could possibly take
seriously any longer.  As quietly as she could she slipped her bare legs from beneath the covers, swinging them over the side
of the bed so that she could ease herself out.  She packed only the necessary items and donned her armor.  The sum of coin
she'd managed to amass was left in the bank - she could always earn more, and having a backup plan gave her a sense of security.

The sun hadn't even rose as she made her way through the dark streets.  For a moment she doubted her own decision as she stood before
the building which housed the Vallaki branch Red Vardo Traders.  She hesitated, and pounded on the door.  There was no answer.  She waited.
The continuing silence provided enough of an answer that she felt content to leave without turning back.

The City of Lights ran gold with an excess of coin earned easily through the selling of goods and collection of bounties.  The local gendarme paid
handsome sums for the retrieval of various criminals and the simple hunting brought her enough of a momentary rush to be content to refrain from
leaving for too long.  She became comfortable in her routine, and even managed to acquire a comfortable room at the largest hotel within the city.
Saying that she was content was, perhaps, a stretch - but satisfaction in her current situation was enough to keep her from feeling restless.

Nonetheless her thoughts often drifted to times which were far more exciting.  They lingered on a particular friend she'd lost to The Mists, and on a
man she'd never had the chance to express her true feelings for.  So many things had been left unsaid - regrets she'd be forced to live with for the rest of
her days.

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