Ugly girl - Gwendoline Singer

[Nefensis]

The Story of Gwendoline

Fire to warm the twisted.

Warm is the fire, the sound of its roaring covers the dripping of the pipes. Even here, feet under the city of Grey, there is a strange feeling of peace. All the wretched sons and daughters sleeps of exhaustion. Exhausted from living, surviving but yet, somewhat satisfied that everyday that passes is a victory against those whom would want them dead. A new member of the community found her spot near that fire, she cannot sleep alas. Too much churns and turns in her head, she watches the fire devouring each bits of wood that is fed to it. In her oily hands, a piece of wood and a knife, she would make a nice flute out of it, carving and chipping away the future instrument. All around the room lays the bodies of her kindreds, snorting, grunting and other sounds, twisted ones like them would make. There was no sleeping beauty here. Carrib's angel bag twitched a few times, Gwen could nearly swore that she heard it laugh even but in the night, everything was possible.

Longing for a mate, a gruff looking male had come and accosted Gwen earlier, he smelled of bad alcohol, she refused him politely but he would not have it, she had to jab her knife in his hand to make him understand. Even among each other, wretches were still that. Defects of the topsiders, all that they hate about themselves, balled up into fleshy envelopes, called calibans and hunted at pitchfork's point. Yet every day, from their wives's legs, spruces another of their kind. Gwen had been one of them, they all had. From far beyond the mountains and valleys, does the kindred travel to find this mythical Drain where all lived in peace. If only they knew the war that raged down here, daggers and cloak, she mused to herself. The Steward does not agree with the Prophet, whom in his turn, uses his faith to frighten others into submission and the old boss is an invisible presence that hoovers about. Such is life of a monster. She chuckled remembering the blushing Steward, she was as young as him but felt compelled to smother him in care, neatly placing food near his tent and a pieced up blanket.

Ugly girl ugly wretch! She blanked out a second, painful memories invading her head again. Mother and father cared for her, for a long time, but it was over now. She was a traveler, a story teller. So nobody would ever forget what they were made off. Someday things will changes, she could swear of it. For the best or for the worst, but to remember the past stops the folks from doing the mistakes again.



Sleep children.. sleep. Tomorrow will be worst.

All rights reserved to Mongolvii from Deviant Art.

http://mongolvii.deviantart.com/art/green-69603113

[Nefensis]

Feeding the troups

Plic plic plic.. water drops in the sewer. So dark is the corridor and damp is the air and ground. It feels good. Everyday, Gwen ducks out from the safe pipe and goes out  exploring. The sewers is immense, bigger than rumors had made it sound like. She found many empty rooms, there the echo is amazing when she sings, alas with no public, her powerful vocal cords are useless. At least it keeps the rats at bay. But today she needed to see the sky, it had been many days and night that she had been underground and she missed the sun and the stars. Up she went, wiggling her great body up the rope and into the shaft of the well till she could see the light of the day. Quickly she moved from the city's wall and into the woods. There she could relax.

On the path she killed a few deers and wolves, she was used to it, after all she had traveled for quite some times now. Wolves were always a pain but digging her knife into the large deer was somewhat new to her. She wanted to feed as many as she could and rabbits would simply not do. The skin came off easily, peeling it off like the peel on a potato. She would need to find some as well. Cooking was easy, toss all in a pot and let it cook. Thats how mother made it. A pinch of this, a pinch of that. She knew which plants to gather for flavoring a bad meat. She crouched and eyed the skinned carcass of the deer, figuring out the best way to carve into it. Flanks, ribs, neck, head, nothing would be left behind, even the feet. She wrapped the lot into an old robe of hers, that would be perfect.

She did not fear meeting people, she knew how to run, those feet of hers were light and more so if she added a touch of magic. Outlanders always greeted her cautiously but seeing that she was not aggressive, they would usually relax. They were not like Barovians yet they share that first fear with them.  That night she brought back the deer to the drain and cooked it with the potatoes and the corn she stole away from a farm. A large stew pot sitting in the middle of the common room would do to attract the hungering ones. Gwen felt good and fulfilled.. of course other calibans had other dreams.

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[Nefensis]

Third eye wide open



Swirls of smokes, the witchroot burns into the glass pipe. The fire ablaze by her nigh naked body. Gwen smokes the root, opening her mind to the vision of the dark tunnel, the dark life that gathers them all here bellow. At first she felt cold, the moisture of her body froze at contact of the air of the sewer but now she was hot and sweaty, it felt good. Slowly relaxing from the day that took much out of her, the runt caliban brought fright to her and she disliked it greatly.  With all the gentleness in the world, she could not pierce the heart of the captain's dog with some warmth, he remained aggressive toward her. Although she was used to the insults, she could not help but smile when the Old Night quieted his forked tongue with the fire of his rage. Respect he wished for those whom served him.

In the swirls of sweet scented herb, she could see the flames of the fire roar and beckon to her, shadows on the wall calling for her name. She would not follow, not alone, not without him. She felt compelled to him somewhat, it was an odd feeling of fear mixed with awe. He would not submit her or his underlings to dangers they did not understood. She wiped the sweat from her brow and leaned her large body against the cold stone of the common room. It felt good, she could close her eyes and see colors she could only see in her dreams. Something in the water.. she knew there was something wrong about it, eyes of fire or blood glaring menacingly at her.  Her hand touched the soft wolf fur at her side and she felt reassured, pulling it to her cheek like a comforting blanky.

How she had wished for this moment to ever last, perfect sensation of choking, the air blocked at her air ways, arms or a snake around her body, lovingly embracing her. And the dream ended, breathing softly the smoldering smokes of the last bits of witchroot which turned to ashes. Tomorrow will be worst.. and maybe for the best.

[Nefensis]

Above and below



These tunnels never ends. There is not one place where her steps could take her and call it the end. Circling always like a dirty and slimy snake. She enjoyed greatly exploring every inches of these tunnels she now called home. She would ignore the insults and casual harassing she would receive from the others, less grounded calibans and enjoy with glee her little escapades in the tunnels. She gladly acted strong and posed, it threw most of them off who were used to women and human being scared of them. She felt in security, feeling Old Night hoovering invisible and ever present by her side. Made her feel special somewhat.

But she felt the call of the wild, outside in the cool summer of Barovia she felt the urge to go out to see the sun. Out there running in the fields like a fat butterfly laughing in the sun's face, she saw a group of human with a flag walking toward the mountains. Compelled and curious, she just had to follow them. Quietly and innocently, none of them even made mention of her odd presence as she took stride beside them. They were heading up the mountain to rescue some lost travelers. Once up there, they shared food and music, she played for them as the cold wind blew on their camp. And yet, none of them ever made mention of her upbringing.
She had always been very well treated by outlanders, they were usually nice and were always seeking for gentle people to gather around them. She was gentle and non aggressive, none of them asked her name, they knew, she thinks. When they pushed their travel too far, she turned away and left, she felt no attach to them but she knew somewhat they would be in danger. She could not help them, she warned them and then it was done.

Life would go on. She walked back to her Drain and her Old Night. Oh yes thats how she called him now. He was hers and she was his. She hid that secret in her heart, grinning like a young girl inwardly as she sat beside him when they shared food or each time he used his magic on her. She was proud to be at his side and carry on any help she could, keeping a straight and proud face. He punished harshly the runt for daring to insult her, it felt good. She always cared for herself since her mother had passed on and often she had to fight nails and bites to get away from attackers. No one to protect her, now it was different. Meanwhile she was alone, she took risks but she was old enough to make such decision. Life was good down bellow. 


But what of tomorrow?

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And to masterCylinder from Deviant art

http://mastercylinder.deviantart.com/art/A-Tunnel-Haunted-16427194

[Nefensis]

Whole in the end

For a day that started out rather like every other day, Gwen was soon proved wrong. From the moment she dropped off the body of the elf in the church, there she left him the note that a life give had been paid off, to the moment where Old Night was coaching her to deal with intruders in the sewers. The day had simply gone from nothing to bad. Digging its fangs into the dry flesh of her captain (yes she still called him that), the two legged rat made a fine meal of the onion scented flesh. Not only content to have torn to pieces the man, the drow and the female caliban. After a moment of playing dead, the ugly girl got to her feet and gathered her will about, healing her own wounds but it was too late when she realized who the bloody pulp was, laying in the sewer like an unwanted foetus.

From there on, her mind simply refused to act coherently. With the drow she carried her captain back to the Drain. Yelling at the Dok, yanking her own hair in despair. Where was the cold watcher she had been so far? She had to be strong, she had to act strong, for him. But the tears would not stop flowing. Bubbling liquids and odd contraptions, she had never seen, the Mad Dok was the person Gwen trusted the least here bellow. Using her as a test for the serum, she would do it, how nasty and terrible it was, it would work fine. She watched in amazement and fear as Old Night rose from the bloodied table, alas her heart sank when her captain cried. He cried for his lost arm, he was not whole anymore and would certainly die when his enemies would come. Where was the cold watcher? Long forgotten, she cried and another of the kin came to her aid, Vugdush took upon himself to make him whole again. Dashing out to find a fitting arm as eagerly as he could. A less honorfull companion would have taken this as a chance for succession. In fright of such, Gwen stood by him meanwhile the other was on the hunt. Sword in hand, she would have hacked and slash any that would even come closer with bad intents.

She sang for them both as he cried himself to sleep, her words not reaching his mind but her intent was obvious. Soft and gentle Gwen, that calmed the sheep with her soft words before her father would cut them up for the market. The child had a gift to not let to waste. She sang this lullaby that kept her sane, a routine her mom had taught her. Calming herself and the one she feared for. We would make him whole again they had swore, Old Night had loyal companions, unlike the other captain who would surely die of a knife in the back. Hours went on, the Mad Dok rambling on about enhancements he could provide from wings to gills. Plick plick plick the drain always leaked, she kept on singing to keep herself sane.  One by one did they came in afterwards, Healer her good friend, stood by her, she felt stronger with a friend as the Prophet walked in, she did not trust him and hated his words of war and insults. Then the miraculous Vugdush, with his grand fatherly air, walked in carrying a bloodied bundle with an arm for her captain.

Much pain later, the arm of the witch thoul was secured to Old Night's shoulder, they had to hack off the remainder of the limb in order to adjust it all in properly. How she hated the Dok and how she hated the Prophet but her heart was elsewhere, helping her captain to his tent with the rest of her kin. Healer with his presence was supportive and Vugdush was strong and stoic, she liked him very much. From there on, everything was better, perfect even. She had never had such a moment. Laughing and joyful, Old Night shared his whole self with all, hugging and kissing those around him, even the Prophet, but not Gwen. She felt a pinch at first but then he spoke those words that felt so wonderful to her ears as she urged him to rest. That night he offered her  to sleep in his tent, she deserved it for her devotion and he had recognized it. No words were spoken and she held him in her arms that night, sleeping peacefully together, dreams filled with lord knows what calibans dreams of, but Gwen was somewhere in heaven, holding her captain against her heart.



I beg Tomorrow to never come.

All rights reserved to Lohey from Deviant Art, modification done by Ric on photoshop

http://lohey.deviantart.com/art/Magic-of-Fire-36134403

[Nefensis]

The healer of heart

All through the next days, Gwen could not resist the temptation to smell her own arms and hair, as she traveled into the land with her friend Healer Kalan, she smelled of onion and it made her smile. Not that she particularly liked the scent of onion, but it felt good, in all honesty she was worried of bathing and it would go away like sun in the snow. But the temptation was too much and took a long dip in the southern forest lake. She was afraid one of the travelers would steal her things but none came. She would give a lot to find a warm bath but maybe that was too much to ask. She had decided to become stronger as she can so her "heart magic" like Healer called it, would become stronger. With that in mind, she trained hard that day.

She tried and explained to Healer how she felt about her Old Night but for someone with the gift of story telling, the words were just not right. Her friend was not sure of this feeling that she felt, he healed the bodies and she healed the hearts, that is how he described them, and Gwen would surely know better than he of things that flutters in the stomach. Putting those feelings aside, truly she felt a tad foolish to be losing appetite over it, they settled on a trips to train at attacking those wraith, fools of human that died incomplete. Another caliban helped enhancing her weapon, as she watched it, she would soon learn how to do it herself. It was learning through observation. Later a human with a strange accent followed them. "If he missbehave, we can always eat him on the way back!" warned Healer Kalan. It made Gwen laugh because neither of them would eat a human but it was amusing to feed into that idea. He was naive and asked many questions, which she answered. He spoke of freedom and she replied on a tone of fatalist "The only freedom we have is the one to choose the day of our death if it is by our hand, everything else we have, we fought  long and hard to obtain it. It is our prize, it is our victory." Her tone was sad but she grinned as she spoke, a victory was a good thing.

Later that night, once they had made their way home, Gwen was proud of her progress, watching the human do his own magic had been successful for her to learn a trick or two. Never again would her Old Night fear that they would come and kill him, not if he was surrounded by strong kin, as strong as him. She spoke to Kalan about it and he was sadden of the strife among the Dwellers, it made them weak but together, they were strong like the woven vines of a basket, like the arms of two lovers intertwined. Nothing would come between them for it was right and Gwen liked story that ended well. Life was good down below, topside the snow was gently covering Barovia of a white coat but here, in the nested heart of the sewers, it was warm, the eternal fire of the twisted ones, warmed the bodies and souls of the unwanted.





Come Tomorrow, i dare you.

[Nefensis]

Love hate relationship between two twisted mind.

Big bubbles broke the surface of the stew. Spice and meat aromas escaping the old cauldron which was licked by hungry flames below its blackened surface. It was a normal day down in the Drain, below the busy surface of the city of Grey. Calibans up and about doing their things, or not, simply laying about drinking and crawling in their own misery. Others hunting fervently the intruders that dared entered the sewers, their self declared realm. Our Singer had worked long and hard since the day she had joined the community, making herself stronger and more present among the others. She and Healer Kalan were often seen introducing the home to newcomers here below.

Stew to a boil and Gwen on guard, she pretended to busy herself with a hole in a sock, slowly mending the moldy piece of clothing, but an eye out for anyone that would try and sneak something unwanted into her stew. It was nearly a game now for the runts to try and do so while she was out. Often she would come back finding boots or more subtly, rusted nails. Once even she found a human hand severed at the wrist, a rustic joke after the incident with Old Night and the rat, but always she laughed and tossed the unwanted ingredient. Everything was quiet for a time when all of a sudden, a howling scream came from Crawler's hole.

YOU LUURRRBBBRIC LEFTOVER! and a disheveled head came out of the hole, shaking his fist. Gwen winced but said nothing, putting down her stitching. Obtaining no answer, Crawler popped his little body out of the hole and ran over to a few feet from the Dok, tossing an empty ration can at his head. DID YOU HEAR? DID YOU HEAR? MAGGOT OF A FOOL! Dok jumped up as he was hit and in one turn was on Crawler, yelling back in his face, spittle flying. WHAT YOU WANT?! WHAT YOU WANT?! and BAM! a swift slap from the clawed hand and Crawler was on his ass, stunned.

Shaking quickly his head, the greedy runt held his hands on his crooked ears. MAGGOT DOK! STITCH FLAPS OVER CRAWLER'S EARS! A wind of confusion blew (somehow, even Gwen felt it rush through) down in the room and Dok tilted his little head to the side. I did?! he asked on a curious tone but had to repeat louder as Crawler could officially hear naught. After a closer, and rather extreme inspection of the ears, Dok came to the conclusion that the ears were plugged with something. By then, Gwen was lost in watching them both play their part in this real life comedy.

From his scary tool.. i mean healing instruments box, Dok pulled out a somewhat corkscrew looking device, a mad grin on his face. LETS SEE IF THIS ONE WORKS! I NEVER HAD A CHANCE TO USE IT! he would have yelled close to Crawler's ear, had this one not ran away at the first sight of it and dove into his hole, feet sticking out. NO WAY NO WAY!  yelled Crawler in panic. Dok sighed and placed it away, There will be another time my sweety.. he whispered to it, leaving a kiss on its rusted surface. She had to say something, our Singer in all her attempt to humor spoke and regretted it right away. Maybe its a critter in there.. bait it out! Dok found the idea amusing and after retrieving Crawler (kicking and screaming) from his hole, he held squeaking mouse at the entrance of the ear. Cmere little one.. eat tha pinky! the poor rodent squirming and squeaking for its life, alas without much success, when Dok came to the conclusion that the mouse was a bad bait, he shoved the whole thing in his mouth like a girl and a candy would have done. Slurping the tail in while in deep thought. DOK HELP ME! I FIND NEW SHARP KNIFE FOR YOU! begged poor Crawler, tears running at his cheeks from those huge bug eyes of his, Gwen smiled weakly watching them.

After much thoughts and much failed attempts, Crawler was still deaf and Dok had used up most of his tricks.. save for one. WE'LL MELT IT! yelled Dok at the now sore ear of Crawler whom narrowed his eyes in warning. NO FIRE YOU ROTTEN LUMP! he yelled but Dok had already bolted toward the door to request the help of a big thug. Help Crawler we will! Yes.! Grinned Dok mischievously and quickly pointed to his friend, the boiling cauldron. Before Gwen could get in position to defend her stew, the thug had grabbed Crawler by the ankles and was now holding him head first in the meal! She was stunned and at lost for words, her jaw dropped as he still held the runty merchant, head under, arms flailing around helplessly. A minute passed and Dok gave the OK to bring him back up. Face red and yelling, Crawler emerged YOU FOOL YOU FOOL! hacking and cussing loudly between his wheezing and breathing. Dok laughed and laughed till he dropped to his arse, himself turning red. The thug dropped Crawler to the ground and went back to his doing, mumbling about chickens.

Furious and burnt, Crawler ran over and kicked Dok in the ribs. YOU WANT ME DEAD! YOU MOIST WORM! Dok stopped laughing and glares at his friend. Can you hear Crawler? Or do you want new ears? Me got.. he grinned again with that same glint of madness in his eyes. Crawler shook his head and went to kick him again but stopped, blinking his bug eyes in confusion. I hear! I hear! You good friend!. He ran over to his hole where he found a piece a junk to offer to his savior, a few hours of peace until another argument would break out between them. Leaving poor Gwen facing her desecrated stew, flavored with ear wax and lord knows what else was stuck in the ears of the greedy runt. She couldnt let this bring her down, bravely taking a sip of the bouillon, she was curiously surprised.. it was.. delicious!

From that day on, Gwen would not always keep such close guard on her stew, It was the Drain's special.



Tomorrow is just another day.

[Nefensis]

We are family

The Ratman had fallen, yes to the sword of a would be slayer of caliban. Was he in for the coins or for the glam, we know not to this day but here is what happened.  In her heart, Gwen felt wrong that night and went for a walk, unaware of the incident. Above it was dark and stars shined bright, a quick stop by the church to find a friend when she bounced into this man, flamboyant in style, sword in hand. She scolded him for running with a weapon out but he pushes his way through and she followed him. Scolding him even louder outside, it was night, it was their realm and their time to be. Already Gwen was to say another when a lady began questioning him about a body, in an oven of all places. Gwen felt this anger growing inside of her, she felt it was important that she knew that her hand closed itself around his throat, squeezing the life out of him. It was unlike her to feel this way, act this way. What had become of the cold watcher? She had melted in the vapor of the steam down below and she was reborn into the big sister all wishes they had when growing up. She shook the man in anger, asking over and over where the body was.. until Radu, the guard of the inn came toward them, distracted, the ruffian used his time to cut our Singer's arm and she dropped him. To his own bad luck as Radu turned and crushed his hammer on his helmet, tossing next to him the body of the Ratman, covered in soot but safe. Gwen lost all interest for the murderer, gathering the Ratman in her arms as a precious package.

She held him against her heart, making her way slowly toward the well, the sun was poking at the horizon and she needed to go back, quickly below where it was safe for them. Wait! yelled a gentle voice, Gwen could not wait, she nodded to the sewers when the woman in black followed her out of breath. It was safe there, tossing the Ratman over her shoulder as she went down, how she hated this rope but it guided her home safely. The woman in black was a witch, Gwen could see it. Calling out to the holy mother, Hala, the one that watched over them, she brought back the soul and spirit of the little man, innocent in his own way. Gwen could have cried but she laughed when the first words that came out of his mouth were Kill! Hate! so many emotions and not enough words to express them. He took her hand when he recognized her as the big sister, listening calmly to her soothing words. The witch of Hala scolded her on giving out the name of the mother but Gwen replied to her They will kill me for breathing, until then i will say her name and use every illusion of freedom that i can. the witch had to agree. Gwen used every freedom she had and would till the day she died, it was the truth.

When the news of the murder came to Old Night's ear, he was less than calm, calling out his crew, his clan, his family to the path of revenge and punishment. No one would injure anyone that would look up for Old Night for protection. Together they went out to the hunt, empowered by their number they could have easily overcome a little army outside.. but it was not a visit of war, but one of justice. For a laugh, the wanton murderer had already found another foe whom had terminated his life and burned his body to a crisp. She offered Ratman his skull as a souvenir and the revenge was done. The clan rejoiced and headed back to their home, it was a night to enjoy each other and so they did, witchroot smoking billowing inside the common room of the homely Drain. Vugdush reading his book as always, studying hard in hope to reach his dreams of powers, Healer Kalan, praying to Hala in meditation, wishing secretly to become stronger to help others, wishing secretly to be something he already is but does not see it. Ratman contemplating his new friend in awe, Gwen wrapped a blanket over him later when he fell asleep while conversing with it. Old Night and his third eye pryed wide, worshiping avidly the images that the holy mother brought to his mind. Gwen in the middle of it all, our Singer with her guitar and full of the sweet scented smoke, she played and played more the tattered guitar of her mother, her mind filled with music and images of colors. How twisted this family, this clan of wretched creatures, together strong as the woven arms of lovers.

All rights reserved to CelineMeisser from Deviant Art.

http://celinemeisser.deviantart.com/art/Monster-Family-52902105

[Nefensis]

Curse or Blessing



"But its not fair! " squeaked the black sheep as Gwendoline was telling her tale.

Our Singer had heard these words often before, by her mother who's life had been to hide, who's life had been turned upside down the day her father had dragged her back kicking and screaming to the chosen husband and had to submit. The older man she married, rich for a peasant of Zeidenburg, slowly going senile counting sheep day after day. Life had not been fair. Cursed she was to give birth to a frog looking girl, that skin that shimmered when wet, those eyes that watched in every direction. Cursed she was but she had not given up. Proud mother sliced the membrane between the fingers of her froggy and raised her as it should be. Cleaning and cooking, writing and counting, then came the music, oh the music.. Gwen will always remember.

Her father had carved out a sheep, hiding his girl under the heavy woolen coat if a city folk would come by. "Shsh shsh, its a game lill froggy, show me how well you baaa baaa.. " The old man with the sore features always smiled, deep blue eyes bubbling in youth, or senility, but he played always with his girl, him and his wife living this grand illusion of perfection. Soft voice, mermaid like, how she sooths the sheep during the storm, her music bringing tears to her parent's eyes.

"But its not fair!" squeaked again the interrupting black sheep. A curse is a curse. She was adamant on the subject, Gwendoline was older by more than just years but maturity had settled in another manner, she was strong and open, not closed and afraid such as the black sheep, always back against the wall and fearing for potential danger. Gwendoline had made herself strong in body and mind, yet she could not convince the girl that her own curse was a blessing. The path the less walked, often leads to the greatest ending, every story reminded the bard of that. How does the knight finds his princess if not through the wall of thorns? Not fair? Not was not, but lack of choice forced her to make the best out of it.

Above or below? Both heaven and hells in the eyes of the other, there was no way to decide which was for the best. Gwen arranged her hair cutely and smiled, striking a pose of lust for the listeners. "Without me, he would sleep alone again tonight" she devised in the end, big and tall had a totally different meaning when your skin was yellowish green and smooth like snake skin, and finding a likable bedmate was the kind of miracle that never happened twice. Not fair? No, she disagreed and many more stories would come from that statement.

Tomorrow is another page to the book of life.

All rights of this picture belongs to iskallvinter from DeviantArt. Ric made the modification for me on photoshop.

http://iskallvinter.deviantart.com/art/Hideout-37146204

[Nefensis]

Rivers of piss and shit, the other river of life.

In all fairness, our Singer had taken to risky pleasures. Venturing outside longer and during the hours of the bright sun. Guards were rare these days, so she had seen even if out of clumsiness she had ran into one who demanded her hood. A tad overkill for a seven foot tall woman with melons of the size of the head of a halfling, oh you may laugh but she was rather proud of it. Dancing with her words she waited for him to be distracted before she could run away. She had found it rather funny, dangerous and exciting. Such pleasure were, as earlier mentioned, dangerous.

Her nest was growing, there below the city of Grey, many of those outcasts, the softer and kinder ones. Those that had been quieter through her time spent there, they were slowly emerging from the hole where they had hidden till now. No woman will be hurt here! warned the Singer, dangerous was the axe she carried and she let it known she was not afraid to use it to defend her nest. Together they sat, gathered around the ever burning campfire, singing to the sound of her music. Laughters! In the Drain, life was not as dark and greasy as we had been left to believe at first. Sweet perfume of smoking pipes and roasted meat stroking nostrils of the curious ones.

The crew of the Old Night made jealous among the other crews, the bag of loot they would bring to the boss was always filled. Enough gold to dig two hands in it, gems and alcohol, lot of it. It was always welcome. The soft spoken girl with a temper had contacts above, so said the rumors that ran about her. Dirty tongues would murmur in jealous tones but she didn't pay much attention to those. Music reached the ears of many, she was no fool to believe the world would change, they still lived between rivers of piss and shit, yet.. life went on. She was still the girl she was when she first arrived, if not a bit more confident. She had lost the status of cold watcher, she was part of the story, now it was her story. Gwendoline Singer, lover of the wretch, healer of broken hearts, confident of grumpy elves and mother to lost boys and girls of this world. A story that should definitely be told someday.


Tomorrow.. what of it?

All rights to Marutanielle from Deviant Art

http://marutanielle.deviantart.com/art/Sewer-02-72026971

[ThAnswr]

//What a beautiful photo of the woman in the woods playing the flute.  Absolutely beautiful, haunting, and evocative.   

[Nefensis]

All rights of this picture belongs to iskallvinter from DeviantArt. Ric made the modification for me on photoshop.

http://iskallvinter.deviantart.com/art/Hideout-37146204

[Nefensis]

Heart of a monster

When darkness swallows the land, Old Night takes control of it all. Lurking is an understatement under the moonlight. Everything lurks, the knight in shinny armor becomes a spot of ink on the canvas by the warm and safe fire camp. Menacing flickers of the flames extends the shadows of all that have gathered for the night: strength in numbers. Behind them is Old Night and it's army of shadows, of monsters. The hidden secret, the veiled truth, calibans are the lurkers, the evil at the end of the accusing finger. Cries in the streets of Vallaki, a child has gone missing from his crib. Maddening are the yells of the mother, but what of the truth?

A father hidden by a cloak of night, a squirming bundle in his hands. Sweat and birthing fluids, blood, piss and shit, the scent of the trail is to die for. Already has the entity that is night, picked up the scent of the two lives. Quickly, madly, the man shoves aside a grate that covers the sewer. Down there, abandon all hopes. Down he goes, handling carelessly the precious bundle in his hands. His mind racing as he disappear into the gaping hole in the street. There he finds pipes from where rises steam from unknown provenance keeps the area moist and warmly comfortable. There he lays the child, bundle of bloodied fabric. A claw for a little fist rise from it and deformed fingers extend to his father in hope for love but the man has already ran away, back to the topside trying to ignore and forget what he had done.

Silence swallows the sewers once more save for the hiccups of an abandoned child, quickly turning to screams and cries of a lost child, orphan of situation. Echoes in the stone halls, the robes of Death can be felt floating above heads. Squeak Squeak The swarm are gathering, they hear, they smell, they hunger. The bluish flesh of the child and the cursed blood are a song to their nose, but fear not little child, you are home. Yellow eyes glows and closes in, followed by an inhumanly large figure, arms hanging to it's knees and claws for hands. Nostrils flares, ears twitches, a grin grows on the lips of the creature. With a gentleness unheard of, the child is scooped up in immense arms and soothed by the voice. Soon all is quiet again, the sewer flows it's river of trash and above a mother cries, a father drinks. Guards curses the Old Night for taking away a life.

[Nefensis]

Come, it's safe here

So much anger, so much pain. Suffering and tears, that is our lot. Here below where all the pipes meet, where all the filth drains and gather. But even yet.. the music never ends. Not since the Singer had made her home of this hole, not even in the past few days as all speaks in loud tone of the Bitch, the one above that would take upon herself to snatch away members of their family, for the greater good of Vallaki's best. A beating here, a lashing there, torture and execution. The girl's hands might have been pink and fair but now they were bathed in blood, there is no redemption for such behavior. Not even in His name.

Loving had led to hating, discovery of these new feelings, our Singer was further maturing as winter made space to spring, when she surprised herself with the plan, the dream she had, to make the Bitch pay for her transgression. How she hated, yes she hated. A monster inside a wrap of fair skin, god's gift to the calibans, all that needed be was a bit of assembly and she would soon be like them, let's see how she would escape the hate that is, from her peer, from those she sought to protect. How amusing it will be, to see her victims see her as free game.. but fear now, Bitch, you will be loved. A sister Singer, a lover to another, perhaps a runt will take pity on you.

There was no more shame in thinking such, Gwendoline of the sheep was long gone, innocence marked her features but she knew now, she had learned the ways of the world, of their life. She was caliban, she was a monster to some and in such, it was free game to act as expected. In her loving heart she had, more than enough space, but a few only found place in it. She would help the random outlander out of the sewer when she found them quivering under a pile of rats and neuri, but no further. She had learned her place, beside her kin, together with those as wretched as her. How she loved them. Soon, soon a new family member, one deserving of his curse, chosen by his peers. She had patience.

[Nefensis]

The undoing of a mind



Ladu! Land! Count! they yelled and repeated, the mantra they had imagined to fill Gavril's sick mind. The 'ban had drugged him with mushrooms that would make him see things beyond the realm of reality. The back room swirled with smoke and the heat was intense, a hellish make-up had been applied to the backroom. It had been like a festival to dress up the room so Gavril would believe hell had swallowed him up whole, everyone chipped in. Gwendoline was sad at first Me! A demon?! she whined and complained but her captain was enjoying the festivities so much she didn't have the heart to refuse him. So she joined in, finally an occasion to wear that pretty red dress Kalan had found for her, she had kept it for years, stitching carefully the tiny rips in the soft fabric and mended it till it would suit her large body, she was so glad.

As Carrib danced and yelled his mantra, she would sing and dance too, slowly giving into the role, it was like acting! She thought, remembering the books she had read about theater and plays. Kalan would stand starring at the man while Carrib's imp would tease him mercilessly, all manners of runts and brute would come taunt him, one even pissed on him, Gavril was so thirsty he could have nearly drank it but Gwen came again with the mushroom laced brew for him, watery stew she kept for him. And he ate and ate so hungrily, he could have nearly been one of them in this dark room of sorrow. He whined and rose his eyes to the demoness with the spoon, cursing her womb, angrily asking for more that she refused to give him. Soon he was delirious again, crying and screaming all while hell kept on blazing around him. Heat and dehydration, his whole body were sores and gashes where he had been hit, fire often hitting him when Carrib wanted his attention.

Some more educated kin came as well, having scientific conversation above the poor hallucinating man, alien probes could have as well been inserted in his rectum, the scene could have not been any stranger. Speaking of which, Gwen wondered longly if someone had snucked in to have their dirty way with the guard but she quickly dismissed the perverted thought. Once the session were over they would leave him and pass to their own living quarters, but a few feet away from where his cage was, separated by a stone wall. It was like heaven and hells here below in the sewers. Gwen would giggle and dance around the tents, she had been reticent at first to injure the man but she grew to find it amusing, too in those times she could spy Carrib in his nudity for that is how he would appear to the guard, guardian of hell, shaman of Ladul, it made her incredibly quiet, filling her with the thoughts a young woman would have. Truely the scene could not have been any stranger.  Screaming pained man, smoke and brazier, blood and bones, naked caliban dancing and her, the flower of the drain.

Oh and he was mad, they had made it happen, because they could. It was expected.

[Nefensis]

Only the first step that counts

No longer did music and songs echoed from the sewer, nostalgic melody, laughter and the mouth watering scent of cooking meat were now silence and darkness. The fire died and the coals are cold. Replacing it all, the family of freaks, the familiar drip of water on stone and scavenging beasts.  Once a traveler, always a traveler, our Gwendoline Singer, with her books and tattered guitar, gone she was. With the wind, with lightning and rain. For a time she had known love and friendship, akin to a childhood memory. A lust she would never forget, her captain in her heart would always be so beautiful and kind.

She took the road again, guitar to her back, robes cleansed by the sky's tears, it washed her own too. She had a home for a time, she had been a mother, a lover, a sister and would be again someday. A place far away, or perhaps closer, where Healer Kalan could grow his plants and her bake cookies. Life is all she's got and none could take it away from her.

She took the road again, head full of stories and songs, enough to entertain her future friends and children, she would find more of them, in need of a mother, as ugly as her, or perhaps as lonely. The road will never let you down, it will never end, unlike everything else. So many dear memories she would keep of this age, where a freak could believe he was king.

She took the road again, but first she stopped and looked behind her shoulder, to the sun fading away behind the city of grey and she thought to herself...

...Maybe I'll leave tomorrow...

[Nefensis]

*bump for safeguard*