Within the swirling Mist (IC) > Biographies

Ugly girl - Gwendoline Singer

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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.


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.

--- Quote ---All rights reserved to HarryBuddhaPalm from Deviant art

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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.

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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All rights reserved to Lucid-lui from Deviant Art


And to masterCylinder from Deviant art

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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.

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

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