Gellwyn Finnisdottr's page

A: Good question. Most likely the pragmatic response of leaving posthaste, unless she thought she stood a serious chance of successfully defending herself. Circumstance might provide a more suitable response, but there's lots of things that could affect that. Of course, she'd probably make a point of not getting into that situation, but life does throw a curveball now and then, no? I'll have to try to have some contingency plans ready for that one.

A: Gellwyn has known chores and work all her life. She's likely to have taken on whatever simple employment she can find in whatever town she's allowed. As for what brings her to Heldren? Well, it's bound to be a bigger town than her little hamlet home, and since nobody there is likely to know her, she has a chance to start fresh, find a living for herself, and be hopefully less scrutinized as she communes with her fox and grows in her witchcraft. Anonymity is less of a challenge when you a smaller part of a larger group, no? Also, there's the idea of finding her mother. She doesn't know quite who or what she is, but she's not looking for a heartwarming family reunion, if you catch my drift.

A: Another good question. I was writing on the flow of the moment at the time, but it is possible that something else intervened. Though with the fox's intelligence (assumed, due to it's mystical nature, most likely) it probably had the cunning to outwit the hunter and score a pretty nasty hit or two. Much as I enjoy wordplay and creative writing, I'm no pro, and I can't claim to have every hole properly covered, heh. Maybe that's a mystery that Gellwyn simply didn't bother to investigate at the time? Free plot hooks! Get yer free plot hooks right here!

frostborn: +4 saves vs cold environments, +1 saves vs cold effects.

strong swimmer: +2 to swim checks, +2 rounds to hold breath

You want to hear MY story? I don't really think you do. There's no romance, no heroics or glory, no faith, and certainly no lost happiness. I never had any to begin with. But, if you insist, you forfeit all rights to judge me, and all the bliss of ignorance.

I was found on my father's doorstep as a baby, with barely a scrap of clothing on me. The man brought me in, sheltered me, fed and cared for me, but never seemed interested in who I was or what I was really like. I was really just a wench to him. By the time I was old enough to lift a woodcutter's axe, I was chopping firewood. Once I could make my way to the village and back, I was buying the food from the market. The chores were mine to do. The rewards were his. He worked, sure enough, chopping trees or hauling fishnets, or whatever he could do at the time. What he earned, however, was mostly on his breath by the time he came home. What he handed me he expected to be spent on food. Thankfully, counting was not his strong suit. A coin or two here and there found hiding places all over the cottage over time. Sadly, as he left the cottage to disrepair over the years, light streamed in through the holes in the roof and walls revealing more of my stashes as time wore on. The cold I got used to; but the beatings whenever he found my hidden wealth...those I could only endure. I learned to hate him quickly.

Sadly, whenever I tried to use my coin for anything in town, I would meet with another unfortunate part of my birth: my eyes. Plain for all to see, my damnably mismatched eyes always drew the predations of the boys and the disdain and ire of the girls. Many a village trip ended with bruises, a muddy face, pulled hair, and possibly a lukewarm sweet roll covered in dirt. And those were the good days.

Father was also a bad teacher. Every time he intended me to learn a new chore, he would simply show me what was involved, put a tool in my hands, and expect it done. He was always surprised when I succeeded at my tasks. He tried to teach me how to swim the only way he could be bothered to: by throwing me into the water when I was six. I think he was more annoyed that I learned so quickly and took well to the water. I could see his veiled disgust at my adaptation.

Unfortunately for me, my father was terrible with women. He would rant and rave about the local maidens always rejecting him and pushing him away, even when he was sober. Since he wasn't a youthful man anymore, he lacked the charms he claimed to have in his younger days. Served him right. However, by the time I could start to grasp the true meaning of his frustration, I was starting to come of age. You know where this is going, don't you? It doesn't get any prettier; now's your chance to walk away.

Suffice it to say, the man who called himself my father gradually became my jailer. Without many paths away from the cottage save those that led to the village, I had little hope of simply running away. No one in the village would shelter or hide me, and I dared not face what lie beyond. I could find solace hiding in the trees at times, but he'd always find me and drag me home. I'm still trying to forget what he would do to me at night.

I found a new interest in the woods one day when I encountered a white fox scouting the snow for food. I almost didn't see him until he was right next to me. Neither of us jumped or ran; he returned my curious gaze without flinching or baring his teeth. He only darted away when a cracking branch betrayed father's presence. I came to understand that this fox was no ordinary creature; when he actually spoke to my mind, I knew I had found something extraordinary. He saw a strength in me that he admired; I saw in him the freedom to go where I pleased. Once father found out that I had actually befriended the vulpine, he not only tried to fell it with arrows, but he tried to teach me his last lesson: how to drown.

His hands were always far stronger than mine, and as he held me under the rushing water, my hands could not break his grip. My feet could not find purchase. The pressure on my lungs increased; I could feel my breath starting to slip, but I held it. For far longer than I dared imagine, for what seemed like a true eternity, I protected the air in my chest with all the will I could muster. He only released me when the fox leapt to his back, biting and clawing at his neck and drawing blood. Though blurry through the rushing river, I knew it was him. I heard his mind then, warning me: 'Down, below the surface. stay hidden. you will find air. do not come up.' As I let myself sink, I saw it: a grotto, hidden beneath the river all this time. With no light, I saw only the shapes with no color at all. It was the first time I had seen the world without light. How a lightless, waterless cave had formed beneath the small river, I didn't know. But as I crawled into the rocky alcove and curled up to sleep in complete darkness, I felt safe for the first time in my life.

Hours passed. Perhaps days. Hunger, however, is not so easily escaped. As I dove back into the water, I could only dread what awaited me. I found a surprise, however, when I reached the surface and spied a trail of blood leading through the woods. At its end was not the fox, as I had feared, but my father, grasping his dripping neck. He was pale and exhausted. He had foolishly been trying to avenge himself by chasing the fox, and paid in blood. I stopped to pick up the hunting knife that he had recently dropped nearby, and returned his glare of open contempt with my own. As I raised the blade, the voice returned. 'No! No weapon of man. Use your own. then he will not be slain by a child, but by the claws of a beast that no one can prove exists. You will be free.' He referred to the hardened nails that I had felt growing and sharpening over the years. I had never seen them as weapons, but gazing at my hand now, I realized what a gift they were. I knelt on the bleeding fool's chest, grabbed his limp hand away from his throat, put my own fingers around it, and pulled.

What happened next? It should be obvious. Blood washes off easily enough when you can hold your breath for several minutes at a time, and the river led to perfect paths of escape under the village. The fox came with me, and we've been inseperable ever since. He's taught me more than my father ever did. Now, I go where I please, keep what I earn, and suffer no indignity from any man. Now, if I can only find my mother...

...I hope she's just like father.