General Traits
Full Name: Gwenavyre Rosalie Daleoù
Age: Unknown(17 Calendar Years)
Gender: Female
Class & Species: Rogue, Shadar-kai
Alignment: Herself. (Chaotic, Neutral)
Faith: The Shadow(Maman)
Ex-Faith: Ghillanen and Seldarine
Motivation
Understanding above all else.
Bonds
Seeping Shadows. Everywhere Gwenavyre steps, everywhere she lingers, her shadow seems to reach further than light should allow and often appears in double. She speaks in twisted tongue seemingly to herself, though anyone who has dared to ask too many questions knows, the shadows speak back.
Rozen Daleoù. Gwenavyre's Maman long since assumed dead from wounds sustained during the massacre of the Dales.
Rowan Daleoù. Gwenavyre's Papa, long since assumed dead or missing due to the massacre of the Dales.
Berjac Delienn. Gwenavyre's uncle, often referred to as Uncle Berjie, is long since assumed dead or missing due to the massacre of the Dales.
Appearance
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 9st 5lb (60kg)
Eyes: Forest Green bathed in inky black
Skin: Ashen Grey
Hair: Rich and shadowy Mahogany with golden blonde strands.
Personality
Disinterested for Free. Unless there is a fee attached that leans in her favour, Gwenavyre shows little to no interest in things outside herself.
On the hunt for information. Gwena will probably never tell, but she has her sights set on greater prizes than mere silver or baubles. She wants to find the monster that slayed her mother. This has led to her being the type to listen in on most details and while she's not the quickest to put information together, she is the best at telling fibs that loosen weak tongues.
I can stop whenever I want! Gwenavyre is a hopeless gambler, often risking her daily meal just to see if she can double it. While she's an above average liar and her speed with card tricks is unmatched, her luck leaves her running with empty pockets more often than not.
Ideals
All that glitters. Some day Gwenavyre will be allowed to handle gold, some day she'll stand amongst the nobles as their equal. Money does buy happiness after all.
What you can't afford? You steal. Lies and theft keep the world turning, anyone who says otherwise, is living boldly in naivety.
Flaws
What's another bet? Never one to turn down a chance for coin, Gwena can't help but gamble away any savings she might have, if this means risking a fight? So be it.
Who am I to care? Gwenavyre has found little joy in interacting with those around her, often being turned away by her own kind for her differing appearance or by the Dragonborn for being a "lesser" being. This has led her to be mostly indifferent when others are endangered, unless they offer enough coin to care.
What's yours is mine, what's mine, is also mine. It does not matter how precious that trinket is to you, what matters is what price it will fetch or how many rounds it'll buy at the card table. She feeds her addiction via trickery and theft, often gambling possessions she came by through, less than legal means.
Biography
The smoke came before the screams. It marched throughout the village forcing its way into homes and lungs alike. Then came the crackling of flames and the cries of friends, family, neighbours, as the dragon's breath sought to consume all. I could feel my hand slipping from my mothers as I stumbled along in her tracks.
“Gwen baby, keep the blanket over your mouth and your eyes on me…” Maman’s voice clambered above the onslaught of sounds striking at my ear drums. I couldn’t help but recall earlier that day.
“Gwen baby, stop covering your face with that blanket, you’ll get it mucky…” Maman quickly dabs at my cheeks with the damp cloth she’s been using to wash the dishes. I can’t help but giggle in glee as I squirmed against her, I love the way she plays along and tickles my tummy to get me to stay still.
“Maman, I’m not mucky, I’m a sugar fairy!” She feigns shock and begins looking me over, her hands tickling at my sides and running through my hair before gently booping my nose.
“Well my little sugar fairy, why don’t you wash your own face and then go find Papa. Uncle Berjac returns this evening with the others and he needs to go hunting for our meal.” I always love when Uncle Berjie comes home, he brings trinkets and coins with strange creatures on them.
I dive my face into the soapy dish water and squeal in discomfort at the sting in my eyes. I do my best to wipe at my eyes with my blanket, Maman will look at me with her told you so eyes if I let her know it hurts.
Damp tendrils of hair stick to my forehead and the sting grows more intense. The smoke is clouding my vision and my legs can’t keep up. Maman stops suddenly and I bump into her back, I’m so glad my legs have a moment to rest.
I tug at her hand, I need her to look at me, I want her to carry me. Something warm starts to trickle down my arm, it feels like it’s coming from Maman’s hand. It feels like warm treacle and for a moment I think she’s got a treat for me.
Her hand squeezes mine all too tight… and then not at all.
She falls to her knees and before us I see a towering monster. Flesh covered in scales, eyes the colour of burning embers, a mouth filled with razors. I choke on tears, they sear into my eyes and I can’t breathe. It’s holding a sword, it looks like the ones I’ve seen Uncle Berjie practicing with, he promised to teach me too.
The monster swings it down towards me and I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. I scream for Maman, Papa, anyone…
Everything falls silent, the air becomes still, the heat dissipates. I peak one eye open, then the other. I see, shadows? They’re dancing around me and Maman, the monster is nowhere to be seen. Maman has her head down, her face covered by her hair and soot. I move to her as quickly as my little legs can carry me, I run my fingers through her hair in much the same way she does when I have nightmares.
“It’s okay, the monster is gone, the fire, we’re safe!” I pull strands free from her sticky face and she looks up at me but, I thought Maman’s eyes were green? They’re blue, more bright than any shiny gems Uncle Berjie had brought, brighter than any leaves or flowers Papa put in my hair…
“Maman, I’m scared…” I tug at her arms, I want to hide in them, I want to feel her hold me, they move stiffly. Her dress isn’t white anymore, it’s almost completely red. That warm sticky liquid like treacle has covered her, it looks like when I grazed my knees.
I know what’ll help, I quickly smush my face against her tummy, I plant little kisses all over, this always helps me feel better. My face is even more sticky now and it smells more like salt and metal than sugar.
My face crumples and I feel my legs give out from beneath me as Maman begins to stroke my hair. Sobs quake through me and snot bubbles in my nostrils.
“Gwenavyre, baby, you’ll be safe here, you just have to wait a while. I have to leave to find something but I’ll be back soon…” My blood runs cold but I don’t dare let go of her dress as I grip the fabric as tightly as my tiny hands are able. Her voice is her own and yet it isn’t. She never uses my full name unless it’s really serious.
There’s something else, something dark, inviting, like a candy I’m not supposed to take. Why must Maman leave? I can’t be alone, I’m too small, I don’t want to be a big girl, I don’t want to learn to use a sword anymore, I just want to stay here in her arms. “Grow big and strong for me, you’ll do great things.”
The fabric in my hands feels heavier in my fingers, it’s hanging limply in my tiny hands, still soaked and filthy, but empty. I’m alone.
The shadows feel as though they move closer as my tears continue to flow. It feels like they’re holding me, caressing me, protecting me. Of course Maman didn’t leave me alone, she’s still here, this is just a new way of giving me hugs.
I’ll do as she says, I’ll wait, I’ll sit and I’ll grow and once I’m big enough. I’ll help her punish the monsters.