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 Posted: Thu May 17, 2012 1:43 am
Nimue Dolan “Siobhán,” she called softly into the darkness. Nimue held the bowl of warm honeyed milk in her hands as she stood in front of her house. All around her, the sounds of the wild called out but Siobhán was nowhere to be seen. Frowning, Nimue set down the bowl, whispering as she did, “Accept this offering, old ones, and harm not this house.”
She had not been back to her family’s house for a long time, not since she had first decided to go to Oldcastle. She had found Siobhán there, had been drawn to the Ward Tree where she had found a small deer carved out of stone that had eventually grown into the large buck that had followed her back home. “Siobhán!”
Hitching up her skirts, Nimue leaped down from the raised step that led to the door and onto the solid ground. She sent up a spray of leaves that had fallen, but otherwise, not a thing was disturbed. Skirts clutched high in her hands, Nimue set off in the directions of the sparsely forested area that edged Bridgeton. A voice, her father’s, warned her against going into the woods. In her head of course, but all the same, she heard his voice as if he were calling her back to the house. ‘Headstrong girl!’
“Siobhán, where are you?” He was close, she knew that much. She just knew, in the low tugging at her gut that was pulling her forward as she leapt over rocks and logs that were illuminated by the moonlight. If anyone, even a stablehand, were to see her, her father would hear of it and she would have to sit through another lecture on how to be ladylike and how she would die an old spinster because no one would marry a girl who jumped and ran and yelled. Well, she would rather die than get married. She would rather jump off a cliff into the cold, unforgiving sea far away than let anyone near her in that was. Bitterly, Nimue shook her head free of this thoughts, her mouth now firmly set in a frown. She would never marry anyone from the town that killed her mother. She would never marry at all, her father’s hopes and dreams be damned.
Bursting through a thin line of trees, Nimue slowed to a stop in the clearing. The moonlight was so very bright and in the center of the clearing, illuminated in the cold, white light, was Siobhán. “Siobhán.”
The buck raised his head and looked directly at her. Nimue came forward to rest a gentle hand against his soft nose. He nuzzled softly in her hand and, suddenly, she swelled with warmth, something fierce, but gentle, all at the same time. Nimue could not help but smile. “Where have you been, beautiful one?”
Pressing her head to his and closing her eyes, images came to Nimue as if from a particularly vivid dream.
A small clear stream ran across the ground, twisting around large rocks and pushing forcibly past fallen branches. A large tree reached its roots into the stream, drinking up the water, but in its thirst, the tree had begun to lean over dangerously. The wind blew and the leaves, all around, rustled in clamoring unison, their small voices rising. Moving forward to the stream, the dried leaves underfoot crunched in turn, each step sending up a symphony of sound. Down, closer to the water, a sip, the rush, cool and invigorating, time to run!
All of a sudden, the trees were rushing past and the ground soared underfoot. Run! The wind whistled and though the trees called out sweetly, groaning softly as they bent in the wind, there was no time to stop. Until there, a low calling, the insistent tug low, low, that meant stop and come.
Blinking rapidly, Nimue lifted her head back slightly to look into Siobhán’s eyes. Running her hands firmly down the sides of his neck, Nimue admonished the buck softly, “You should have taken me with you.”
Siobhán huffed a warm breath across her face and Nimue felt a concession and an indignant refusal. Sighing, Nimue pressed her lips tightly together, suppressing the smile. It was useless to try and hide something from someone, somebuck, who could feel what you were trying to hide. Burying her head into Siobhán’s neck, Nimue let out a gusty breath. Possessive, she clutched him tightly and the strong, patient, savage, gentle creature in her arms let her. Finally, she released him to a gust of wind that billowed up her skirts. A shiver ran through her body. She should get back. She wasn’t frail, but Nimue hadn’t dressed to be outside for long at night. Moving to his side, a slight hop and graceful swing of her leg later, and Nimue was settled onto Siobhán’s back.
Without prompting, Siobhán started to walk back towards Nimue’s house, not theirs because as much as Nimue wanted him to be, he was not welcome. He leaped easily over logs, landing lightly on his hooves as if he were carrying no load at all. Looking up at the moon, Nimue was taken back to that feeling, the need to run. Leaning forward to wrap her arms around Siobhán’s neck, Nimue pressed the feeling back to its originator and with a burst of speed, Siobhan ran. They ran, sailing over the ground, flying, until they broke free of the trees and all too soon, they were back.
Siobhán brought her up to the front step where she dismounted. The buck immediately bent his head reaching for the bowl of honeyed milk. A firm rebuke in the form of a resounding, shared “No” from Nimue stopped him.
“That’s not for you, Siobhán.” The buck turned his large eyes on her, sending a plea through their bond. A fond sigh escaped Nimue’s lips. “Fine. Fine. Wait here.”
Disappearing into her house, Nimue grabbed a bowl and quickly warmed some milk over the smoldering embers that remained in the kitchen. While it was warming, she grabbed a coat and pulled it on. Ladling the warm milk into the bowl she mixed in a spoonful of honey, stirring until all the honey was dissolved into the milk. She brought out the bowl of warm milk and set it down in front of Siobhán. “There you go.”
She gently stroked a hand down his back as he lapped at the milk. Warm gratitude flowed between their bond and when Nimue looked up at the moon, she didn’t feel the need to run.
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Posted: Thu May 17, 2012 1:44 am
the bitter child ;; simple facts name ;; Nimue Dolan
guardian ;; Siobhán
age ;; 18/19
birthday ;; Winter Solstice
place of birth ;; Bridgeton
place of residence ;; Bridgeton and Oldcastle
father ;; Alastar Dolan
mother ;; Blodwen Dolan deceased
sister ;; Áine Dolan younger
height ;; Tall for the times...
build ;; Wiry and fit, but not the most physically strong in terms of combat strength
skin colour ;; Pale
hair colour ;; Dark
eye colour ;; Blue
Human, but with fae-like features, she's mostly conventionally beautiful (marriageable her father says), but there's a sharpness to her features, especially her eyes. Beautiful enough to tempt some men, but not beautiful enough to overcome her less than desirable personality. She's pale as many Sunderlandians are, but tends to be flushed because she spends a lot of her time outside pursuing faeries and finding peace in Siobhán, has very dark hair, not quite black and definitely brown in the sunlight, and medium blue eyes. She's physically fit, but isn't particularly strong, so she can come off frail.
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Posted: Fri May 18, 2012 2:51 am
memories of this ;; history and personality history ;; Alastar and Blodwen, the odd love story between the second son of a prominent tradesman and the daughter of a spiritualistic herbswoman who served as a midwife. The Dolan family firmly believed in moving forward, technology, science, which was, in itself, very much in line with the feelings of Bridgton as a whole. The Bowen family, on the other hand, was considered backwards by the quickly moving city. They were a family of herbal healers who followed the Old Ways strictly with mistletoe, silver bells, and rowan charms over their windows and small jars with blood offerings and bowls of milk on the back step. These two families were as different as day and night but the love between Alastar and Blodwen kept them together. Alastar’s love for Blodwen made him love her family’s traditions and when they had their first child together, he agreed to let her name it. The night of the winter solstice when they were outside celebrating with Blodwen’s family, Blodwen went into labor and when a small little girl was born, Blodwen named her Nimue, a strange, tragic name of equal greatness and viciousness.
Nimue grew up learning the Old Ways from her mother, growing as much outside the house with the trees and flowers as she did inside with her parents. Alastar happily indulged his two favorite people in what he believed were whimsical past times and said nothing even though he himself didn’t believe in the Old Ways. Nimue grew up dancing to the song of the trees and the singing of the wind. Alastar, though lenient about the little traditions that led Blodwen and Nimue to set out milk every night as an offering to the fae, was worried about his daughter who was not like other girls her age. Too quiet at times and at others too loud, Nimue would rather run through the woods and sing than sit quietly and do her embroidery. That wasn’t to say that she couldn’t apply herself to more feminine pursuits, but she would much rather do so outside and with the promise of bonfires at night and extra sweets to set out. Nimue didn’t much like to spend times with other and rarely spoke outside of the family home, but Alastar tried not to worry too much. She would be fine.
But as much as Nimue was shaped by her loving childhood, she was also shape by the ugliness of Bridgeton. Her father might have been accepting of the Old Ways despite his lack of belief, but the rest of the town did not. No, they were much more focused on innovation and the Bowen family was deemed strange. If not for the fact that all members of the family were great healers, they would have been completely ostracized. Blodwen tried to shield her daughter from the worst of the town’s behavior, but Nimue was of sharp mind and saw how her family was treated. Despite this, she could never imagine giving up her beliefs and stolidly continued to learn the Old Ways from her mother as well as the use of herbs. Nimue became more difficult to handle as she became bitterer about the actions of the townspeople and began to have more confrontations with her peers. When she was eight, her mother had a second child, another little girl, but this time, her father named the child. Little Áine. Nimue loved her little sister so, but Alastar took charge of the rearing of his younger daughter more than he ever had with Nimue and thus Áine grew up with only a passing understanding and belief in the old ways. Despite this, the two sisters were close and Áine was the most important person to Nimue other than their mother.
Nimue’s life changed when she was fourteen. When she was fourteen, her mother failed to deliver a baby safely; both mother and child died. When she was fourteen, the family blamed her mother for the deaths, slandering her and screaming, blaming the Old Ways, tearing her apart. No one would speak to Blodwen or anyone from the Bowen family for that matter. They were no longer welcome in Brighton. Something must be wrong with the family. When she was fourteen she watched her mother waste away in sorrow and shame, for failing the mother and her child, for causing her family to be ostracized from society, and for creating a fissure between Alastar and his family. It was also when she was fourteen that she was forced to stand by as the sons of the mother who had died beat sweet little Áine in retribution. Áine never spoke again, but instead of being sad, Nimue was only angry. She vowed never to be so helpless again. That was the final act for Blodwen though. Seeing the damage that her mistake had caused, Blodwen was heartbroken and she never recovered, eventually dying. That night, Nimue could have sworn that she heard the faeries take her mother’s breath away.
Without his wife, Alastar became colder and he repaired his relationship with his family. Though he loved his children and loved Nimue, he also didn’t see any future for her should she continue to act the way she did so he commanded her to stop her heathen traditions and learn to act like a proper lady. That, in Nimue’s eyes, was the ultimate betrayal and from that moment on, though Nimue would always love her father, she would never like him again. The Dolan house went dark, Alastar soaked in the sorrows of his loss, Nimue in her anger, and Áine in her fear.
personality ;; Nimue is as likely to give you willow bark’s tea as she is to dose you with nightshade. Strange and fierce, yet also compassionate in some situations, Nimue is not hard on the outside, soft on the inside, merely equal parts kind and cruel and cynical to the core. She is extremely bitter about technology and believes that blind acceptance of the wonders of technology and Bridgeton killed her mother. Although she is fond of young children, she isn’t soft with them, believing it better that they be given the truth than be coddled and blinded by soft cotton. As amoral as the fae, Nimue has a different concept of right and wrong than most people and is endlessly loyal to those she considers “hers”. Extremely distrustful, Nimue is solitary and quiet, preferring to speak less and act more. On that vein, she is also impulsive at times. She doesn’t seek social acceptance, having always been slightly distanced from the rest of society for her strangeness despite her father's family's good standing within the community, though she would be happier in an area that accepted the Old Ways. Despite this, she still wants to please her father even though he is no longer someone she truly respects because her mother would want her father happy. Perhaps ill-equipped emotionally to deal with life, Nimue feels everything too keenly. Her biggest flaw is likely her inability to admit failures and weaknesses within herself because she is too focused on being impenetrable and strong to be able to really assess her strengths and weakness. She would also never be able to admit to herself that she is lonely or scared. Nimue’s automatic defense mechanism is to become angry and withdrawn, frigidly hostile and she has no good coping methods to deal with emotions. Instead, she seethes and stews in them, unable to let anything go. She is potentially vicious and though she has never been in a situation that warranted her to behave in way that couldn't be passed off as "willfully obstinate", "too forward and contrary to fulfill the demands of propriety" or even "strange and intimidating", something brews beneath the surface that should not be unleashed, something truly dark and savage.
choosing ;; Nimue had lived in Bridgeton her entire life, but since her mother’s death, it had never felt like home. Her mother had always told her the stories of chosen and guardians and so, on her 17th birthday, the night of the winter solstice, she carefully hung the necessary herbs and charms above the family house windows to protect her father and Áine before leaving after putting out a final bowl of honeyed milk for the fae. She decided to travel to Oldcastle, using the pin money she had saved up month to month to buy travel to the famous town. If there was one value to being a Dolan was that she was never in want of material things, always ample amount of pin money every month. She hadn’t had a particular reason for her travel other than the fact that she wanted to and she needed to get away from Bridgton. When she arrived in Oldcastle after her long journey she found a place to stay with the local physician in exchange for free labor. Though physicians were trained in the way of science, it was not so hard for Nimue who knew the Old Ways and herbs as the daughter of a healer to be of assistance especially since most “scientific” remedies still relied on the same herbs that common knowledge led healers to use. Some nights, Nimue would sneak out and walk to the edge of the Wardwood. It was strange to be living amongst the trees of old, the place her mother had told her of with wonder in her voice. Her day to day life was not the most exciting, but she was content here, maybe not happy, but she felt less angry, less hurt in Oldcastle than she ever did while living in Bridgeton. Therefore, Nimue didn’t consider going back to Bridgeton, not even when she began feeling this particular urge to go somewhere, but where she did not know. Oldcastle was comfortable and no one looked at her as if she were strange as she hung charms on the physician’s windows; the Old Ways were welcome at Oldcastle, embraced. One night, on May Day after the celebrations, while standing at the edge of the Wardwood she felt, for the first time, that maybe she should enter the forest. Nimue’s mother had always told her to follow her heart so when the moon called out to her and told her to enter, she did. Following some unknown path that only her feet seemed to know, Nimue came upon a large tree. Instinctively, she knew that this was the ward-tree. In her awe, she didn’t even notice the small stone deer resting amongst the roots, but as she turned to leave, the moon tugged her back and it was then that she noticed the small totem, nestled between two large roots and illuminated by a beam of moonlight. Feeling fiercely vindicated in her beliefs, Nimue picked up the totem reverently, tracing the contours of it with light fingers. She didn’t need to question this occurrence. She knew with a fierce certainty what had come to pass.
relationship with guardian ;;
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