age | 46
occupation | proprietress, The Swan
good | determined, shrewd, insightful
bad | cold, strict, domineering
neutral | protective, ambitious, self-assured
A brief history
Maeve began working at the Swan as a young woman. As an employee she was unremarkable: of average attractiveness, with an air that was more handsome and imperial than girlish and appealing. This aura, however, served her well as she grew older, and it became obvious that she was a favourite of the former madame, who taught her at the books and at salesmanship, and at negotiating with workmen and guests and at dealing with problem customers with a firm, relentless hand.
Coupled with a naturally protective nature that made her an obvious choice for the madame’s successor, Maeve found herself the inheritor of the Swan and its employees—some five or ten girls—at the age of 35. With the title of owner came more prestige than she had enjoyed before, and more respectability; Maeve found herself in a privileged position and leveraged it by indulging in her love of reading. Particularly she found herself drawn to old stories, and she hid the paper-covered books of fairy tales and lore inside the pages of weighty scientific and philosophical tomes, and sat up by the sunrise, after the interruptions of the night had ceased, to learn all that she could of spirits and Guardians and the ancient Wars.
For a great while, Maeve considered these stories to be interesting folklore. The Old Ways she regarded as mere lower-class superstition, unsuited to one of her dignity (for Maeve sees her title, not as a shame, but as an asset, and indeed is a familiar face around the town and a person of some reputation as a shrewd businesswoman with her finger on the pulse of the city). But one morning as the Madame, now 45, sat reading in her bedroom with its windows overlooking the grey streets of Palisade, she was seized with a strange longing. She put the Swan into the keeping of her most trustworthy girl, saddled her horse, and returned a week and a half later looking worn, exhausted, and fiercely triumphant: and it was not long after that the fawn appeared…
Appearances are everything
When she was younger Maeve was an attractive woman, but in a tall, straight-laced, intimidating way that made her an odd offering at the Swan. With her sharp cheekbones, upturned nose, and thin, hard mouth, she stood in contrast to the sloe-eyed, rosebud-lipped beauties around her, despite the fullness of her figure with its carefully corset-trained waist. As she grew older her back grew stiffer and her face sterner, and, now 45, Maeve’s auburn hair is beginning to show streaks of silver, and her new position pardons her from the excessive cosmetics of her employees. The best one might call her now is handsome: the carefully manicured curls at her temples are not enough to offset the severity of her bun, and the curves of her figure are constrained and tempered by rigid, even unfashionable black bombazine and silk, scantly adorned with lace. It is an image she has cultivated carefully, to set her apart from the gauzy, luscious dainties on offer and make it obvious who here holds the purse strings.
The Old Ways returning
Maeve’s secret obsession with the Old Ways reaped benefits when she found herself in possession of a coal-black totem, although it took her weeks to become truly convinced that what she had experienced was real—this, despite the occasional appearance of a man or woman in town accompanied by deer with eyes too intelligent for their faces. Once the fawn manifested, however, there was no denying what she had experienced—and Maeve was ready.
In what some might view as a desperate power-grab and what Maeve herself views as the necessary next step, it has become somewhat common knowledge that the Madame of the Swan is seeking to assemble this new wave of Chosen. She believes with every ounce of herself that they have been awakened for a reason—even if she does not yet know what that reason is. If she is haunted by the idea of wolves and war, it does not show. It is easy to picture her astride a Guardian, armored and armed, charging into battle with a stoic face and a will to sacrifice. Too easy. And perhaps this is why thus far she has found it difficult to attract others to her cause.
Finnavair
Finnavair is the name of a noble creature in old stories: a betrayal of Maeve’s knowledge of lore, although, to be honest, the Madame is less inclined to keep her reading secret now than she was before.
As a fawn Finnavair manifested her personality early: fiery, independent, even savage; as a doe she conveys the sense that she is barely restraining her battlelust. She is a creature of enormous and frightening dignity, with flaring nostrils, sharp eyes, and a habit of stomping one hoof when her Chosen says something with more tact and maneuvering than, perhaps, she wants to. She is an interesting outlet of Maeve’s tightly-kept inner feelings: the barest glimpse past Maeve’s cultivated façade to the passionate woman within.
