Vivian Shadechild

[Shadechild]

“ I remember it as though it was like awakening from a peaceful slumber. As though the fire and destruction that dominated my nightmares were instead swept away by the memories of my childhood. Vague now, as if an old part of me was being washed away only to leave the remnants of soft comforting smiles from my mother, a dampened taste of the unquenchable affection that only a parent can give.

The Nightmares. I remember at first how I could barely stomach them as I resisted. The times of dark oblivion, where I was surrounded by nothingness. Hovering above a shadowed surface, inkling black waters floating in space, a bottomless lake stretching endlessly. I would always find myself drawn closer to the surface, waiting to see the reflection that would never come. It always ended up the same, the tendrils of inky water stretching up and seizing me.

I always struggled, it was basic Human instinct after all. Yet the tendrils always held fast to my arms and legs and then the single coil that tightened around my throat, cutting off my breath. It was all a dream after all, yet the perceptions represented the truth. It was always a battle of the wits and I had been ensnared by that deep presence that lurked beneath the black tides. A prisoner that futility struggled against being drawn in.

A maelstrom forms beneath me, my untrained body weak against the monstrous strength that held me in check. It could be seen as impossible, but amidst the whirling vortex in the waters there lurked an event darker shade of black and the soft symphony that dwelled within.

It was always the music that bothered me the most. At first, that is. The crescendo of voices that sent a chill down my spine but also softened my heart and assaulted my ears. The unpronounceable lyrics searing harshly at my very soul as I was drawn closer. The whispers of song always growing more eager, more violent as they became more distinct, smothering my senses.

As I am drawn into the song swirling vortex, a funnel rises from its depths to meet me. The whirling waters muffled as a figure emerges from the center pillar of liquid. She was always beautiful, as perfect as any storyteller could weave. Luxurious black hair cascading down her back with two sleek, almost subtle horns jutting from her head. Her eyes were pools of crimson red and half-veiled, her lips full and seductive. She wore a silken gown that matched her hair, one so thin that it gave ample hint of the sleek form beneath.

Even in my situation, strung up like a ripe fruit for the taking. I felt compelled to wipe the liquid grime and sweat from my face and body, even if I could not. Aware that this woman, this idol, was the main antagonist of my dreams, the desire to kneel at her slim, sandaled feet, so charismatic was this creature.

She never speaks a word as the tendrils that bind me draw me closer to her. She never needed to as a delicate hand rises up, the pools of crimson never leaving my own and the gentle caress of my cheek speaking a thousand promises.

At first I would always beg to be released, to awaken from that dream that would never end, I couldn't deny however that with each passing night grew the temptations of surrender. Of giving my all over to this beckoning Mistress, mind, body and soul. That there mere thought of this graceful entity spending even a fraction of a second with her alluring figure on my simple mortal shell condemned me to the future untold blessings that could be bestowed if I were to simply give in to my 'true' calling.

The touch would be brief, almost sudden like it never happened. Yet it would leave a sense of longing to it, knowing that if I just submitted and delved into that other half of me locked away before the surface that I would be able to participate in that bitter-sweet symphony of discord.

Temptation. The lure of having others at my beck and call, to use my natural and supernatural gifts of alluring others. I reign dominant over those I would command through subtly and control of the senses. Warping the minds and keeping their guards low through methods of confusion and to cozy up to whoever does feel themselves worthy to stand next to me.

I wasn't worried towards the end, when the Dreams, not nightmares grew heavier. As I could feel a spark of excitement as I willingly and eagerly began to approach the dark waters. Even welcoming the tendrils, the inkling streams sensing my desires as they gently pulled me closer to the maelstrom that used to be my prison.

When I was met at the center, instead of my Mistress. I was met with an image of myself. It was as if looking into a mirror that had been masked with a sheet for so many years. Finally seeing myself for not who I was, for but what I was.

I was beautiful and I knew it. Watching my reflection approach me with a sultry gait and sway of my hips, reaching out to caress my own suspended form. It was then that I realized those bindings that held me were no longer there and that... I in turn, was smiling back to myself.

I could have the world as my playthings if I strived hard enough to debase and form them to my will, even if they at the time would not know my plans. Why would I deny myself, just another pretty face amongst the crowd, such a splendid endeavor.

So I reached out and mirrored my dark visage. I knew at that moment, that I was complete. I would never regret the choice. I would no longer be weak. “

- Vivian Shadechild, an excerpt from her own personal Diary.

[Shadechild]

Vivian is a descendant of Illuskan migrants whose heritage can be traced back to when Mundus first discovered the Valley in 1196. Her family, at the time being nothing more than lower class citizens of Waterdeep, sought a new life and vision in the uncharted lands to the North. To say that the young womans family permanently settled would be only a half-truth, as they never truly rested long enough to spread their roots.

The Chandler were what one could consider Gypsies, a small family of many that roamed between the settlements and outposts of the Sundren Valley in caravans who occasionally picked up various forms of work. Most of these jobs included Mining operations, Cartography, forms of entertainment, tarot card readings and palm readings along with even simple trades.

Born in 1362, The Year of the Helm, Vivian was the only daughter of Brestina Chandler & Mardak Chandler. She grew up along the road and with the traveling wagons and was a cherished thing, known for her physical beauty from a young age as well as her natural talent for dance and song. The young woman would spend countless hours of her days listening to those who would travel with the family from destination to destination, adventures, tales of riches, the folklore horrors of the nearby settlements and the one night stands with beautiful maidens. She became the centerfold of attention and adored her admirers from afar as well as using their intentions to get what she herself desired.

Occupying herself by being a seamstress alongside her mother, her life had been a rather simple one up to that point, having received a moderate home brewed education and blossoming into a fine woman. She was the inheritor of the natural Illuskan spirit, a proud spirit and strong in her dedication to her roots and her blood. Being how she was raised, she was never a faithful sort. Instead living a down to earth mentality that the world would provide what they in turn gave back to it, no matter the method of giving.

On a midsummer eve, her family met a trio of sibling sisters along the southern road. They claimed to be exotic performers from beyond the vale to the north, reaching as far as Icewind Dale and Ten Towns. Garbed from head to toe in colorful provocative clothing, high heels and revealing skirts, their attire left very little to the imagination. Hailing themselves as such, they desired to travel with the kinfolk. Admittedly, they were welcomed with open arms.

Vivian could never admit her jealousy of the trio, watching the attention they garnered from the men. The small pang of envy that grew in her stomach that such an event could rip away what standing she had among her own. She grew rather bitter at this, but diverted her attention elsewhere to clear her mind.

When nightfall began to fall, the caravan settled to the side of the road in a natural clearing for preparations of rest. Finally, camp was made and a circle of wagons set as in a circular boundary to offer the meager the inhabitants meager protection. The trio of Exotic Sisters began relishing in their own duties, decorating the area around the large campfire in the center of the circle with plush pillows and fine wines. Garbed in traditional bedlahs, fitted bras, hop belts and full-length skirts. Their attire were richly decorated with beads, crystals and embroideries.

Vivian could only watch, along with the others of the camp as a single Sister stepped towards the center, a soft trancing melody drifting from her vocals as the other two siblings began to roam the camp. With the gentle percussive movements of their hips and the small, fast impressions of texture and depth of movement from their subtle shivers, they quickly overcame those in their dance.

Struck with another pang of jealousy at these foreign movements and the alluring beauty of it all. Vivian diverted her eyes and stomped away from the camp, choosing to remain alongside the perimeter of the wagons until the show was over. Resting down on a nearby log, she cast her gaze up at the cloudy star filled sky and slowly not so deliberately as much as unintended, drifted off into a light slumber to the song.

She awoke to an odd sensation on her nostrils, a smell that she immediately recognized as burning clothes and hair from the memory of her grandfathers funeral pyre. The young woman bolted upright, fearing that somehow the camp had fallen asleep and the fire had caught on a fur or bedroll, even though the thought sounded audacious towards the caution they regularly provided to such.

The wicked laughter she heard as she sprinted back towards the Caravan threw her off, something was wrong and it sent a cold chill through her blood. The scene that played out before her when her frantic pace carried her into the center of camp was one of horror. The copper smell of blood was thick in the air and bodies were sprawled all around. She was frozen as she took in the spectacle, her hands shaking in fear as she observed in petrified horror.

Everyone and everything that she knew lay before her, glazed eyes staring up at the sky, some face down in the dirt. A man with his throat slit rested almost serenely against one of the cushions that decorated the camp. The faint boisterous laughter of female voices drew her eyes from the macabre display, the fire in the center of camp bellowing out of control. Around it circled three figures, one of them with their hands guiding a stumbling body towards the unnatural flames.

The feminine figure gave one last caress towards the mans cheek, before violently shoving him into the supernatural bonfire, the flames themselves looking combustive as they, like ravenous mouths, quickly consumed the man as he let out a swiftly cut off scream of agony.

The mans scream was met with a fit of giggling from the Sisters even as they twirled and danced around the fire. The charred remains of their previous victims heavy in the center of the flames that licked at the very core of their meal. They were naked now, the alluring contours revealed to the world in their promenade of debauchery. Changed and exposed for their true natures, gifted with fangs, horns, wings, swishing tails and alabaster skin.

It took a few moments, before the swirling flames for the Sisters to hear the soft malcontent whimpers and sobs of Vivian behind them. The unclothed voluptuous figures turning their attention towards their new plaything, the intense unnatural heat giving a sheen to their bodies.

The Sister who Vivian recognized as the Singer raised her arms towards Vivian, the soft purr of her sultry voice murmuring out towards her with false promises of comfort behind her sinister smile. “Come to us, pretty little thing. “ The Singer beckoned. “ We promise to be gentle with you. “

Helplessness and fear welled up in the place that the courage of a young girl tried to fill. Her eyes were a constant blur of irritation from the smoky haze that hung over the camp and the tears that ran down her cheeks. She could only silently voice her anguish and despair as her voice refused to force its way past the hyperventilating breaths in frozen terror.

Without even a pause in her step, the revealed succubus sauntered forth. Her clawed hands resting on Vivians shoulders, describing the young woman as one more plaything left unbroken to her Sisters, caressing the shuddering wide eyed Illuskans arms and neck. In an act of desperation for control, the young woman could only squeeze her eyes shut. Awaiting the end to the terrible pain.

With her heartbeat drumming in her ears, she could only feel the gentle brush against her lips. Before darkness overtook her.

[Shadechild]

“ What they tell me, is that a small patrol was issued from Port Avanthyr to investigate the smoke in the distance. I was discovered laying among the remains of our camp, deathly pale yet unharmed. I would later find out, from questioning and the reports I heard of, that all of the eligible men from our camp had disappeared. Most likely the victims of the flames. All of the others, women, children and the older men were killed. Most of them with no signs of struggle.

It took months to cope with what had happened. I resided in Port Avanthyr under the care of an elderly couple who had willingly taken me in. Working at the local tavern as a serving girl to earn coin when I had patched myself back together. I can describe such the event of my psyche as such, pulling myself back from that life changing event, as everyone I knew and loved was taken from me... I knew I wouldn't ever be the same.

I would never possess the form and finesse of a guardsman, of a trained fighter, but I knew how to dance and how to sway my hips. I saw the terrible strength the curves of a feminine figure could do, the perverse perceptions that those winged monstrosities could bestow upon others.

With the nightmares my life was never normal but just a facade of acceptance that yes, I was the victim, but if I wanted to be something. If I wanted my revenge. If I wanted power. I could obtain it just like the power that radiated from the woman in my dreams. So I delved a little deeper, paid a few local helpless bookworms in Port Avanthyr for information on those who took everything I had from me with Stags and the promises of bared flesh. I wanted that power of knowing my enemies. The guardsmen who gently patted me on the back, or spared me glances of pity along with other things weren't helping. It was only me. I had only myself.

I suppose that I will never know why I was spared. I can say that I'm fairly certain that those three Sisters perhaps had a more subtle plan on a grander scale. Perhaps a seed of corruption that gifted me with these dreams, these promises.

Wouldn't it be the true irony, that when I came to fully accept myself for what I could be, that I instead hunted them down. The cruel, wicked laughter coming from my own mouth as they faced the one who had grown stronger. Had evolved to perhaps something a little more than Human.”

- Vivian Shadechild


[Name]: Vivian Shadechild
[Gender]:Female
[Age]: 22 (Born 1362)

[Race]: Human , Illuskan Descent
[Subrace]: None

[Hair Color]: Raven Black
[Eye Color]: Red
[Skin Pigment]: Alabaster
[Homeland]: Waterdeep

[Affiliation(s)]: None
[Deity]: n/a

[Appearance]:
Vivian is a young woman in her early twenties, her features are quite feminine with shapely curves to them. She has moderately long raven black hair, that if not braided into two long strands that cascade down her lower back and plush posterior; would easily dominate the young woman's looks with the ever flowing mane. Her eyes are an unnatural crimson red.

She can be seen in a multitude of varying garments, ranging from Leathers to luxurious Silken dresses that snugly fit her endowed attributes in a facade of desire. The Young woman's taste for comfortable clothing over practical clothing plays a major role in her daily life and does well to mask the brooding power underneath her homely figure.


[Personality]:

Vivians personality varies greatly in who or what she is interacting with in general terms, averaging on a rather witty yet submissive demeanor as she scopes out the scene at hand. She does flaunt her physical gifts when she needs to and doesn't mind being the eye candy of the room; yet she plays off the attention with utmost innocence; as if she was not aware of what she was doing.

She seems to be a woman who is constantly moving, as if she was on a set amount of time and has to accomplish so much in so little time. Overall, she is a subtle person who follows the schemes of others only to obtain something out of it.

There always seems to be something below the surface with the illuskan woman, what that is ... remains to be seen.