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She has recently discovered, and decided to restore, a zoological park in Strange. Those walking nearby claim to have heard her working, but the place itself does not seem to be open to the public at this time (there are rumors, however, of private tours provided to those who ask nicely). She has dubbed her zoo-in-progress "The Ghast Menagerie." |
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Nobody has seen Ghastwain in a while. Most likely she has simply become overwhelmed with work on her project to completely refurbish an abandoned zoological park (dubbed "The Ghast Menagerie") which lies near one of the thousand hearts of Strange; occasional animal noises and sounds of construction can still be heard here and there, though there still exists no clear pathway to the park itself. Rumors of the chimera searching the more shattered portions of the Warp for exhibits are unconfirmed. Interestingly, smartpaper bulletins have been sighted tacked up in various places across the Mess, each written in her crisp, neat lettering and secured with a tattered feather. They read as follows: :Friends! Are you lost in a sea of possibilities? Are you overwhelmed with the sheer infinity of choices laid before you each day? Are you in need of tender loving care from someone you can trust? :We can help you! Contact your local Warden today to discover how you, too, can enjoy the safety of being protected. Our members live everywhere. Find your flock today! :::::(brought to you by your friendly guardians in the Wardens) It is undetermined whether or not this is literature from a proper faction, a form of viral marketing, or an elaborate joke at Ghastwain's expanse. |
Perhaps it is unique, perhaps it is not, but whatever this entity is, it is certainly rather...capital-S Strange. Its head appers to be the skull of some sort of horned mammal (a cow? an ox?), all yellow bone and clacking jaw, perched on a long and drooping series of vertebrae. A gangly bipedal skeleton hangs, puppetlike, from the base of the neck; a pair of feathery wings (pinions ragged, missing) sprout from its shoulderblades, frozen outstretched and upwards in a position that must have been majestic before the many reparations of scrap-wood and nails. Black hair falls from its head like long and greasy string. Some of the hair is arranged in a peculiar imitation of a hairstyle the Victorians might identify, held with a jeweled hairpin, but most of its tresses sway limply at knee-length. A slender green briar loops lazily around portions of its wood-patched body, arcing from one eyesocket and around the neck and down the spine and twirling until it is hidden in the folds of its dress.
...dress?
Oh yes, a dress, a lovely-if-aging thing of lace and silk and velvet, dark brown with black ribbon and white tatting, long sleeves hiding hands (claws?), long hem hiding feet (are there feet?), slips and petticoats rustling as it floats along, made of more fabric than it seems an entire wardrobe could hold. Its eyesockets are empty, save for the cheeky briar, and it does not seem to draw breath, nor has it a tongue to speak, yet it is obviously alive.
A halo of sorts orbits above its head, formed of alphanumeric (and more than a few additional) symbols in a florid, elegant font, each glowing white with a pale purple-blue shadow; the entire thing looks amusingly similar to the ring-shaped holodisplays one can find hovering above candy counters, albeit with a good deal more class. The tips of each of this entity's horns are capped with gold-edged onyx and end in little golden balls, from which jeweled drop pearls dangle. Another onyx, lined with little pearls and gold filigree, rests upon its forehead like a bindi. This bizarre crossbreeding of things Top and Strange seems both intimidating and intimidated. It watches its surroundings with a tilt of the head that can only be described as curious interest.
Ghastwain does not actually speak, being completely incapable of vocalization, instead using the ring of letters above her head like a typewriter spool to punch out messages in the air with an audible clatter (these last long enough to be read, then fade away). The letters occasionally display subtle variations in hue to reflect her mood.
She is an asexual creature in that she has no sexual emotions, nor genitalia, nor erogenous zones, nor interest in acquiring any. She doesn't have a problem with others behaving friskily, as tantric magic did exist back home, but she will gently and firmly request amorous parties to leave her out of things. Anything sufficiently interesting can command her rapt attention, from a public singsong to a messy disembowelment (she WAS based on accounts of Strange, after all), often inspiring her to spontaneous poetry. She can also play the mandolin, although she does not carry one.
Ghastwain is completely immune to, and uninterested in partaking of, most sorts of drink or drug, especially those that requires a nervous system; while she can be disabled by a tasp, the result is not one of pleasure but of a peculiar numbness as her body must "reboot" its neutralized enchantments. This apparently may also result in [bad poetry] while her mind shuts down and heats up again.
She is likely to be horrified and confused by Bubble Dolls, despite her similar serve-others philosophy, and fascinated by Hemotopians, despite their bad manners.
Ghastwain was, originally, an experiment of sorts founded on one of the many Puzzlebox worlds located outside of The Mess; the name is unknown at the time, but it is decidedly quite a ways from achieving post-scarcity status. Ghastwain's creators were more magical than technological, although they had a basic understanding of outside tech (usually buffered by a thick layer of euphamism) and had working backup systems; however, her home was one where information is currency--truly a bizarre and unique concept ne'er seen before--and the current thaumocrats were frantic over a recent industrial revolution elsewhere in the world, thus making their already tentative hold on power even more unstable.
Hearing of The Mess and the wonderful horrors that dwell there--it seems their informant spent nearly all their time in Top after a kindly explorer saved them from a rather nasty Strange encounter--it was decided: they would create a creature that would "fit in perfectly" with the locals and that could study new forms of magic (or anything nonmagical that was deemed to be such), returning home regularly to share what it learned and help its now terrified creators keep their world in order. Hiring artists, tinkers, chimera-makers, and at least one madman, they set about creating what became Ghastwain. Hopping a ride with a passing shuttle--or stepping into a flying star-boat, as its progenitors preferred to think of the act; tech awareness be damned, they still were partial to mythical terms--it soon found its way to The Mess.
Unfortunately, it (or she, as it prefers to refer to itself these days) has no idea exactly what her creators want her to do, other than witness as much as possible. Everything is new, and interesting, and scary. She doesn't know how to get back home, not knowing the name of her homeworld, and doesn't even know if she wants to. Ghastwain exists to witness and to learn. And if someone comes looking for her? Well, she can just tell them what she's learned then, and get back to her sacred duty.
She has been heard asking the whereabouts of a flower-shaped object d'art given to her by an inhabitant of her homeworld. It is apparently a lily made entirely of form-fixed blood; the stem and petals are reddish-brown veinous blood, while the bloom is arterial crimson. She has misplaced it somewhere between here and the star-shuttle she rode out to the Mess.
Her disorientation is slowly taking care of itself thanks to conversations with residents and the odd bit of philosophy.
Nobody has seen Ghastwain in a while. Most likely she has simply become overwhelmed with work on her project to completely refurbish an abandoned zoological park (dubbed "The Ghast Menagerie") which lies near one of the thousand hearts of Strange; occasional animal noises and sounds of construction can still be heard here and there, though there still exists no clear pathway to the park itself. Rumors of the chimera searching the more shattered portions of the Warp for exhibits are unconfirmed.
Interestingly, smartpaper bulletins have been sighted tacked up in various places across the Mess, each written in her crisp, neat lettering and secured with a tattered feather. They read as follows:
It is undetermined whether or not this is literature from a proper faction, a form of viral marketing, or an elaborate joke at Ghastwain's expanse.
A rough analog of her personal notes may be accessed via [her livejournal].
Records likely to change in response to information acquisition. Add commentary if desired. Watch this space.