Arielle Seweis
So ye wish to hear the tale of the travelling doctor, who flitters back and forth across the land, with nary a sound nor sight? The pale woman who appears in once moment and vanishes in the other! With a touch as cold as death, yet works to bring the warmth of life back into others? There is much which is said about her, but how much of it is the truth? For those seek the truth, it would be far better to ask in person...yet for those who are willing to listen to the tales...
Appearance
They say of the Midnight Visitor, that her most striking feature is that of her red eyes that seem to almost dazzle in the darkness, yet seem to darken in the light. That it is the only colour one may glimpse of her, as both her skin and hair is as pale as dust. One may know of her arrival with the sound of a cloak whisking through the air and the clattering of glass vials against each other, evidence of the medical potions and tools she carries on herself.
Skills and Abilities
Ah! Ye wish to hear her capabilities, on the off chance one may face her! Stories tell of her being a creature of the Night, a vampire! Yet unlike most, they say that she does not take from those she comes across. Instead the lass seems to have a healing touch! Be it through her potentially healing blood? Some tales say that the medical potions she hands out are filled to the brim with her vitae! Her bite? Others report that her bite seems to have a...calming effect on those she treats. Or perhaps another method that her patients keep a secret!
Some even say that she can detect sickness and injury simply by smell and sound! If she is a vampire, like the stories say, then should it come as a surprise? Surely she could even see the very blood that flows through our veins! Hear the most silent of heartbeats! And perhaps even smell the fear of those who see her!
Now, you could be mistaken for thinking the Midnight Visitor is purely a kind-hearted saviour. There are other tales that tell of her strength! Her swiftness! Stories of how she hunted down beasts with her bare hands, using her prey as ingredients for her medical concoctions!
Alas, she does have her own fair bout of weaknesses, some related to her more sanguine nature and some that are not. For as graceful and as kind as a woman she may be, tales tell of her lacking in a soul, evident in the lack of a reflection. And in the same vein of sanguine weaknesses, it appears that her senses are easily overwhelmed by too much stimuli. Her sight is inhibited by the light, whilst overwhelming stenches can impact her smelling capabilities. Perhaps this is why she is often reported to wear a mask when working, and why she is rarely seen in the sun. It is also said that her touch is ice cold, perhaps giving away her condition to those observant enough.
There are also tales that the Visitor is...alone in the land. She has no allies or connections to call upon. Perhaps she is far too distrustful of others? Perhaps she does not trust herself? It also said that whilst she seems to be quite capable at taking on wild creatures, when it comes to the art of war with weaponry...She is severely lacking in the know-how to use weapons.
Some even say that she can detect sickness and injury simply by smell and sound! If she is a vampire, like the stories say, then should it come as a surprise? Surely she could even see the very blood that flows through our veins! Hear the most silent of heartbeats! And perhaps even smell the fear of those who see her!
Now, you could be mistaken for thinking the Midnight Visitor is purely a kind-hearted saviour. There are other tales that tell of her strength! Her swiftness! Stories of how she hunted down beasts with her bare hands, using her prey as ingredients for her medical concoctions!
Alas, she does have her own fair bout of weaknesses, some related to her more sanguine nature and some that are not. For as graceful and as kind as a woman she may be, tales tell of her lacking in a soul, evident in the lack of a reflection. And in the same vein of sanguine weaknesses, it appears that her senses are easily overwhelmed by too much stimuli. Her sight is inhibited by the light, whilst overwhelming stenches can impact her smelling capabilities. Perhaps this is why she is often reported to wear a mask when working, and why she is rarely seen in the sun. It is also said that her touch is ice cold, perhaps giving away her condition to those observant enough.
There are also tales that the Visitor is...alone in the land. She has no allies or connections to call upon. Perhaps she is far too distrustful of others? Perhaps she does not trust herself? It also said that whilst she seems to be quite capable at taking on wild creatures, when it comes to the art of war with weaponry...She is severely lacking in the know-how to use weapons.
Personality
They say that the Midnight Visitor carries not only vials and bandages, but a heart as soft as fresh snowfall. To hear the wanderers speak of her, one would think her a saint wrapped in shadows. A gentle phantom who drifts from bedside to bedside, leaving whispers of comfort in her wake. Some claim that not even the crying of babes nor the groaning of the gravely wounded can stir annoyance in her, so patient is her hand, so calm her spirit.
To the common folk, she is a quiet miracle a healer who asks for nothing in return, who walks into danger without hesitation. A strange woman, aye, with her cold touch and her moonlit pallor…yet never unkind. Never hateful, even when faced by those who see her as a monster. The tales say she speaks little, but when she does, her words soothe as well as any tincture. They say she has a calm about her that can settle even the fiercest beasts
But then again, stories are shaped by those who wish to believe them.
A member of the crowd listening smirked to herself for a moment, pulling her crimson hood over her head.
“I am not the creature they make me out to be, neither saint nor shadow. I am simply someone who has done harm, and now tries each day to live with it. To atone. So no-one may go through what I faced...
People think me gentle because I move quietly and speak softly, but the truth is simpler: I fear myself. I fear losing control again. I fear seeing another face look at me with that same terror I once caused. So I keep my distance. I keep my voice low. I keep my hands steady, because they must be steady. Not for me. But for those who require my aid.
I help others because I cannot undo what I have done. Healing is the only path that makes sense to me now. I have been...graced with a cursed life. I could cause pain. Add to the suffering in the land...but that is not my way. I will not repeat the same mistakes.
I do not trust easily, but it is not others I doubt, it is myself. My senses overwhelm me, my hunger frightens me, and the light burns more than just my skin. I prefer the quiet, the dark, the stillness where I can think without fear of hurting anyone.
I know the tales say I am alone by choice. That much is true. It is easier, safer, to keep others at arm’s length. Yet even so… I care. More than I should. More than I admit.
If the world sees me as a wandering miracle, then let them. Better that than the truth of what I once was. I cannot change the past, but I can choose what I become.
And all I wish to become is someone worthy of the lives I save
To the common folk, she is a quiet miracle a healer who asks for nothing in return, who walks into danger without hesitation. A strange woman, aye, with her cold touch and her moonlit pallor…yet never unkind. Never hateful, even when faced by those who see her as a monster. The tales say she speaks little, but when she does, her words soothe as well as any tincture. They say she has a calm about her that can settle even the fiercest beasts
But then again, stories are shaped by those who wish to believe them.
A member of the crowd listening smirked to herself for a moment, pulling her crimson hood over her head.
“I am not the creature they make me out to be, neither saint nor shadow. I am simply someone who has done harm, and now tries each day to live with it. To atone. So no-one may go through what I faced...
People think me gentle because I move quietly and speak softly, but the truth is simpler: I fear myself. I fear losing control again. I fear seeing another face look at me with that same terror I once caused. So I keep my distance. I keep my voice low. I keep my hands steady, because they must be steady. Not for me. But for those who require my aid.
I help others because I cannot undo what I have done. Healing is the only path that makes sense to me now. I have been...graced with a cursed life. I could cause pain. Add to the suffering in the land...but that is not my way. I will not repeat the same mistakes.
I do not trust easily, but it is not others I doubt, it is myself. My senses overwhelm me, my hunger frightens me, and the light burns more than just my skin. I prefer the quiet, the dark, the stillness where I can think without fear of hurting anyone.
I know the tales say I am alone by choice. That much is true. It is easier, safer, to keep others at arm’s length. Yet even so… I care. More than I should. More than I admit.
If the world sees me as a wandering miracle, then let them. Better that than the truth of what I once was. I cannot change the past, but I can choose what I become.
And all I wish to become is someone worthy of the lives I save
Biography & Lore
Entry 1
The handwriting is unsteady, the ink smudged in places as though by water… or tears.
I do not know what I am anymore. My hands are shaking so badly I can hardly write, but I must. If I do not put these thoughts somewhere, they will bury me. Perhaps they already have.
I remember the cold. His hand was cold. The lack of warmth in his eyes...Why did I not notice? I was so tired…so tired of hurting, and he said he could make it stop. He wasn’t lying.
The sickness is gone. My body feels…wrong. Too light. Too strong. I can hear insects crawling under the bark of a tree. I can smell river water a mile away. I can feel the pulse in my own throat like a drumbeat. I wish I felt joy for this newfound strength. I wish I felt anything but this horror.
I keep seeing their faces. Mama’s hands on my forehead. Da’s tired smile. The worry they tried so hard to hide. They looked at me with love even when I was fading. They watched me, waiting for me to get better like the man said. They saw me as their poor sickly daughter. All I saw them as...was Food.
I don’t remember everything. I don’t want to. There were screams. Mine, theirs, I can’t piece it apart. I remember falling on my knees, the taste of blood in my mouth that wasn’t mine, and the sound. Them running. Far away from me. A deep part of me knew I could catch up to them. That no matter how fast they ran...I could catch them. They ran from me.
Gods forgive me, they had every right to.
Gods forgive me, I would have run too.
I searched for them after…but I could not bring myself to call out. What if they answered? What if they didn’t? I don’t know which possibility frightened me more. I buried the clothes I ruined. I scrubbed myself raw in the river until my skin bled, watching as the wounds healed in an instant. I watched the sunrise from beneath the trees, and it hated me as much as I hate myself. Felt the heat against my skin as I held my hand out in its rays. It burned. Not excruciatingly so...but enough that I would never enjoy a warm embrace from the sun without some kind of pain.
I don’t know what I am. I don’t know what I’ve become. Or maybe I do...and I can't accept it. All I know is that I cannot return. I cannot face anyone I love ever again.
But today…today I found a man on the roadside. Wounded, bleeding, terrified. I smelled the blood before I saw him, and for a moment I thought I would lose myself again. But he was crying out for help. He was in pain, real pain, the kind I know too well.
So I pressed my hands to his wound and tried to remember every healer I had ever watched, every remedy Mama ever brewed for me. Treated his wounds as well as I could. Dragged him to shelter. He lived. I saved him. I saved someone. He called me an angel when he woke. If only he knew.
I ran before he could look too closely at me, but…I saved him. Maybe…maybe saving them is all I can do now. Maybe that is enough. Maybe I can make this curse serve some purpose other than destruction. To bring some kind of kindness to this land...
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I don’t know who, or what I will be. But I know I cannot bear to hurt another poor innocent soul.
If I must walk the nights alone to keep others safe, then so be it.
For whatever time this body allows,
I will heal.
I will help.
I will atone.
And I will pray though I do not know if I shall be heard...that my family escaped...and never learn the truth of what I am.
The page ends abruptly, the ink trailing off as though the writer’s hand trembled too hard to finish the line.