https://gswiki-archive.gs-game.uk/index.php?action=history&feed=atom&title=Peatwyn_%28prime%29Peatwyn (prime) - Revision history2026-11-12T05:19:31ZRevision history for this page on the wikiMediaWiki 1.41.1https://gswiki-archive.gs-game.uk/index.php?title=Peatwyn_(prime)&diff=26367&oldid=previmported>HOST-GSKEBECHET: Thank you for updating this article's talk tab!2025-09-10T13:10:22Z<p>Thank you for updating this article's talk tab!</p>
<p><b>New page</b></p><div>{{characterprofile<br />
|border-color=green<br />
|background-color=#003314<br />
|color=#FFD700<br />
|name= Peatwyn<br />
|image= [[File:Forestgnome2.jpg|thumb|centre|550px|Generated by Eladarmi's player using Openart.AI and modified by Zeminar]]<br />
|caption= Peatwyn visiting home<br />
|race= Forest Gnome<br />
|culture=Rosengift <br />
|class= [[Cleric]]<br />
|profession= Self-Styled Hound of the Huntress<br />
|religion= [[The Huntress]]<br />
|affiliations= [[Order of Voln]]<br>[[Gilded Discord]]<br>[[Order of the Silver Gryphons]]<br />
|word= ebullient<br />
|disposition= optimistic<br />
|demeanor= friendly, happy-go-lucky, naive, childlike, annoying<br />
|ptrait= "Passionate"<br />
|strait= Sensitive<br />
|flaw= distractible, zealous<br />
|strength= Optimism<br />
|weakness= focus, fear, need-for-validation<br />
|habits= 2 baths and six meals a day, pontificating verbosely<br />
|hobbies= Shawm performance. Donkey Husbandry<br />
|soft= His Mother, His Donkey Ignatius, His Friends<br />
|likes= poetry, games of all kinds, archery, corner preaching<br />
|dislikes= tyranny<br />
|fears= danger to his loved ones, not being enough<br />
|loyalties= His Friends and Companions<br />
|friend= <br />
|spouse=<br />
|relations= <br />
|instance= Prime<br />
|town= Solhaven<br />
}}<br />
==''Peatwyn''==<br />
★- ''"I'm blessed - doubly so"."'''<br />
<br />
:You see Peatwyn the Master of the Order of Voln<br />
:He appears to be a Forest Gnome of the Rosengift Bloodline.<br />
:He is taller than average. He appears to be in the prime of life. He has beady sea green eyes and ruddy skin. He has chin length, unruly salt-and-pepper grey hair in a wild miasma of tangles. He has a squat and jowl-set, weathered little face, a flattened, snub nose and ripped nostrils, while a variety of hastily assembled false teeth fill his mouth and are riddled with uneven gaps and open spaces.<br />
<br />
<br />
★-'''About Peatwyn:''' <br />
<br />
''Coming Soon''<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
★-'''Associates'''<br />
<br />
<br />
''Friends of Peatwyn'' <br />
:[[Eladarmi]], [[Lilanna]], [[Sylvanya]]<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
==-'''Back Story:'''==<br />
<br />
Coming Soon...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
==-'''Vignettes'''==<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
[[File:Puckeredsurprise2.jpg|thumb|500px|'''"Peatwyn, by Rite and Rhyme"'''Peatwyn, Asrai, & Eladarmi in Icemule Trace. A perfect blend of their sacred paths and bardic souls—equal parts reverence and revelry - ''(Generated by Eladarmi's player Openart.ai)'']]<br />
★-::“The Gilded Discord”<br />
<br />
(Peatwyn’s Personal Account, scribbled half in ink and half in memory, somewhere between a hymn and a hazard)<br />
<br />
:It began, as most divine misadventures do, with a snowflake.<br />
:A quiet thing, that flake. Tame. Timid. Unaware it was the harbinger of holy chaos.<br />
:I was already midway through a blistering sidewalk sermon—crossbow cocked, soul unlocked—when I saw him.<br />
<br />
:[[Eladarmi]].<br />
<br />
:Tower of gleaming gallantry, all storm-chiseled cheeks and polished poesy, stomping up the cobbles like the gods owed him change. <br />
:And circling above his noble crown? <br />
:A sprite. A spark. A shrieking giggle trapped in glitter, better known as Asrai.<br />
<br />
:And me? Oh, I was in form!<br />
<br />
:'''“With a crossbow cursed and a hymn on high,'''<br />
:'''I’ll bless ya, bury ya, or make you cry!”'''<br />
<br />
:The street lit like flint on frost. Cobbles woke up. Voices perked. <br />
:Eladarmi’s hands went to his mandolin like he’d been born clutching it. <br />
:And the next thing I know, we’re dueling—not in blood, but in ballad.<br />
:He strummed like thunder in church. I piped like sin in a songbook.<br />
:He was verse and valor. I was rhythm and rogue.<br />
<br />
:And oh, the people loved it!<br />
:Sylvanya howled.<br />
:Lilanna wheezed. <br />
:Asrai—well, she was spinning above us like a moon-drunk hummingbird leading a choir of bees.<br />
<br />
:''Then... '''it''' happened.''<br />
<br />
:In the lull between refrains, just as I’m taking a breath to deliver something profound about repentance through rhythm, he leans in.<br />
:Eladarmi. The Shining. The Tower of Storm and Song.<br />
:He leans in—toward the sprite, presumably—with intent on his face and snow melting in his hair. <br />
:A kiss aimed for her brow, like some saintly benediction upon a mischievous familiar.<br />
<br />
:And Asrai? The glittering goblin of fate?<br />
:She dodged!<br />
:Maybe intentionally. Maybe not. I rather think she simply wiggled in the way all fate does:<br />
:in---conveniently.<br />
<br />
:And Eladarmi?<br />
:He kissed me!<br />
:Dead center. Cheek. Warm. Surprised. Mid-word.<br />
<br />
:I blinked.<br />
:He stammered.<br />
:The crowd exploded!<br />
:'''“I—I was aiming for the sprite!”''' he pleaded, crimson creeping up his ears.<br />
:I smirked, because really, what else does one do in such a moment?<br />
<br />
:'''“The sprite is deft and daft,”''' I said, invoking divine dignity, '''“in its penance for puckered tomfoolery.”'''<br />
<br />
:The sprite, of course, was now airborne with laughter, looking ready to combust into sparkles and shame.<br />
:But I wasn’t done!<br />
:Not even close!<br />
:and while Eladarmi struggled to compose himself, adjusting his armor like modesty was leaking out of the seams, <br />
<br />
:I leaned in again—soft as sin, <br />
:sweet as sacrament—and kissed him back.<br />
:He yelped. Audibly!<br />
:Like someone had snuck a banshee under his breastplate. Hahaha<br />
<br />
:'''“That was not an invitation!”''' he bellowed.<br />
:'''“I was fey-wrought,”''' I replied innocently, <br />
:because let’s be honest, that excuse works for everything.<br />
<br />
:The sprite shrieked in delight.<br />
:Lilanna choked. <br />
:A squirrel died, probably.<br />
<br />
:I blessed my donkey, made my farewell grand—<br />
:'''“I RIDE FOR THE RIFT! BEFORE TOMORROW’S MEMORY REMEMBERS ME WRONGLY!”''<br />
<br />
:—and departed with the flair of a gnome who had just rewritten half a bard’s romantic subplot.<br />
:And as I trotted out of town, my shawm slung across my back, heart full of mischief and melody, I thought:<br />
<br />
:We are a band now, aren’t we?<br />
:He with his hymns, <br />
:me with my heresies. <br />
:The sprite with her chaos. <br />
:The others, laughing behind us like footnotes of fate.<br />
<br />
:We’ve no proper name yet. Not really.<br />
:The Gilded Discord was floated. So was Peatwyn and the Accidental Kiss. I admit a fondness for both.<br />
:But whatever we call ourselves, the world will remember us.<br />
:As snow that sings.<br />
:As songs that spark.<br />
:As laughter between verses and kisses misplaced.<br />
<br />
:Tonight, I ride for quiet places. But I carry with me a harmony—half sacred, half silly.<br />
:And in the silent halls of Voln, if a tune echoes down the stone—<br />
:'''“With a crossbow cursed and a hymn on high…”'''<br />
:—they’ll know we passed through.<br />
:And they'll either weep or waltz.<br />
:Maybe both.<br />
<br />
★-::“The Gilded Discord”::★</div>imported>HOST-GSKEBECHET