Fern

Fern.png

Fern awoke in light. Not a whole lot is known about her; either out of fear or embarrassment she keeps her past under tight wraps. What is known is that she's apparently some kind of elf, likes ferns, has goats, and has been described as 'the lunatic at the end of the block with a goat and too many spatulas - like a rich redneck, if that makes any sense at all.' 'Eccentric' would be putting it mildly, but the amount of energy and craziness she puts into most everything she does tends to leave an impression, be it good or bad.

The truth is that she is lost, very very lost. Not so long ago, she died, and though she got better later, the damage was already done. Dying changes everything, and though she was still very much herself, she was not who she had been and she did not entirely know who she was anymore.

When she met up with Nathan and the Shahannas, however, this didn't matter. They brought her in to their crazy group regardless of who exactly she was; she was simply who they needed to tell their story.

Like all her mirrors, Fern likes stories.


Fern acts as the DM of the game world of Sarathi de, at least until the incident with the breadstick.

Then she plays only herself.


One woman sat near the steamer and in silence she threw scoopful of water to the sauna stove. No-one said a word. The only sound was water hitting on a stove. It was not awkward nor uncomfortable. The only feeling I had was the feeling I could call calm melancholy or longing. For me it was the essence of being a Finn. Sitting in a small room, naked, with people you've never met before but yet you're completely comfortable because you know you're all in that room only for yourselves. In that room, rushful weekday separates from free time, afternoon separates from evening, it's a place between restlessness and peace. Where you literally sweat your worries, pain and rush away.