An Oncomming Storm
[Wynd] Sansa Wynd
Heir to house Wynd, Lady of Wolf Tower, “Little she-wolf”
It is said of Wynds that they are all wolves, lean and strong, yet if Sansa Wynd is a wolf it is certainly one wearing sheep’s clothing. She is a lithe young maid of nineteen with all the delicate grace so common in life’s spring. Her arms are long, almost a little thin, her neck pronounced and her bust a little on the small side. It give way to a slim waist and hips that are almost frail, but with long and slender legs of some strength. She appears as delicate as one of the young willows which grows by the Cockleswent, supple and finely shaped… though not frail. For she is a woman of nearly one meter seventy-five centimetres, broad of shoulders and with thin limbs which belies a quickness and strength oft associated with the Wolves of Glen.
Framed by dark tresses as black as night and resting on a thin neck sits a long, gaunt face of peculiar aspect. It is in many ways a beautiful face, porcelain white skin with finely drawn lines as clean and clear as if cut from marble. A slightly perked nose rests over small, soft lips and a determined, almost hard, chin. Her voice is soft and melodious, like a clear mountain stream running swiftly down from distant peaks. Hers is a face the gods have blessed with great beauty, yet also marred with scars both physical and of a deeper sort. One the right side of Sansa’s face, running from just under the eye and down past her slender neck is a terrible series of pox marks. Her right cheek appears rashed red, almost as if burned, covered by hundreds of hideous craters which draws the eye down slightly, giving it a faint slant. The rashes and marks, runs down the side of her neck as deep scars, extending back to behind her right ear. Yet for all its hideousness, these pox scars are far from her face’s most peculiar aspect. For Sansa’s eyes is an odd shade of deep coppery brown like frozen amber. It is an oddly warm colour which can in the right light appear almost akin to the molten bronze of a wolf. They are not friendly eyes, melancholic to be sure… but cold also. And filled with calculating intent. Sansa’s is the cold, icy features of one that has endured much and bears the marks of those trails. It is a face of beauty marred, yet beautiful it remains in a distant, haunting way. It is a head held high, with features secure in their own strength. Yet happy… it is not.
Lady Sansa Wynd appears less concerned with finery than many of her peers, and certainly less so than her aunts, yet her apparel still speaks of good taste if little wealth. She is most commonly seen wearing simple dresses in light shades of grey or in simple white, often lined or slashed with warm red colours or at times gold. When finery is required, as when visiting other nobles, she oft don a sideless surcoat in white over a deep red dress. The surcoats is commonly sewn with floral patterns, as is the prevailing fashion in the Reach, and laced with soft silk from Lys. While she does at times wear a silver hairband her long black tresses are usually left to fall, like a cascade of black satin. These fine garments aside the young Lady Wynd carry little in the way of jewellery or riches, though when on travel or should the weather turn foul she can often be seen in a large, heavy cloak trimmed with wolves fur, after the fashion of the North.
Few knows much of the Lady of Wynd, for she has rarely travelled beyond Wolvesglen since reaching womanhood, yet few would dare dispute that she is a lady both well-mannered and behaved. She appears quiet, shy to the point of being withdrawn, and ever so innocent about the ways of the world. Yet when she speaks it is with a natural grace which makes listening pleasant. She seems a woman of some faith, spending much time at prayer, though how deep this vain in her runs is hard to discern. In truth much is hard to discern when it comes to Sansa Wynd for her face betrays few of her thoughts and her words are rarely more than empty pleasantries. The only emotion which she seem to regularly display is a distant yet deep sadness. This facet of her is always there, a melancholy and tinge of sorrow which runs with every word spoken and makes its way into every smile she grants. It is in many ways a terrible thing, that one so fair should carry a burden so heavy, and few are those who remain untouched by sympathy for this seemingly innocent young fawn.
Sansa Wynd is of course far more than this her innocent front, as our young Cockerels were to find out. She is in truth a driven woman, of a sharp wit and no small measure of ruthlessness. Life has clearly made a fighter out of her, a quick-witted wolf as changing as the storm, glib liar in one instance and the perfect innocence the next. Her actions has proven that she is apt at reading others and calculate likely results with a coldness and an efficiency that many a lord would envy her, and when the time came for action she was shown to be both decisive and swift. While not cruel Sansa certainly is a scrupulous character for whom the end justifies any means, no matter how heartless. A character trait she proved during the flight from Wolvesglen.
Yet for all her cold callousness she is brave to the point of being reckless, unfazed by dangers and headless of any odds set against her. Like the Wynd’s of old she has a fierce temper, and an at times violent one, yet she also seems fiercely protective of those few she still cares for and in particular a certain mad old man imprisoned in a tower.
Stories of Sansa Wynd’s sad life has been told up and down the Cockleswent valley for the past five years, though few knows the full extent of her woes. She was born in 269 AC at Wolvesglen, the second child of Lord Erik Wynd and Elisa Preston. She presumably grew up in comparative bliss during the peaceful years before the coming of the War, though aged 11 young Sansa was struck by a terrible pox. The sickness nearly killed her, leaving her bedridden for near on four years and forever scarred.
It was during her sickness that the calamities of the war befell her family and it is whispered on dark eves that her own father attempted to murder her in his madness. Though the details always vary most tales agree he tried to smother his sickly daughter with her pillow. Only the intervention of her aunt and cousin saved the young Sansa’s life. Since then she has rarely been seen beyond Wolvesglen, though she visited the Tournament at Preston held in 287 AC.
Our young Cockerels set out to “free” Sansa Wynd on the behest of Aeron Bywater, a faithful autumn day in 288 AC. Though she at first appeared a pious, shy and withdrawn girl this illusion was quickly dispelled as it turned out the one who had really orchestrated their audacious “bride-theft” was none other than the bride herself. It became apparent that Sansa was far more active than they had perhaps first expected, actively aiding them in their reckless endeavour. And, as the events of that peculiar night clearly showed, she is a woman both driven and dangerous. As they all escaped down the Cockelswent the Young Cockerels could feel certain that the inclusion of Sansa Wynd into their family would upset quite a few things… though for better or for worse none could say.