About Irwin
Irwin!
Irwin, Regina Yaoiae!
Irwin, The Pure Warrior Maiden of the South Cliff!
Irwin, She Who Shall Be, If Not Obeyed, Then At Least Listened To For A Minute, OK?
Irwin, Sorceress of Mancunia, Sibyll of the Flower-Starred Meadow by the Water, beautiful and terrible as the M6 Interchange!
Born in the Hospice of St Mary, at the dawning of the Winter Solstice, (Saggitarius rising, Aquarius descendant) her father, John, a Yeoman of Southowram in the West Riding, her mother, Teresa, a daughter of the House of Davison, Border Reivers and Horsemen of the Middlemarch, she spent much of her childhood singing vacantly and sitting on her own munching on wildflowers. This set the tone for the rest of her life. Aforesaid childhood was lonely, for children sense that which we do not and in her sensed something...not of this world....She saw the heropass to be a giant tangled mandala-story of interweaving forces, and came to believe, naively and firmly in magic, truth, justice, freedom, the power of love as the very force that binds the universe together, and above all keeping a balance, rather than forcing oneself into a dualistic worldview. Yes, she very much enjoyed denying her humanity, thank you. This made it difficult to get any kind of decision out of her, but somehow made it possible for her to perform the promethean feat of doublethink necessary to go about accepting the ways of the world and yet continue believing in the things she does. It also made her fairly good at explaining things and summarising difficult concepts into something mind-meltingly simple, losing a great deal of the meaning along the way. She came to think of herself as the bridge between those who have their head in the clouds of a vast vocabulary and those ordinary souls who have no idea what former are gibbering on about. The winters passed and in her eleventh year, the Nornir revealed unto her the thread of her Wyrd and it came to her that she should possibly become a healer of some sort, probably, and so she she left the mumbling cloisters of the Church of the Angles and passed into the great colleges of learning, and studied lore both modern and ancient (the latter in her spare time) and took upon herself the Mantle of The Herbalist, Healer and Sorceress, becoming sworn Priestess of the Psykoneuropharmakos.
But the Arts of the Healer are not her only talents (if t'were so, you should not be reading The Book). Like unto the Goddess Brighid, Irwin counts herself also a humble Spinner of Tales, though perhaps she does not know quite enough to qualify for the College of the Bards.
At times in her wanderings of the worlds, she stops for a while to set up a homestead: one such home she formed in concert with the Lady Amanita, was the Fanatical League Against Pokemon, a band of outcasts, sociopaths and bloodthirsty violent persons formed to combat a terrible evil which had fallen upon their world. She returns sometimes to greet them and bring wisdom.
She has gone by many names, but speaks her true name when asked, for she fears no spells, and she has met her shadow soul, her Gebbeth, for as the masters of alchemy have often said, without the Union of the Soul there cannot be the Enlightenment of the Philosopher's Stone.
She sought long and hard for the Shadow, and came upon him at last in the deep places of the earth, flanked by the Inner Child, Dark-Haired, Green-Eyed Cherub, Guardian of Innocence, the Mercurial Lady, Black-Haired, Brown-Eyed Warrior, Guardian of Knowledge and the Laughing Terror, Pale-Haired, Blue-eyed Fiend, Guardian of Corruption.
Dark and terrible was he, the Wolf of Night, Offspring of Fenris, the Black Sun, the Dark Side of the Moon that was her Soul. She held aloft her sword, and saw the nature of all that she feared and hated, for in him was the Sunken Night, the Repository of All She Had Repressed.
And so, her heart quaking with terror, she held up her enchanted sword, The Usurper, and cried: "Whence, and what art thou, inexecrable apparition!?"
And it replied: "Jeez, lady, put that thing down. You're gonna hurt someone."
The Guardian of Corruption laughed like the screeching of carrion crows and spake thus:
"That's what it's for, you twit."
At which the Wolf waxed wroth upon him.
"It looks scary." The Guardian of Innocence whimpered, like a frightened puppy.
"Put it down please. We're not going to hurt you. We are you, so it would be rather self-defeating." Spake the Guardian of Knowledge.
Irwin lowered her sword and spake: "I seek union."
"Too soon for that." The Guardian of Corruption snapped, wiping wroth from his face.
"Yup." The Wolf agreed. "You gotta get a lot smarter."
"We cannot know each other.. there can be no union yet." Irwin looked thoughtful. "Go then, Oh Wolf of the Shadow, into Story. I shall make for thee a Mask of Tale, and thou shalt take upon thyself the Mantle of the King, and Have An Awfully Big Adventure."
And so she went once again into the light and sought the help of others. Two came from the League and one she came upon within the Hallowed and Howling Halls of the Midgar Psychological Services. And together they wrought a mighty tale, wherein the past, present and future were spun together with the threads brought from other worlds, and patterns from the great tapestries, the great tales that they knew.
Thus, something terrible was spawned.....
...
All the above words are absolutely true, if somewhat dressed up in flowery language. Unlike some OTHER Fluidologists, she would never dream of lying, but her Bardish soul would fain embellish the tale a little here and there... Here endeth the pretentious, rambling autohagiography..
Now bugger off and read the book, (if ye be not scoundrels, knaves and dagoes)...
