Sylvie Perrault is the quiet anchor of Gascar, a woman whose presence feels like the glow of a hearthfire in the midst of storm and shadow. Plump and warm-faced, she dresses in indigo robes that hang loose at the hems, their faded threadwork still bearing the loom of Fate, a symbol she wears with quiet dignity. A simple pendant in the shape of a shuttle rests at her throat, worn smooth by decades of touch. Her auburn hair has surrendered to silver at the temples, and her hands are roughened by years of small labors: tending herbs, mending cloth, stirring pots of tea for the weary. Her laugh is round and generous, though lined now with exhaustion, and when her dark eyes brighten, the room itself seems to breathe easier.
The House of Fate she tends is no grand shrine but a converted cottage. Its potted plants spill greenery into corners, herbs dry in fragrant bundles from the rafters, and bright threads woven into tokens hang along the walls as charms of protection. A carved loom sits upon the mantel, surrounded by candles, though it is not the altar that most remember - it is the warmth of the space itself. Tea waits in chipped but clean mugs, blankets lie ready on benches, and there is always a seat by the fire for those burdened by fog or sorrow.
Sylvie came to Gascar from Moltiers years ago, hoping to plant the values of Fate in the countryside. What she found was not wealth or grandeur but a community in need of steadfast care. She has become mother, confidant, and healer to the villagers, binding their fears together with threads of comfort. Yet beneath her public calm, weariness gnaws at her spirit. The fog that clings to Gascar weighs heavily on her, and the disappearances of Anais Bordeaux, Elodie Laval, and Pierre Vercher press upon her heart like stones. It was she who first wrote to the Institute, her trembling hand carrying the plea for help across the miles.
She believes the so-called Root and Branch Monster may be a sign from Fate - perhaps punishment, perhaps blessing - and though she fears it, she does not give in to panic. Instead, she meets Rowan with open arms, offering food, tea, and the steadiness of her own presence. For all her burdens, she remains a vessel of kindness, a woman whose strength lies not in force but in the resilience of care.
To the people of Gascar she is a guide; to the Institute she is a vital voice from the frontier; and to Rowan she is a reminder that even in the smallest chapel, courage takes root. Her courage is not measured in battles won, but in how she keeps the fire burning when the night grows long.
Personality
- Compassionate and practical, with a deep sense of responsibility to her village.
- Quick to laugh and quicker still to comfort, though shadows linger when she speaks of the missing.
- Deeply rooted in her faith, but grounded and approachable rather than mystical.
- Protective of her people, though privately weary and close to despair beneath the weight of the fog.
Narrative Notes
- Acts as Gascar's spiritual guide and intermediary between the villagers and the Institute.
- Her House of Fate is a place of warmth, tea, and counsel, more sanctuary than shrine.
- Believes the disappearances are tied to the Root and Branch Monster, but avoids stoking panic.
- Provides Rowan with food, rest, and orientation upon his arrival in Gascar.
- Privately anxious, fearing both for her village's future and the weight of Fate's silence
New information obtained during session 1
Sylvie received Rowan like a neighbor and briefed him like a steward. She summarized fear without letting it grow teeth: three villagers missing; fog that ignores noon; a wood that moves in ways men prefer not to name. Her burdens show at the edges-thin sleep, humor that arrives late and leaves early-yet she keeps the House of Fate arranged so every kind of grief can find a place to sit down. She counseled Rowan to trade respect for trust at the inn and to remember that Gascar survives by behaving like itself. Her role, as he understands it, is the village's pulsekeeper: she slows what runs too hot and rouses what has grown faint. Rowan marks her as a continuing ally and first witness; when the next decision must be made quickly, he will check his impulse against her steadier sense of proportion.
New information obtained during session 2
Sylvie examined the balm-mint and confirmed it was hers in kind, but not given to Pierre. She suggested Elodie may have offered it, reflecting Elodie's kindness. She also hosted Rowan overnight, providing tea, counsel, and lighter conversation that gave Rowan rest.