Shavanna Spiritdancer - ambush healer (barbarian shaman)

(Written by Hazid Wagglefingers, Gnomish Wizard, Retired)

Have you ever seen a woman so in tune with men that she has but to smile appreciatively at them, and they seem to trip over themselves blushing and giving her gifts?

Have you ever seen a righteous fury so strong and cold that witnesses fear they are going to suffer frostbite from it ... if not worse?

Have you ever seen a woman so casual about the profits from her hunts that half of them are given away to folks in need before she can even reach a merchant to sell them? Who will spend countless plat devising quests for the young so that they can feel they earned something instead of just having everything handed to them?

Have you ever seen such a bone-deep despair, that a young lass of 9 trainings would try to suicide against a hill giant armed only with a cracked staff?

I have, my friends, and much, much more, in the form of one woman, Shavanna Spiritdancer.

I remember when I first saw her, when she was a lass of but 6 trainings, running about Rivervale hunting, healing, laughing, teasing. I was an old gnome, even then, but her kind and giving nature touched me and I remember rummaging to find un-wanted loot in my packs as I saw her giving away items to folks more needy than her ... there was just something about her that spurred one to generosity.

The next time I saw the lass, she was in her 9th training, running full-tilt at a hill giant, screaming curses in her native tongue, wielding only a cracked staff. Well, there was no way I was going to let a lovely lass like that suicide -- especially one who'd kissed my bald pate in thanks when I'd given her those gifts on my first meeting with her. So, being the mighty wee wizard that I am, I killed the hill giant in his tracks. Oh, how quickly her despair turned into pure fury as she turned on me. For a moment, skilled elder that I was, I was truly in fear for my life. Then the battle-rage left her, and she crumpled in a curvaceous heap at my feet, sobbing about someone being lost to her forever.

In the intervening years, I've been told that it was the last time anyone ever saw her cry ...

I told her she was going about the revenge thing all wrong, handed her a glowing wooden crook that I'd been trying to sell just to get out of my inventory, and gave her a few quick lessons, telling her bracingly that a Shaman of Justice could oft wait many years to exact the proper judgement on those deserving of justice. Grim determination replaced the look of bleak despair in her eyes at that moment.

From that point until now, on the eve of my retirement from the wizardly arts, I've watched her, waiting, worrying. She's become the mistress of burying her true feelings, covering all with a flirting act that fools most, if not all. Not once in all that time has she given her heart. Rarely, if ever, have her flirtations lead to even single dalliances with a man. Either she has not found any worthy of her true affections, or she still grieves.

The mask is a good one, and ofttimes I forget she is anything but a lighthearted shamaness with a kind and flirty streak leagues wide. But every once in a while I see something in her eyes as she watches a hill giant stride by ... and I find myself feeling sorry for the unsuspecting hill giants. I want ringside seats when she comes into her full power and seeks them out.

(Read the tale of what happens after Shavanna makes her first hill giant kill, and the Spiritdance that follows in Visionquest)

Addendum from the deathbed ramblings of Hazid Wagglefingers

She came to visit me last week, that lovely barbarian lass. If only I was 200 years younger, and perhaps a bit taller, and ... tchah ... no sense worrying about all that piffle now, is there?

She looked lighter, happier ... at peace. The sort of peace few ever find in life. Whatever ghosts had haunted her, whatever grief had been in her past, she seems to have come to terms with it. She looks ... content. Mind you, I don't know if she's truly in love with this young erudite she went moon-eyed about or not, but he seems good for her. Reminds me of your grandmother and I, back about 300 years ago, that little happy glow. We were so in love ... Not like you young folks today, in love one moment, out of love the next.

Hey what?

Oh, the point to all this?

Find her, grandson, as a final wish to me. Ask her to dance for my spirit. She'll know what I mean.