This is a tale I wrote several years ago which has not seen the light of day beyond living on the website I created for this same character. While she may not be mythology per se, she has ever walked amongst it. This is her life story in her own words. Further excerpts of her life will randomly follow.

Ah, tis about the Salope tha' ye wish to ken, oui? Then be pulling up a chair, s'il vous plait, whilst I pull ye a tankard o' this fine heather ale tha' the gnomes ha' brewed from yon fine tap, and twill be bending thy ear I shall be.

Twas born in the 5th Century I was, no' too long after our fine High King Arthur met his demise at the hands o' his treacherous son, amongst the finest orchard in the world both kenned and no'. Da' is a scoundrel o' the Greek pantheon and goes by the harmless sounding name o' Hermes; Mum I ne'er kenned as she passed the veil mere moments after I greeted the world wi' my first infant cries. Becca was my nursemaid, and found my own wee self to be a most mischievous and curious charge. I canna comprehend a more perfect childhood than one spent on the Isle o' Avalon.

Here now, allow me to fill tha' for ye; I doona wish for ye to be thirsting whilst my tale rambles along its way. Now, where was I? Ah, oui, we are approaching wha' I ha' e'er considered to be my own Great Tragedy. Da' arrived on the isle in my eighth year, and carried me off to be a wee tiny ghost in his realm o' thieves and messengers. To Olympus we went, no' tha' I was e'er gi'en a choice in the matter. Twas also when my name was changed for the first time, born into this world as Pansy I was, but Ghost I then became. For ye see, I was verra handy at making a disappearing act from time to time, ye ken?

In the lessoning o' my Da's instructors, I learned to use and carry the staff and slingshot tha' ye see yon against tha' wall there. A thief is ne'er the aggressor, and a messenger mun be quick on her feet ere she loses her head if she the bearer o' bad news be. Tumbling and other acrobatics was also beat into my wee self. Verra nimble I quickly became, if only to avoid the beatings o' those much larger and quicker than my own self. For eight verra long years I resided wi' Da' and his minions. Ye canna imagine the cravings I had for the sweet crisp taste o' an apple. Nectar and ambrosia grows old verra quickly, would ye no' think?

Thy tankard is well enough? A wee nibble mayhaps? Tis wee tarts o' apple and cinnamon I ha' for ye. Non, take two, tis verra small they are. Well now, Da' has verra precise and select tastes and his eye fell upon this glorious tapestry tha' he couldna be wi'out. Twas woven by tha' puir lass Arachnae... do ye ken o' her? Turned to a spider she was by the lady Artemis, and weaves fore'er more the most exquisite tales and pictures in her webs. Ha' ye e'er taken a close look at the web o' a spider? The truths o' the gods themselves are written there, if ye ken how to read the silken lines. Take my word on it, ma amie, ne'er e'er come out on the short end o' the sword in a challenge wi' the gods. Ye willna always die, but tis sure I am tha' ye will be wishing tha' ye had, if ye ken my drift. Life as a spider wi' no' but wee insects to dine upon? No' for moi, merci beaucoup. Oui, the gods are verra capricious.

Anahow, as I was saying. Da' had a hankering for tha' tapestry he did and off I went to liberate it from the dreary life amongst the mortal realm, to a much more lofty demesne o' Olympus her verra self. Twas to be nipped after I had delivered a message from herself, the Lady Artemis. Oui, tis the verra challenge o' which I speak. Now, this wee blonde tha' ye see before ye isna quite as dim as Da' would wish to believe. After delivering the message as per the goddess' command, I whispered to Arachnae o' his desire for the fruit o' her loom and then ran! Using the verra speed and dexterity tha' I inherited from the catalyst o' my verra existance, I wandered and hid for a verra long time; no life o' the larcenous messenger lass for me as ye please.

No' daring to return to the isle o' my birth, I journeyed north.. High North, and disco'ered a most peculiar place. A land o' fire and ice, wi' both perpetual day and endless night. Populated by giants, twas the perfect place to hide from Da' and his no' so kind clutches. Aasgard was the name, and Valhalla was the noisiest watering hole about. There, amongst the Vikings, is where I learned to be e'en quicker on my feet and quite handy wi' a tankard as well. I also gained the protective eye o' a laird by the moniker o' Odin. Most queer he was... he only had one eye! And ravens? Good gods, one couldna breathe ere one o' their molted feathers were in thy nose. Ah now, tis the bottom o' a cup I am seeing... allow me to fill this up again for ye. As I told ye, tis a verra thirsty tale I ha' to share.

Here ye be, non, tisna thy coinage I am wishing... thy toll is well paid by the listening o' my tale. Four o' the busiest and loudest years tha' i ha' e'er had was spent there. Til the Dark Day came. Oui, I see tha' ye ken my meaning. Da' came a visiting. Now Odin kenned full well who I was, for all tha' my name had changed again, to the unlikely tag o' Helga, and he was aware tha' Da' was searching for wee me strenuously o'er the disco'ered realms. On this Dark Day, the auld mon had been taken wi' a desire to Travel amongst his people, wi' his birds, thankfully. It seems tha' a braw lad by the name o' Beowolf had struck his fancy. Non! twasna like tha'! A verra virile mon betwixt the furs, Odin is, according to his own valkyries. On this day, Loki was left in charge. Och, the verra thought o' leaving a troublemaking god o' mischief in control o' a Hall wi' nothing but drunken Vikings wi' sharp swords and axes and lovely women wi' figures the shape o' yon hourglass there. Methinx ye ken where this is heading.

In walks Da', in the midst o' the largest brawl tha' I had e'er seen. And believe me, brawls arena a rarity in tha' place. My wee stick came to my hand on many occasion, as ye might imagine. As I was saying, in walks Da', but in disguise, ye ken? He struck up a conversation wi' Loki and somehow ended up playing a game o' bones. The god o' mischief and the god o' theives were gaming...and cheating...til Da's eye happened to fall on my own wee self. Now one would think, oui, tha' I wouldna be easy to see as I am much tinier than the smallest o' the giants o' the North. Tha' twasna the case. In a final toss, Da' perpetuated a great treachery and won. ME! Twas a verra Dark Day indeed.

He dragged me back to the mountain o' which he called home, and proceeded wi' exacting deliberation to make me regret the verra day tha' he was born. Once he was satisfied wi' the se'eral pounds o' flesh, blood and hair tha' he stripped from my own wee self, he tossed m'broken and bleeding body down the side o' the no' so wee hill. But no' ere setting the brand o' his own wing'd staff on my shoulder, stripping me o' yet another name ere gifting me wi' the one tha' ye ken me by now and placing a geas. Cursed me he did. As I had had the audacity to run from his kind guardianship, I ne'er again will be content to remain in one spot for long. Travelling Feet I ha', and will for the remainder o' my verra long existance.

Ah, I see thy eyes are glazing o'er. I willna bore ye wi' the myriad o' adventures tha' I ha' had on my Journeys. To make this a bit shorter, I shall only tell ye this... I ha' managed to collect a family o' my own through my Travels. A Twin tha' I willna be wi'out upon pain o' death, a pair o' sisters tha' surely call the sun to rise each day and the mad menagerie o' the childer tha' look to all o' us. And then there is yon Havoc, a more bog-mad wolf ye canna perceive; and Mythan, a Familiar deserving o' a much better witch than me.

Anahow, twas the Salope tha' ye wished to ken a wee bit better. Tis my hopes tha' my wee tale satisfied thy curiousity a tad. Tis late and thy bed is calling. Non, doona trouble thyself wi' the tidying up. I ha' a verra dear friend tha' has a verra peculiar attachment wi' a broom tha' will be by anon. Kind Roads, and may thy own wandering feet come this way again.

Pardon? How old am I? Tha' depends... wha' year is it? Time passes verra strangely in the realms o' the gods, and I spent a good long time in their company. My own birthplace o' Avalon doesna ha' time move in the same manner tha' it does in the world o' man. So, to answer thy question fairly, i doona ken quite how old I am. But, as I ha' been assured tha' one is only as old as they feel, methinx tha' I am verra young indeed.