User:Eleanor
I'm sorry but your story isn't adding up
Think your religion is a lie to keep my mouth shut
So I won't testify to crimes you're keeping score of
Why don't you throw me to the wolves?
I thought you were one
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Name: A Truename should be held close to oneself; when venturing to share any name at all, "El" will suffice Titles/Nicknames: Crazy witch and she-devil roll off the tongues of many men, yet she'll cut yours out if you dare call her Mermaid. Age: Young enough to kill you quickly; old enough to know how to hide your body so that it's never found. Race: Human, at least insofar as anyone is concerned. Height: 5'5" when found wandering barefoot along a chosen beach; 5'8" when strutting in her favorite boots. Build: Enough womanly curves and lean muscles to thrill or kill with. Homeland: Isl D'Vaine, an island that doesn't seem to exist outside of fairy tales and books of myth. Languages: D'Vainese (Native), Common (Broken, or so she'd have you believe), Elvish (As if it's her second tongue), and Drow (Broken ... mostly). Alignment: Chaotic Does-Whatever-She-Wants-You-To-Think-She-Does. Class: Spellrogue. A variant of spell blade, some know her as a spell thief and to others as danger. Clan Status: Former Co-Leader and Current Member of The Row; IC Secret Guild Status: Former Leader of the Rogue's Guild; IC Secret Relationship Status: Wouldn't you like to know.
Archives of a Sinner, Journal of a Saint
You were standin' there like an angry god
Countin' out my sins just to cross them off
Sayin' that my tongue was too loud to trust
And that my blood couldn't keep you
Early Life
Human, slave, nothing and no one. Magic-touched, adopted, puppet.
In memories best forgotten or drowned under drink and potent narcotics, Eleanor was born into a world where she would never truly belong. One foot in a world of tyranny and oppression, another foot that carried her along a dutiful march toward Greater Things.
Young Adulthood
Soldier, champion, gem-addict. Wife, queen, mother.
Yet, in every way that she stood apart from everyone she knew, the young spellblade was exploited, controlled, and abused until there were hundreds of souls in her little book of murder. What had started as a righteous cause, a fight for justice and rectitude, this Gods-bequeathed quest ended with hands stained red, and she was hung by the neck until dead.
A loose end that was neatly tied up, or should have been.
Arriving in St-Eye-le
Dead. Broken. Running. Secrets, shadows, syndicates.
Eleanor is a woman of careful words, yet this story is one she cannot tell no matter how much she might want to. How she came to be dead, and then, remarkably, not dead ... such details are lost even to her.
One thing that she knew for sure — her life before was indeed gone, and if she endeavored to forge ahead, it would have to be in the life after.
Bird is the Word
Roguery a-wing, royal engagements. Blue in the dust.
In perhaps poetic contrast to the self-righteous path she was forced along in her youth, Eleanor's decisions since her arrival on the shores of Rynvale have her breaking bread with those who walk in the shadows. Despite standing out as a foreigner to anyone who caught a beat of her unfettered, undisguised tongue, she had somehow found a home here, replacing lost souls with new ones, few though they are.
Murder is the Game
Schemer, murderer, sinner.
Plying a skillful trade that not even death could wipe from memory, El's wicked past soon urged her along new paths, until she was black hand deep in the criminal underbellies of the land.
A new shroud to replace the old.
Yet even such a tense, tentative peace with herself would not last forever. A final act looms, and the curtain threatens to close on this second life. She must now reconcile the reckonings of her past with the depths of madness she maneuvers in her present if there is any hope to secure her future.
My dear, you're not so innocent
You're foolin' heaven's gates
So you won't have to change
You're no saint, you're no savior
Skills
The following list is but a glimpse into her wide array of talents.
- Channeling - Innate
- Ability to channel particular magical energies
- Magic Absorption - Innate.
- Ability to 'acquire' specific magic energies from people, places, and things
- Magic Tattoo - Learned
- Ability to infuse special magical energies into tattoos
- Note: Her style is inspired by certain cultures, i.e., Celtic/Druidic & Norse/Viking
- Ability to infuse special magical energies into tattoos
- Runic Inscription - Learned
- Although it bears a vague resemblance to Dwarven rune-work, the chirographic script is D'Vainese
Gear
- When spotted in public, Eleanor's most common garb consists of a cerulean leather half-vest that leaves her midriff exposed, revealing swirling azure ink across the muscled planes of her stomach and lower back. Hanging from her full hips, a matching split-panel skirt. The ends are only slightly tattered as they brush her ankles, and the hem bears hints of faded golden embroidery. She completes the outfit with a pair of soft brown suede lace-up boots that reach just below her tattooed knees. When not bedecked as such, El wraps her hourglass figure in a skintight suit of leather so dark it appears to swallow up any nearby light while its carefully tailored design disguises many of the svelte spellrogue's secrets.
- An iron diadem sits heavily upon her brow, the band engraved with D'Vainese runes, and at its center is a five-sided turquoise gem that almost glints with life when El tilts her chin at certain angles.
- Although more spell than blade, she favors a steel chakram bearing D'Vainese runes similar to those found on her crown, along with several crystal-tipped wands and a pair of daggers slick with a unique poison she manufactures herself. It has also been rumored that she has in her possession the Major Wand of Pain, an otherwise innocuous-looking stick with devastating powers that once belonged to her former employer, The Oracle. Its presence is markedly absent, yet the stain of its presence haunts the spellrogue still.
Personality
Eleanor is a woman of many faces, and with each new face, she effortlessly shifts her personality to suit the role. Not many know the woman beneath these masks, yet the daring few who do might spin tales over drinks of a loyal friend who would sooner sacrifice herself than any ally, a fierce fighter whose magic and might have helped to shift the tides, and a dangerous foe whose bad side you never want to find yourself on.
The Few Who Might Spin Tales
◯ A Partner in Crime — Partner, steadfast business developed through friendship
⦻ Nothing But A Dog — Bonds once thought indestructible, now forsaken and best forgotten
⦻ A Sea-Swept Paladin — A night soon brushed into the past, but not without regret
⦻ The Smith of Rynvale — A leap of faith, forged with blood spilt for Gods old and new
Your revelations don't look nothin' like the pictures
You read between the lines and don't stick to the scriptures
You only follow rules if others follow with you
That doesn't sound too holy, only playing victim
Influence & Presence
- Former Second-in-Command of the All-Seeing Syndicate, third-eyed thugs led by the hellbent witch known only as The Oracle.
- Co-owner and Manager of The Office, a high-end cabaret and dance hall, located in north Cenril alongside the theatre.
- By way of Bread for the Birds, secretly owns a gladiator school called the Champion's Pit in south Cenril. Under construction.
Arcs
- Active —
- Completed —
- The Dust Up In Cenril
- Major/Regular Participant; Dust Distributor
- Major/Regular Participant; Dust Distributor
- Inactive and/or Pending Revival —
- Sing a Song of Sixpence
- Arcrunner; Last Updated: February 2018
- Arcrunner; Last Updated: February 2018
- Seven Dwarves All Around Me
- Arcrunner; Last Updated: January 2022
- Arcrunner; Last Updated: January 2022
So keep your judgment for someone else, I've had enough
And keep your judgment for someone else, I've had enough
Out of Character
The Writer
- Oldie but not a goodie.
- Based in Central US time.
- Perpetually stuck between overthinking and underthinking.
- note
- All images shared here are © ChelseyArtsOfficial, unless otherwise indicated.
- Userpage Lyrics — Saints by Echos
Contact
HMail , Tells, or Discord
ChelseyArts#3850
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