THE DEBATABLE LANDS (OOC/Sign-Ups) [Closed]

[Zeinbrad]

So priest that has a lot of children?

Ha! Well, Catholic priests along the Border did get up to a good deal of mischief, it is true; they didn't care overmuch for rules made in Rome. But look, Zein: it is your character. Make a character that you feel comfortable RPing, that you can understand and for which you are willing to do the research. That is the only advice I can give you.

Okay.

I just want to try something new.

Of course, like I always said to myself when I make a priest character he has to sing hellfire at least once.

[Reverend Norv]

Ha! Well, Catholic priests along the Border did get up to a good deal of mischief, it is true; they didn't care overmuch for rules made in Rome. But look, Zein: it is your character. Make a character that you feel comfortable RPing, that you can understand and for which you are willing to do the research. That is the only advice I can give you.

Okay.

I just want to try something new.

Of course, like I always said to myself when I make a priest character he has to sing hellfire at least once.

That is a joke, right?

[Zeinbrad]

Okay.

I just want to try something new.

Of course, like I always said to myself when I make a priest character he has to sing hellfire at least once.

That is a joke, right?

Yes.

[Evraim]

APPLICATION

Name: Fiona "Bonnie Hands" Elliot

Gender: Female

Age: 14

Appearance: Fiona stands a little above 5 feet and 1/2 an inch in height. She possesses a average figure, boasting less musculature than her brother Clever Duff for obvious reasons. A tumble of golden ringlets, the pride of her house, cascade past her shoulders. Her eyes flicker with as dark an emerald and lively as the Scottish glens that lie to the west of the Borderlands. One of Fiona's more striking characteristics centers on her delicate hands and slender fingers. These earned her the sobriquet that has stuck with her through most of her maidenhood.

Powergrid Attributes:

INT - 4 (Genius)
Fiona is more than passing bright, as befits a daughter of the Elliots. She is knowledgeable of the tales weaved around the dying embers of a bonfire and of ancient songs played on lute or high harp, songs of daring raids, of tender love, and of heroes well-sung. While Fiona has not been gifted, or cursed as some are wont to say, with the Sight, the girl can speak of the Folk and the Other-world with unparalleled wisdom for one so green. She even remembers which nooks and crannies lead to these secret places where the Fair Ones conceal their homes from mortal men. Unusually, Fiona also yields her mind for more scholarly pursuits. She is literate, having deciphered the scrawls of the Bible. This skill was taught to the girl both by her brother and by Reverend Joseph Elliot. Fiona thus comprehends both Scots and Latin, along with rudimentary English. She even has private opinions about the religious turmoils in Europe, though these are just that, private.

STR - 1 (Weak)
While she is strong enough to perform basic household chores, and even perhaps to bear children someday, an arduous experience for any woman in this day and age, Fiona should not be expected to engage in hard labor or combat. These duties are, after all, reserved for the Elliot men. Despite these limitations, Fiona is physically almost as strong as her brother, Clever Duff Elliot, a fact that has caused many to mock the latter.

DUR - 1 (Average)
She is once again capable of enduring a decent amount of pain. Child birth necessitates at least some pain tolerance, and Fiona has been raised since birth to be a wife and mother. Despite this, her constitution is not such that she can take an arrow to the knee without great risk to herself.

SPD - 3 (Track Runner)
Fiona is fleet of foot as a wild roe, as the scriptures say. The girl played often in the glens and meadows that littered the mostly barren lands that the Elliots call home. It was then that she first felt the breeze whipping her hair back and driving her breathless. This skill is useful for fleeing raids prosecuted on foot, as Fiona can easily outpace a lightly armored man.

FS - 1 (Untrained)
She is more likely to damage herself with a knife than a head of beef. Replacing the head of beef with a man doesn't improve her chances much. In fact, Fiona would produce more inspiring results if she slit her own throat rather than lunging at an enemy.

Armor, Weapons, and Possessions: She has two dresses to her name, neither of grande make, though they suit her nice enough. Fiona also owns a bedraggled copy of the Bible that was taken as loot by some relative during a raid. Her most prized possessions, however, are a Celtic harp, which she can play beautifully, and a modest lute. It is not altogether uncommon for her to borrow books and parchment from her brother, with permission, of course.

Personality: Fiona is, much like her brother, respectful and demure on most occasions. She is a voracious reader, and values religion and culture for their own sake. As such, she views the destruction wrought by cross-border raids with trepidation, and even outrage. She has a fascination for Catholic symbols, as well as older Celtic practices, though her faith is soundly Protestant. Despite her usual mannerisms, Fiona is often fierce when confronting those who would speak ill of her brother. She holds a deep respect for Roger Elliot, Isobel Jardine, and Mither Lileas Elliot. She is also quite affectionate towards her brother Clever Duff and, oddly enough, Iron Kenneth. Her harp often sounds for the two of them. Her relationship with Red Duncan and Job Elliot are cool but polite. Frankly, Fiona dislikes Red Duncan's violent predisposition, and has extended this dislike quite unfairly to his younger brother, whom she scarcely knows. The girl despises Walter Scott for murdering her father.

Abilities and Talents: None among the kin of Elliot may boast to play the Celtic harp so beautifully as Fiona. She can even accompany graceful melodies with her angelic voice, singing old songs in Scots and in Gaelic. The girl enjoys this activity perhaps more than other, and will put finger to sting on even the flimsiest of excuse. She knows multiple languages including Scots, rudimentary Latin, and some Gaelic. Her knowledge of Latin often manifests itself in recitations of memorized prayers or wise sayings from the scriptures. Aside from these intellectual abilities, Fiona has immense knowledge regarding the Fair Folk, and has the Sight, albeit at an undeveloped and mostly untapped level. Otherwise, she is good for basic chores.

Weaknesses and Fears: Quite weak, even by the standards of most women, Fiona has an innate aversion to violence. This means that she is quite vulnerable to enemies of Clan Elliot, and that her relationships with reivers are often strained. At the same time, she can be excessively emotional, in spite of her intelligence. Her love for her family members often blinds her to reason, especially at moments when they might be at risk. Her hatred for Walter Scott has a similar effect, and it has been said that, if ever the man should cross her sight, then she would be safer in the company of the Wild Hunt than that of her own grievances.

Likes: Music, Books, Religion, Family

Dislikes: Pointless violence, Intolerance, Clan Scott

Personal History:

The year o my birth was an ill-fated one for the Protestants, o which I am one. Ta the south o the wall that the king in London and the king in Edinburgh had seen fit ta affix ta these lands that have belonged ta the Names long past since anyone can remember, Bloody Mary o the House o Tudor disposed wi her predecessor and called herself queen. She would later burn good clergymen at the stake and dispossess our brothers and sisters o the faith for ta make England a Catholic kingdom once more. The Protestants ta the south would have na succor, na mercy, and na justice so long as this self-same queen reigned. Even salvation was denied them.

We folk o these lands pay little heed ta what transpires ta north or ta south, except for when it poses some immediate danger ta us. I cannot say whether this is admirable or folly. I have no right ta chastise my kin on account o my own qualms. This has been the way o the Elliots since the name Elliot came ta be, and it will be the way o my kin long after they have laid me ta rest beneath some churchyard. It was na different wi me as a wee maid. In my sight, the troubles o milk-drinkers were naught but trifles o some other Names o'er yonder, hidden in glens ta the south. My world extended na further than my da, my ma, and my cannie brother. He was older than me by six years, and a tad bit gloomy for ta play wi.

All the same, I made do wi what I had. I could wash clothes when still a wee lass, and use a broom for ta tidy up as fine as my ma. Better even, my da taught me ta sing auld songs, and how ta string a harp for ta make pure music wi. Perhaps I should not be so haughty as I am wi my music. Na good man adores a vain woman, but I cannot help feel a tad prideful when I bring forth smiles and tears in equal chalder. Joseph says that the devil loves vanity for ta corrupt the souls o men, while Mither Lileas recalls a tale o the Fair Ones who punished a mortal woman for thinking herself as grande as they. I must therefore repent o my pride.

I have learned something o the auld ways, o Alfhame and the Folk, and also o Christ, who suffered on the cross for ta pay our ransom, even as we o the Names ransom our captive kin from other Names. Miher Lileas taught me much o the one, while Joseph taught me o the other. My books have made their wee contributions as well. How then can I dismiss the ways o the Clan Elliot when I myself bear that self-same name? Aye, the reiving took my da, but the reiving gave him life for ta begin. All that we own, all that we are, has been bought wi the reiving. Despite this, I still cannot say that I am in love wi the killing. It frightens me so, the thought o losing my darling brother Duff, or anyone else, I am a tad ashamed for ta say. Why should anyone be made ta suffer an' catch sight o the bean nighe a-washing at her ford?

Because it is our way, the way o Clan Elliot. I have been made ta flee from the reiving o other Names. I have watched the burning, the killing, the thievery o those who despise our name, an' would see it ruined. I know that Christ said ta love those that hate us for to be godly. Nonetheless, I cannot but hate them, they who would see the proud name o Elliot wiped from these lands that have ever been ours. Still, I am made pregnant wi consternation when I nip my brother and cousins farewell as they go out a-reiving an' a-seeking vengeance.

[Reverend Norv]

Hell yes, Ev. I love it. Fiona really captures something about the soul of the Border.

A few notes. First, I assume that you've cleared the brother-sister thing with NEI? I think it's great, but you'll need his agreement. Second, I hadn't planned for Duff and Fiona's father to be one of the four executed by Walter Scott, but it is no skin off my nose to change that, if NEI is in accord. He would have been a more minor Elliot who rode with Four-fingers Tam and his brothers.

Basically, It looks great. Once you've finished the bio, I'll add Fiona to the Dramatis Personae and the Character Relationships tracker. It's grand to have you!

[Nationstatelandsville]

...and the third cousin of Red Duncan Elliot (who thinks he's an oaf with a talent for mayhem).

"I aim ta please, uncle."

[Reverend Norv]

...and the third cousin of Red Duncan Elliot (who thinks he's an oaf with a talent for mayhem).

"I aim ta please, uncle."

I am going to have fun with Elliots believing that Iron Kenneth is some kind of wise old sage, simply because he's managed to survive this long.

[G-Tech Corporation]

That was an exquisite history of a time period I'm unaware of.

Let's give this a whirl:

APPLICATION

Name: Thom "Walker" Elliott

Gender: Male

Age: 22

Appearance: Thom stands, when entirely upright, six foot and what he generally claims is an inch, but is really too close to call either way. However the man is accustomed to going about in a slightly hunched over posture, as one does when walking into a strong gale, and as such is taken by most to be shorter than he is in actuality. His face is long and thin, betraying a wasting disease of the youth in the gauntness of his high cheekbones, and he wears his thick beard close-cropped when possible, though it grows like a thing alive when it is not appropriately tamed. His hair is of the deepest brown, all but indistinguishable from black, and this he keeps well-maintained, by sword-stroke if necessary. Thom's eyes are of a light hue of emerald that seems almost to twinkle in the dark, a color almost otherworldly in its complexion; his build is that of a dancer, or a fencer, composed of wiry muscle and thin elegant features, a man light on his feet with quick fingers.

Powergrid Attributes:

INT 3: Thom is a cunning fellow, versed in many arts, and in possession of quick hands and a quicker mind. He sees much that others miss, even if they wish to hide it, and can ferret out the truth amidst a man's lies with little effort. Being a creature of the shadows, he has adopted for many years the guises of his marks, and affected to be many things which he is not; a clergyman, a nobleman, a smith, a traveling musician, a guard at gaol, a jeweler of repute, and more. His mind is his most beautiful weapon, for he delights in stratagem and devices, and secrets paths which few others know.
STR 1: The Walker is so named not for his penchant to pad softly where none thought he could tread, but rather for the fact that as a child he was unhorsed many times. His hands are swift, but not strong, and he is no knight or fell warrior, to strike down his enemies in bombast and daylight. Light and thin, stretched almost as a baker rolls out too little dough, Thom is not a match for many warriors upon the Debatable Lands, but in his hand lies the quick knife and the slow death of poison. With bow and arrow and shot are his delight, not battle-axe and lance.
DUR 2: The Third Son is a man of passing fitness, though little composition; often times he has run for hours to escape even horsed foes, and his tolerance for clever pain is a resilience forged in many unpleasant encounters in his youth. His body is marked with many scars of knives and less comfortable weapons, though his constitution is fragile, and most of the ox-headed men of the Border can take more punishment than him. Delicate is perhaps a good word for Thom, if delicate is a man of sorrow and pain, but not battle.
SPD 1: Not the most athletic of individuals, or gifted with the stamina of an ancient god, still the Walker is not named such for no reason; in the high moors and hidden places of the Debatable Land he is a wily quarry, and difficult to catch if not in the open.
FS 3: Trained in his youth with bow and sword, the young Thom became a veritable master of dueling and fencing, much lauded for his prowess in the art, as was occasionally visible on the rare Days of Truce. He was a hunter during his formative years of some renown, and could stop the heart of a doe at three hundred paces with his feathered shafts of steel death. His experiences became more tainted and, shall we say, practical, as the lad aged into a man, and he is nothing if not an unorthodox fighter. Hidden knives, poisoned arrows, and the art of fighting many men at once; these are the profits of the Walker's forays into Scotland and England, a deadly harvest for any he might find upon the other side than him.

Armor, Weapons, and Possessions: Thom's most treasured possession is an old steel dagger he was given by his father; the man told him it was from the far south, forged of bog-iron, and it has been stained with blood many many times. For more mundane matters he has a bandolier of tiny silver bells which he plays with rather haunting ability, a serviceable steel hand-and-a-half sword, and a thick black oak shortbow which he uses most often. He wears battered leather armor, the breastwork of which is sewn with steel akin to a coat-of-plates, all of which is the color of mud and leaves, though which is a subjective judgement based on the time of year along the Border. The Walker carries a beaten-up old book, bound in thick black leather and trimmed with gold, and writ in a language he has been unable to decipher, for a wise woman once told him to always have it close to his heart, and wears a necklace of pure iron about his collar, said to have been forged from a fallen star. Also he bears with him a serviceable supply of supple leather strips.

Personality: Thom is a rather boisterous man amongst friends and family, the former of which he has few and the latter of which he has many. Fond of a good stiff drink, and a man said to have a hollow leg into which he pours the alcohol. Distrusted by many for his less than honorable ways, he trusts few, and is inclined to think strangers are out to get him. Strangers is occasionally transferred to "everyone within a radius of a mile", but those points of paranoid are rare. He has light fingers, and a fondness for beautiful things, and as such tends to get on poorly with many people due to the tendency of their valuable objects to wander into his pockets. A deeply religious man, despite his failings, his personal prayers take up the hour of sunrise every day if possible, and he has been observed to weep during his ritual conversation with the Almighty, though the Walker has traversed many of the stranger locations of the Border, and knows personally of the tricky beings and wild things that make their homes along the moors. Thom has a healthy respect for the supernatural, and views the belief that logic and reason can understand the universe as a notion conceived outside of a true comprehension of the whorl of fate.

Abilities and Talents: Fast, very fast, with his hands. A knife, some poison, even just a hand into a pocket; all these Thom can move with almost unnatural skill and speed, and his ghostly eyes are perceptive beyond the ken of mortal men. He is vaunted in the Reiver community for his skill as a duelist and archer, and valued by the Elliotts for his ability to walk unseen where men look for him, moving like a shadow in the night when he wishes. Cunning and rather cruel at need, the Walker is not above the acts of one that would be called wicked, though contrition and guilt are ever his lot. His clever hands also picked up some surgical skill, in the south or north he will not say, but his leechcraft with knife and needle is second to none, as long as he has brews from the womenfolk for his poultices.

Weaknesses and Fears: Thom very well understands the mysterious forces that sweep at times over the highlands, shaking bastle houses and plucking wee babies from their mothers arms. If anything he fears the night, the sharp eyes and many teeth and the spirits that lurk beyond the sight of men, though he walks with it as his cloak and friend in the eyes of others. All over the broken hills and secluded groves has he traveled, to forgotten graves and staring stones, shattered teeth gnashing at the sky; the beyond he fears, for mankind, and his only solace is often his religion. Less afraid of death and pain is he than many men, for he has known both intimately, the breaking of body and the anguish of mind, but the stark terror of the Fair Folk and their ways is not such a light thing to dismiss.

Likes (optional): Strong drink, good steel, works of beauty and skill, the wind over the moors, a hot fire at his feet, the thrill of the chase and the heist.

Dislikes (optional): The Beyond, open battle, brash action, Papists, loose women, piss-beer.

Personal History: Thom, originally known as Thomas, Elliot, was born in 1546, under the sign of a full harvest moon. This was taken as auspicious, and the infant Thom was raised as any child of the Debatable Lands might be; trained in sword and bow, axe and steed, his only differences became observable at the tender age of twelve. Upon riding on his first raid, the hapless lad had his pony slain under him, a beast he had reared since its birth. It is said he slew the two men who took its life with only a length of bowstring, a very sharp pebble, and a fire poker, his blood hot in his veins, but that is not known- he refuses to speak of that day, and those of the Name he rode against will discuss it neither. For many months the lad walked only, padding along before raiding parties with his black bow in hand, and oftentimes the first foes knew of a Hot Trod was the barely perceptible hiss of cruel shafts coming out of the darkness upon them, ere even the main party of the Elliots arrived. His legs became like iron in those days, but eventually the Elliots reived too far afield, and the lad was reluctantly persuaded to take horse. Again, by an ill turn of fate, the creature was killed beneath him, and his leg was gashed open upon a shard of rock as black as a night without stars. The raid went ill, and when his kin bore the young Thom home again he soon burned with fever and infection, his skin as hot as a kettle to the touch. Like cloth before a flame the fat and muscle burned from his body, as the youthful Elliot strove hither and thither against the fever, eyes unseeing, or perhaps seeing more than they should. It was then that they manifested their current light hue; perhaps the sickness took some of his life, for until that day Thom had had eyes as deep of an emerald as the richest of valley grasses, but when his fever finally broke and the sickness abated he was more like a corpse than a living man, and whatever childhood the Walker bore had been burned away with the malady.

Within a month the child had departed, wending north, his face gaunt and hollow, and only stories came back from his travels. Some say he walked from one end of England to another, some that he found his fortune in the court at Edinbourgh, a consort of great ladies, beloved for his burning intensity and sincerity. At one of his many destinations the man took to religion, and remains devout to his day, but after a period of many years, only a week before his twentieth Name-day, Thom returned from wandering, carrying many things of value and coming up over the Border from the south, though when last his kin had seen him his face was pointed to Scotland. Little has he said of his time away, and many had taken him for dead, but the skill and prowess of the fellow cannot be doubted, and he has proven of much use in his last two years amidst his kin once more.

[Nationstatelandsville]

"I aim ta please, uncle."

I am going to have fun with Elliots believing that Iron Kenneth is some kind of wise old sage, simply because he's managed to survive this long.

This is much to his consternation.

[Reverend Norv]

A note: because both Rupudska and Evraim want to have some Gaelic in this RP, I am hereby declaring that Mither Lileas speaks Gaelic and has taught it to some of her favorite bairns. She learned it from a wise woman from the Highlands, whom she knew in her youth under circumstances that remain unclear. More will be revealed in the IC.

[Reverend Norv]

G-tech, that is cool, damned cool. I am going to take that mysterious book and iron collar, and make them plot points. Needless to say, Thom is accepted. I'll add him to the Dramatis Personae and Character Relationships tomorrow morning. Thank you, too, for your kind words.

One question: you referred to Thom once as the Third Son, which made me think that he might be the younger brother of Red Duncan and Job. Did you have some particular place in mind for Thom in the preexisting clan structure, or is he just another Elliot?

[Reverend Norv]

I am going to have fun with Elliots believing that Iron Kenneth is some kind of wise old sage, simply because he's managed to survive this long.

This is much to his consternation.

"Why do they come to me with this bollocks? Why is it always me?"

[G-Tech Corporation]

G-tech, that is cool, damned cool. I am going to take that mysterious book and iron collar, and make them plot points. Needless to say, Thom is accepted. I'll add him to the Dramatis Personae and Character Relationships tomorrow morning. Thank you, too, for your kind words.

One question: you referred to Thom once as the Third Son, which made me think that he might be the younger brother of Red Duncan and Job. Did you have some particular place in mind for Thom in the preexisting clan structure, or is he just another Elliot?

Exactly what I meant them to be. RPs are no fun if you leave all the plot upon the shoulders of your OP. I meant those words; I can honestly say I've read approximately jack shit about this period, and now I'm wishing fervently I knew more, because it is fascinating.

I can work with that, if you'd like. It was really just an offhand reference to allow insertion into an existing social structure, so no, no particular place in mind. Place as necessary.

[Reverend Norv]

G-tech, that is cool, damned cool. I am going to take that mysterious book and iron collar, and make them plot points. Needless to say, Thom is accepted. I'll add him to the Dramatis Personae and Character Relationships tomorrow morning. Thank you, too, for your kind words.

One question: you referred to Thom once as the Third Son, which made me think that he might be the younger brother of Red Duncan and Job. Did you have some particular place in mind for Thom in the preexisting clan structure, or is he just another Elliot?

Exactly what I meant them to be. RPs are no fun if you leave all the plot upon the shoulders of your OP. I meant those words; I can honestly say I've read approximately jack shit about this period, and now I'm wishing fervently I knew more, because it is fascinating.

I can work with that, if you'd like. It was really just an offhand reference to allow insertion into an existing social structure, so no, no particular place in mind. Place as necessary.

Glad to hear it. I think I'll give Thom his own family unit; he seems rather out of place as one of Waterbull Johnnie's kids. As for your knowledge of the period, your app is flawlessly accurate and beautifully atmospheric, so I wouldn't worry at all.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Exactly what I meant them to be. RPs are no fun if you leave all the plot upon the shoulders of your OP. I meant those words; I can honestly say I've read approximately jack shit about this period, and now I'm wishing fervently I knew more, because it is fascinating.

I can work with that, if you'd like. It was really just an offhand reference to allow insertion into an existing social structure, so no, no particular place in mind. Place as necessary.

Glad to hear it. I think I'll give Thom his own family unit; he seems rather out of place as one of Waterbull Johnnie's kids. As for your knowledge of the period, your app is flawlessly accurate and beautifully atmospheric, so I wouldn't worry at all.

That's on you for the OP then; I fully admit to not doing a shred of research for it, and feel only a small amount of shame at that fact. Sounds good; not to mention I had that bit about the southern bog-iron dagger, and I'm not sure if Waterbull Johnnie is the type of man who would own one of those. Plus it'll give a certain amount of multiple-choice history to the RP's backstory, which is never a bad feature.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Glad to hear it. I think I'll give Thom his own family unit; he seems rather out of place as one of Waterbull Johnnie's kids. As for your knowledge of the period, your app is flawlessly accurate and beautifully atmospheric, so I wouldn't worry at all.

That's on you for the OP then; I fully admit to not doing a shred of research for it, and feel only a small amount of shame at that fact. Sounds good; not to mention I had that bit about the southern bog-iron dagger, and I'm not sure if Waterbull Johnnie is the type of man who would own one of those. Plus it'll give a certain amount of multiple-choice history to the RP's backstory, which is never a bad feature.

For instance, not naming Kenneth's wife has set up the second act twist that he is, in fact, a disguised James Hepburn spying on the Elliots for Mary.

[G-Tech Corporation]

That's on you for the OP then; I fully admit to not doing a shred of research for it, and feel only a small amount of shame at that fact. Sounds good; not to mention I had that bit about the southern bog-iron dagger, and I'm not sure if Waterbull Johnnie is the type of man who would own one of those. Plus it'll give a certain amount of multiple-choice history to the RP's backstory, which is never a bad feature.

For instance, not naming Kenneth's wife has set up the second act twist that he is, in fact, a disguised James Hepburn spying on the Elliots for Mary.

Exactly. One simply cannot write an appropriately surprising and twisty plot if all the hidden variables that are normally points of revelation are already accounted for.

[Reverend Norv]

Right - the bog-iron dagger. You are just making the plot of this story so much easier. I will have to remember that, and work it in somehow.

For instance, not naming Kenneth's wife has set up the second act twist that he is, in fact, a disguised James Hepburn spying on the Elliots for Mary.

I literally almost fell out of my chair laughing.

[Reverend Norv]

Frankly, I found a lot of the research for this project fun, and sometimes downright chilling. The Green Wolf, for example, is about the most genuinely terrifying thing I've ever heard of.

You are out on the moor. It's pitch black. It's cold. The wind is biting, and your hands are numb.

And then you hear it: a dog's bark, echoing for miles like the blast of some great trumpet. And you know that you have minutes to reach safety, or you will go mad with fear and die. And so you run like the wind for the nearest house, and there is something moving in the dark, vast paws scraping over rock, and the second bark echoes from stone and heather, and the terror grips your heart like a hand of ice - for there is one more bark to go, and then the darkness of your own mind will swallow you forever.

Seriously, I had a dream about that goddamn thing.

[The Grey Wolf]

I imagine that Robert is one of those cousins that the rest of the Eliotts just avoid talking about, except in hushed voices.

I like to think that they call him "Uncle Rob," the bastard who nearly started a feud.

[Evraim]

Hell yes, Ev. I love it. Fiona really captures something about the soul of the Border.

Thank you. I was attempting to make use of the eclectic culture that emerged from the region alongside the gender roles of the period to make a character who was both believable and unique. I apologize again for drawing a little from the Highlands. That must have leaked in unconsciously.

A few notes. First, I assume that you've cleared the brother-sister thing with NEI? I think it's great, but you'll need his agreement. Second, I hadn't planned for Duff and Fiona's father to be one of the four executed by Walter Scott, but it is no skin off my nose to change that, if NEI is in accord. He would have been a more minor Elliot who rode with Four-fingers Tam and his brothers.

I've sent a telegram to NEI, though I submitted the post early due to my computer having issues. I was terrified that I would lose all that hard-typed work, as I have so many times in the past. I actually had to retype some parts of it after a crash. If NEI has any objections, I have no problem with altering my application.

Basically, It looks great. Once you've finished the bio, I'll add Fiona to the Dramatis Personae and the Character Relationships tracker. It's grand to have you!

Completed. It's grande for ta be had.

[Astrolinium]

APPLICATION

Name: "Cracked" Maisie Elliot

Gender: Female

Age: 28

Appearance: Old before she was young, Cracked Maisie's hair is stringy, unkempt, and somewhat gray, though the red of her childhood is still known to shine through. Her face, likewise, shows age -- not with wrinkles, not yet, but with a certain stoniness of expression and a certain weathered look her in her eyes, dark and gray as stormclouds over the open sea. Her jaw has a hard set to it, and her nose is like those on old Roman coins -- strong, but perhaps larger than what most would call pretty.

In stark opposition to her face, she tends to prefer brighter colors as clothing whenever she can get her hands -- callused and bony -- on them, and so she has many a once-bright dress covered in drab patches to hold it together. She is not a tall woman, and rarely smiles, walking with a slow shuffle beyond her years.

Powergrid Attributes:

INT - 3
STR - 1
DUR - 2
SPD - .5
FS - 1

Armor, Weapons, and Possessions: Cracked Maisie's prize possession is a bonny blue dress, colored lightly, with orange accents here and there on it. It's an old number, faded, and patched all in brown in varied places, but she would not for the world part with it. She has several others dresses and clothing items, but not quite so striking as that, though the long green dress she has comes close, and is in better condition and so tends to be saved for special occasions.

She also keeps a cane, long and hard, fashioned from good wood, that she uses to support herself and can come in handy in a pinch should she ever be attacked.

Personality: Cracked Maisie is, as one might suspect from her nickname, not the most mentally present of people. Oh, she's tended to be pleasant enough to those close to her, but she can be as cold as a winter wind, too, and at a moment's notice. She's not sociable to strangers at all, and often seems unaware of social cues. She's accustomed to sitting by windows a lot, staring out at only God knows what, occasionally humming something suitably eerie.

When not overtaken by such an episode, though, she is a hard worker, and unaccustomed to complaint. She does what's needed, oft without having to be told, and though she may have eccentric ways of going about her days, and though she may be prone to spouting cryptic words from time to time, not a soul lives who can say that Cracked Maisie is not a valuable member of Family Elliot. Besides, she has a way with animals.

Abilities and Talents: Cracked Maisie has a rather pleasing voice -- it's not the soft, songbirdy sort of thing popular in the operas of the continent, but a rougher, deeper tone, one that exists in complement of the moor.

She has the sight in some level -- the exact strength is hard to gauge, due to her cryptic and unsociable nature, but there's every possibility that her innate ability is frighteningly powerful.

She knits quite handsomely, too.

Weaknesses and Fears: Because of her eccentricities, Maisie often finds interpersonal relationships to be both strained and straining. Those of more normal minds tend to dismiss her as very slightly insane, and so it is often a struggle for her to speak her piece and to even hold conversation.

She fears abandonment, she fears fire, and above all she fears strange men and rushing water.

Personal History: Gods, I'm awful at this. If at all possible, if you could hand me a family relationship, I can build on this a lot better.

Important things, though: she's never been married, for no man would have her and her father did not think her suitable to be wed away. Also, when she was young (about three or four), she was playing with her brother in a nearby creek swollen from rain and fell, cracking her head on rocks. The water began to carry her away, but her brother saved her. She has not been quite right since.

[Evraim]

Frankly, I found a lot of the research for this project fun, and sometimes downright chilling. The Green Wolf, for example, is about the most genuinely terrifying thing I've ever heard of.

You are out on the moor. It's pitch black. It's cold. The wind is biting, and your hands are numb.

And then you hear it: a dog's bark, echoing for miles like the blast of some great trumpet. And you know that you have minutes to reach safety, or you will go mad with fear and die. And so you run like the wind for the nearest house, and there is something moving in the dark, vast paws scraping over rock, and the second bark echoes from stone and heather, and the terror grips your heart like a hand of ice - for there is one more bark to go, and then the darkness of your own mind will swallow you forever.

Seriously, I had a dream about that goddamn thing.

I've personally always found the tale of the Washer-at-the-Ford to be among the most frightening in Gaelic folklore. Imagine a group of people riding or strolling through a long, bitter night, perhaps anticipating a return to families that they have not seen for months, and then stumbling onto a feeble-looking old woman washing bloodied clothes in a stream.

Shocked to see a crone doing such work, despite the gloomy chill and bleak darkness, one of the men asks whether the woman could use some assistance. Her response is a long, blood-curdling cackle. Unnerved, another man inquires what business the woman has at the ford. This too draws another cackle, with a piercing breeze accompanying the soft sound.

The band is now thoroughly disgruntled. They trade awkward, nervous glances. Finally, the crone reveals her identity. She is washing the blood from those who have died on the battlefield. Then, digging through the pile at her feet, that is now revealed to contain the mangled body parts of soldiers, she pulls forth the captain's severed head, which is almost unrecognizable. His hair is matted and bloody. His eyes are terrible, lifeless. His lips, which had kissed his wife and children farewell, are chapped and spotted with blood and phlegm.

Before the men can respond, the hag disappears, together with her charges, leaving the men to ponder their inevitable deaths. Tight-lipped, they ride onward as dawn begins to break, the din of trumpets, which should have been perplexing at this stage in the campaign, greeting them with a haunting trill. They know their fate. They know that they cannot escape. They know that they will never see their loved ones again. Not a word passes between them as they ride to meet their fate.

[Rupudska]

Job Elliot is the nephew of Roger Elliot (who is almost pathetically glad to have him back), the nephew of Mither Lileas Elliot (who sees darkness and pain in his soul, and pities him), and the younger brother of Red Duncan Elliot (who is thrilled to have him back, but expects his brother's unconditional loyalty). He is a third cousin twice removed of Joseph Elliot (who is suspicious of his flexible religious convictions), a second cousin of Four-fingers Tam Elliot (who knew him only as a youth, but was kind to him), and a third cousin three times removed of Blind Hamish Elliot (who disdains him for having ever fought for a crown, or for money). He is the cousin by marriage of Isobel Elliot, the cousin once removed of Clever Duff Elliot, the second cousin once removed of Robert Elliot, the third cousin of Job Elliot,

m8

m8

ye canna be third cousins wi' yerself

[Nude East Ireland]

Frankly, I found a lot of the research for this project fun, and sometimes downright chilling. The Green Wolf, for example, is about the most genuinely terrifying thing I've ever heard of.

You are out on the moor. It's pitch black. It's cold. The wind is biting, and your hands are numb.

And then you hear it: a dog's bark, echoing for miles like the blast of some great trumpet. And you know that you have minutes to reach safety, or you will go mad with fear and die. And so you run like the wind for the nearest house, and there is something moving in the dark, vast paws scraping over rock, and the second bark echoes from stone and heather, and the terror grips your heart like a hand of ice - for there is one more bark to go, and then the darkness of your own mind will swallow you forever.

Seriously, I had a dream about that goddamn thing.

This is no match for Sherlock Holmes.

Clever Duff Elliot is [...] the second cousin once removed of Clever Duff Elliot

"Clever Duff" was actually given to two Elliots; one for his intelligence, the other for his lack thereof (the Elliots loved their sarcasm).

They will fight for the name atop a mountain.