- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Preferred Character Gender
- No Preferences
Shadow of a Doubt
A 1x1 with @Elle Joyner
A 1x1 with @Elle Joyner
O R A C L E
⦙⦙ RACE |Faledrin ⦙⦙ MAGIC | Shadow ⦙⦙ AGE | 26 ⦙⦙ WEIGHT | 110 lbs ⦙⦙ HEIGHT |5'4"
personality
Cordelia is a simple creature, with a very complex sense of morality. Where the Cult is concerned, whatever is necessary is fine by her standards, but in everyday life, she exists within a strict parameter of self control seen pertinently in the way she approaches her abilities. Most particularly, Cordelia will not 'read' anyone that she has any sort of deeply rooted emotional attachment to. She can be exceptionally guarded, where her feelings are concerned, but is nevertheless a warm, open individual, quite easy to talk to, promoting a sense of trust and reliability in most she interacts with. When working, Cordelia is extremely focused, tackling every job with the uttermost attention to detail. She can be a bit of a magpie, collecting odd trinkets here and there, largely for strangely sentimental reasons.
PERSONALITY TRAITS
POSITIVE: Intuitive | Focused | Encouraging
NEGATIVE: Guarded | Emotional | Wary
POSITIVE: Intuitive | Focused | Encouraging
NEGATIVE: Guarded | Emotional | Wary
history
Weapons of Preference || None
Cult Specialization ||Cordelia utilizes a mild form of Shadow magic, tapping into the Darkness to allow her the ability to sift through thought and memory of an individual she comes in physical contact with, or, conversely to shield memories from said individual. This ability makes her an extremely efficient purveyor of information, which she uses to aid the Cult of Thieves. Because of the sensitive nature of her magic, and admittedly a bit of paranoia on her part, Cordy is extremely cautious and shields her location using the same method she would to repress a thought or memory - she also uses a pseudonym, to protect her identity, going by the name Oracle for almost any she comes in contact with.
Years within the Cult of Thieves|| Eleven Years
Fortune favors those with a fortune to favor… or so the story goes in Faledrin. A glittering bandage slapped over a festering wound looks are always deceiving for anyone who lacks the vision to really see. One thing Cordelia Briggs has never lacked is vision. Born on a starless night, she came into a broken, damaged world more tool than child and for this, the first several years of her life were hard.
Shadow Magic was not a dirty word in Cordelia's home, but a way of life, one taught to the child before her mind could comprehend the consequences. Visions, her mother called it. The ability to see into the minds, the thoughts, the memories of others. The perfect con… her father's preferred term. And he wasn't entirely wrong. They made an enviable team, sweeping through the city, accruing wealth and infamy, and no one the wiser for it. It really was nearly flawless… until her mother died.
Delving into the Shadows always comes with a price, and Farrah Briggs paid hers shortly before Cordelia's tenth year. By her eleventh, her father had honed her as his new partner. She took to conning like a fish to water, and made of herself a valuable enough commodity. And so they existed for the next five years.
Then one man charged everything. It had been a simple job, a bit of showing off, really. But a brush of the arm, a brush of something secret and her life was forever altered. He called himself Sothal, and he spoke of an opportunity… one greater than her meager existence beneath the heel of her father. He spoke, in many ways of salvation, and Cordelia fell wildly, madly in love with an ideal… a concept. A purpose. She could not say no…
Setting fire to her life and all she knew, Cordelia Briggs vanished into ash and dust, and so it was, the Oracle was born. Her life became a mystery, her identity a vague enigma. The Cult of Thieves became her family, and information… her craft.
appearance
Inside and out, Cordelia Briggs is an unusual young woman. Of average height and thinly sculpted, she carries herself with an air of fluidity, every motion carefully composed and intentional, though never severe or sharp.
Pale for a Fallenite, she nevertheless bears characteristics attributed to her people. Brown hair is kept in loose waves and dreadlocks, which fall well past her waist, often pulled back in scraps of cloth and plaited - ornamented with beads and bangles, blue eyes, wide and eerily bright, set beneath thin, arched brows and thick, dark lashes.
Her clothing choice generally trends towards softer shades and fabrics, primarily varying patterns of lace. Rarely is she seen with shoes, something of a statement towards her more free spirited nature.
writing sample
"You're out of your bleedin' mind, Oracle..." Slamming the tankard on the table, Joshua rose to his full height, which where Cordelia Briggs was considered, was rather towering. All six feet four of him glared down upon her, but the small brunette gave little indication of any anxiety, a single brow arching as she sank back in her seat, flame-blue eyes fixed, lip twitching into a small smirk.
"That was our deal, Joshua. I'm sorry if you misunderstood, but I do believe I've made my conditions quite clear. One cannot barter with information if no information is given, Love. My services are not free, and this has never been a disputed factor of our arrangement. Repressing memories is hardly work and I told you when we began it was going to cost you. This is a transaction. Services rendered, and now it's your turn."
"But he'll kill me... If he finds out I told you--"
"You won't be telling me anything, Joshua. You know that." Extending her hand, she turned her palm up towards the ceiling, giving her fingers a delicate wiggle, "Come on, now. It won't hurt..."
Frowning, Joshua stretched out his own hand, his fingers pulsing with a twitch before he settled palm against palm to Cordelia's.
Reality swam out of existence with the feeling of falling, a plummeting deep in the guts, as sight and sound and smell evaporated into brief, but all encompassing nothingness. Then slowly at first, and steadily faster, like a ripple across the surface of a pond, the vision came to life. Color and space, scent and sound swirling to life. Beside her, Joshua stood slightly hunched, shivering, but a second Joshua stood across the way, the imposing figure he preferred to present, speaking softly to a man very few within Faledrin could mistake. Torrin Balast was the elite of the elite, a dock master with a penchant for stiffing his employees (though that seemed to be the least offensive of his character traits). For six years now, Joshua had been working his way up the rungs until he'd come directly under Torrin, and at last it seemed the Cult would have some valuable intelligence to use against the man.
Joshua's voice rose suddenly, in bellowing baritone, carrying across the dark, empty shipyard, "I told you! Fifteen shipments is too damn many for that few workers, Balast! We can't--"
"You would presume, Mister Habberdash... to tell me what you can or cannot do? Have you forgotten who I am, or are you so miserably thick headed that you honestly think this is something in which you have any say at all? Fifteen shipments... arriving in three days time. Only you, Orson and Casper will handle them... with precision. Should you fail to do so, it is more than your job you will lose. Understood?"
Fists balled tightly, jaw clenched severely, Joshua stepped back, curtains of dark blonde pooling around his haggard features as he bowed his head in a nod, "Understood."
Without another word Balast turned and walked away, leaving Joshua alone.
With the same concussive force, like the jolt of waking from a dream, the scene began to spin away and in moments, the dimly lit back room of the inn returned to focus. Joshua dropped almost unconsciously into his chair, but Cordelia remained on her feet, tapping her chin in thought.
"I... I told you--"
"No." Holding up a finger, Cordelia shot the fisherman a withering look, "Not a word. You know how this works. You finish that statement, Joshua, and I cannot help you."
Swallowing, he lowered his head, "So just do it already... so I can quit feelin' so..."
Opening a box on the table, she produced a small crystal orb, roughly the size of a coin. Palming this in one hand, she reached out with her other, her fingertips glancing along Joshua's jawline, her eyes falling closed for a moment. When they opened again, she dropped her arm to her side and set the orb back into the box. Slowly, Joshua turned his gaze upwards, a brow quirked as a quizzical look stole over his features.
"Sorry... what... what was I saying?"
"You were saying how excited you were that Master Balast has afforded you a night off, in light of all your hard work this season. How you were planning on taking Maggie into town to celebrate."
"Ah, right. Yeah. About damn time, I'd say, but Mags is always so patient. Deserves it, she does."
"Indeed. Well, thank you for your time Joshua. It's been a pleasure as always. You take care of yourself." Smiling faintly, Cordelia moved to the door and the fisherman followed behind. After he'd gone, she moved swiftly, crossing the room. In the corner was a desk and producing a quill and parchment, Cordelia penned out a coded message as fast as her hand would fly. She had to get the letter to her courier within the hour, or it would never reach the Thieves in time. Two nights remaining... it wasn't much for planning, but a hit like this? Fifteen shipments. It was sure to ruin Balast and for that, utter haste was of dire importance... This was what she lived for, these moments, these take downs. As she wrote she glanced up to the large ring hanging from a hook above the desk. The obsidian stone still shown as brilliant as it had the day she'd taken it, the gold inlay glimmering in the candlelight. Slowly, she smiled.
"We've got him, now, Your Majesty."
S O T H A L
⦙⦙ RACE | Human ⦙⦙ MAGIC | Shadow ⦙⦙ AGE | 31 ⦙⦙ WEIGHT | 162 lbs ⦙⦙ HEIGHT | 5'10"
personality
He has a mind for business and a knack for divvying out responsibilities for almost any situation. Sothal can pick out a person's strengths and weaknesses with ease and through that he puts everyone to good use. More often than not, he is a serious man with a lighthearted disposition that only reveals itself in the rare moments of downtime, which often includes heavy drinking. It's as though he were constantly under unspoken stress and by the grace of his patience he is able to keep the overflow in check. He carries an addiction to his relief in inebriation that is only rewarded in excess upon success of a completed task. His mind is always on the job, and always thinking of all paths and possibilities to where he easily misses a joke or glosses over conversation.
Luckily, he is not a man devoid of emotion despite his serious nature. When he allows himself the opportunity to wind down, he becomes a little more vibrant. The alcohol indeed helps to soothe his severity which degrades into a stupor if the night carries on for too long before work arises once again. But in the hours before blackout he can become quite lively, and often the storyteller. Most of his stories are more along the lines of exaggerations, taking from real life experiences and expanding upon them. To him, reality is boring, and he would rather have the thrill of a tall tale than the monotony of realism in his entertainment.
Luckily, he is not a man devoid of emotion despite his serious nature. When he allows himself the opportunity to wind down, he becomes a little more vibrant. The alcohol indeed helps to soothe his severity which degrades into a stupor if the night carries on for too long before work arises once again. But in the hours before blackout he can become quite lively, and often the storyteller. Most of his stories are more along the lines of exaggerations, taking from real life experiences and expanding upon them. To him, reality is boring, and he would rather have the thrill of a tall tale than the monotony of realism in his entertainment.
history
Weapons of Preference || Daggers and knives
Cult Specialization || Organizer
Magic Skills || Shadow Jumping - utilizing a connection with The Darkness to transport himself over a short distance
Not much is known of Sothal's past. Those who agreed to bring him into the Cult of Thieves refuse to speak on it either. Sothal has no last name, likely due to it being a pseudonym to begin with. He joined the Cult of Thieves nearly thirteen years ago, though he nearly lost his life in the process. Using his Shadow Magic, he skillfully jumped from path to path within the forgotten catacombs of the Labyrinth until he appeared right in the Underbelly itself. Shadow jumping without knowing where one is headed is ill advised, but Sothal had been experimenting and quickly picking up on the nuances of its manipulation. He landed right within the secret den of the Cult of Thieves taking them all by surprise.
They were going to kill him. They had their weapons drawn, yet instead they hesitated long enough to consider his skill. Here was a man who could get anywhere, even places meant to be secret. Sothal could have easily run away just as he came, and yet he too found himself hesitant within intrigue. These people were the fabled Cult of Thieves, and the stories he had heard over the years blossomed into an invigorating sense of new purpose. He wanted to be one of them, and with his starry eyes they took him under their wing.
He inherited the role of the Organizer around eight years ago after the former organizer, Jensen, died while trying to take down a Tainted. Since then, he has helped in continuing the Cult of Thieves' operations running smoothly by organizing assets and ensuring the right task is given to the right hands. The numbers within the Cult of Thieves has dwindled over the years, mostly due to untimely deaths either on the job or due to plague.
details
STRENGTHS
Intelligent
Strategist
Patient
Strategist
Patient
WEAKNESSES
Serious
Workaholic
Alcoholic
Workaholic
Alcoholic
appearance
He is a man whose face changes with the lighting. In darkness, he gives off an eerie air as his deep brows and slight features cast shadows to give an unsettling air. His eyes are dark grey carrying bags of sleep deprivation and age that always look a bit lifeless and worn, especially emphasized in dim lighting. During the day he looks well groomed to a degree, at least more so than the typical citizen parusing Windfeld. He shaves on occasion, but more than likely his jawline will carry the result of grooming negligence.
The scars that line his body are rarely seen, for he tends to dress in layers that cover most of his skin. His upper lip is prominent when not covered by his cowl, and his cowl is only used when he feels it is needed. Being around Windfeld's lower class means being around people who don't particularly care how one dresses or if they don fabric to conceal half their face. It was a typical appearance regardless as plagues began to spread through the city, and so it suited him best to continue anonymity.
While not overly tall, Sothal's lithe build carries toned musculature under his attire, which mostly consists of overused coats, outdated and dulled from weather and time. His leathers are often soften and faded from use, though never combersome. He keeps his ensemble simple to allow for maneuverability with minimal contributions to noise.