February 6, 2006 at 12:32 am #1627AnonymousInactive
BG Soothsayer Note-
I approved this BG, However, CS department needs to be aware, soothsayer should be added as an advantage. Thank you !
Name: Savannah Leigh Eliott
Age and/or birth date: Birthdate unknown; age 21.
Eye Color: Dark Brown
Occupation: Scholar & Prophet
Equipment/weapons: Her mother’s Bible, a single blade, and a simple, silver crucifix.
Appearance (clothes, etc..): Dark hair was consistently down, and she keeps her chin dipped in a way that makes it fall in front of her face. It was easier to not make eyecontact. Those who do manage to see the beautiful, crystal eyes saw a woman who knew too much, and saw far, far more than she ever wanted to see. She consistently wore clothing that made her stand out — the brighter colors, belled sleeves, overized skirts, and flat shoes no one ever saw.
Background: Lenora Eliott — a Romanian ‘gypsy’ — died in childbirth, but not before blessing her only daughter with a silver cross and a worn bible. She’d kissed her daughter before death consumed her, and left her to a man who couldn’t love his only child more. He was forced to work, however. This left him out of the home, and his daughter to her own vices. She grew up in a large home filled with books on many subjects, but she was a shy girl, and did not find it in her nature to wander out of the home for more than a trip to the local market. Their small town outside of London did not suit her and the girls she attempted to speak to kept their distance. She learned what needed to be learned about etiquette and manners, kept her academic studies to a mimimum, and made her way through her teen-age years with only one mild relationship with a boy named Philip Graves. It was Philip who first opened her eyes — she foresaw his death. It happened on a rainy day when she was seventeen. They had been walking, holding hands when no one could see, and she stopped suddenly. Her head felt as if it might explode and she was compelled to attempt saving her first love. It was her most vivid image — vision — ever, and she knew she’d never have one quite so crystal clear again. Philip was going to be trampled by a horse, and there was nothing (or very little) she could do to stop it. Seven days later, despite her warnings, she was standing at his funeral, wearing a depressing black instead of her usual brightness. Her father stood beside her with a protective arm around her shoulder. Later that evening, he explained that her mother had prophecized her own death, and they’d been prepared. The Gift — or curse, dependant on how one looked at it — had been passed on. Her dreams – which often left her breathless and sobbing — were visions as well, though it had taken until late in puberty for them to begin making sense. Georg’s daughter branched out of their small town and into London’s proper. He’d been working in the city for some time, and now they could live there in peace. Even at twenty-one, she was under her father’s care and protection. His long hours would leave him only minimally in her life, but he was the one who held the money. She wished to study, and he would allow her such liberties for a year or so before forcing marriage into her mind. He lived in modern thought, but his daughter claimed herself to be a “gypsy.” He didn’t tell his friends this little-known fact. He said she was a librarian, or a bookeeper. Her path was unsure, but she knew it would be more exciting than their small, one road town.
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