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Character Card: Céleste Moulin (UNDER CONSTRUCTION) Jan 4, 2018
27 YEAR OLD FEMALE BRETON
12TH RAIN’S HAND, HIGH ROCK, THE MAGE
“...unforgivingly, and forcefully magnificent...” - Maquita Donyel Irvin
Alias: She takes pride and or ownership of all her actions and needs no other name attached to them. This means that some more informed may recognize her name and her status.
Apparent age: The tenderness of youth has not left her to wrinkle and shrivel and yet there is an age to her face, a weight on her shoulders that denied any illusion of innocence. She is not young enough to be coddled but still within her prime, made evident in her movements. She appears in this way to be exactly what she is, a rare occurrence.
Sexuality: She would keep the company of men, should she be able to find one she thought suited her however unlikely that may be. Despite that, she does appreciate beauty, an appreciation that extends to the finery and tenderness of women. With an inclination to covet beautiful things this could be confused with desire and has managed to create the occasional spell of uncertainty.
Marital status: Single
Occupation: Her family name presented her with the opportunity as one of many advisors to a young lord, however, she was able to quickly distinguished herself amongst them. Her voice held more weight, and her words and opinions more appreciated. She was important in all of the many roles she played. Someone that commanded respect and fear and so often sent out from court to court in search of solutions that she could easily have been considered a diplomat, likewise manipulative and sly enough to be called a politician. She had claimed the secrets of many and knew just how much of her hand to show, just when to play each card. Officially she was an advisor but there was not a soul who knew of her that believed she was that alone. Perhaps most accurately she was a facilitator.
With all this lost she tends to travel aimlessly with no need to make extra coin for all her hidden wealth and ability to make something of so little. What she does do serves to occupy her attention, to aid in ignoring the void left by lack of purpose.
Residence: Her old haunts are vacated, dust gathering and their old tenant cast out to drift in the wind. She roams now, searching.
Family: Her living, immediate family consists of her mother, father, and brother (Émile) all of whom are estranged. Her twin sister (Cécile-Élise) died suddenly as a child.
Affiliations: Having mostly operated within Highrock and other surrounding territories only when needed her affiliations in Skyrim are limited.
Note-worthy Personal Relationships:
Camille: He goes by one name, though recognizes none. While living he was known as a great hero to many within his homeland, a brilliant tactician and an exemplary warrior sadly killed in his prime. While it was a loss for most it presented an opportunity for a select few. It was rumored that after his tragic death the body disappeared. In truth it was collected and gifted by a lord, as reward for the discretion and loyalty of one of his advisors. Once decorated with titles and notoriety for his service, his animated corpse now goes without such formalities.Political Views: Her thoughts on the politics of Skyrim are very critical as she finds them and their guardians often indelicate and brash.
As things stand he would have been unrecognizable in his current state even uncovered in Highrock. His wounds and mutilations only aided in maintaining the facade. When brought out in public, as well as when hidden in storage, he wears a respectable set of heavy armor that seemed to never be in disrepair. His visage hides in a simple helm, while his shoulders support a worn cape with layers of fabric falling around his neck and across his chest. His weapons and shield, though without flash, were well made. One might not, therefore, immediately recognize him as a husk if caught off guard.
Frédéric Bouchard: The closest thing to a true companion she had ever gained during her adulthood was this man. A romantic affection existed between the two, alluded to often but kept unspoken publicly due to a love of mystery which injected the whole affair with excitement. As was proper they shared the same social and political circles and were both otherwise unattached. Nothing forbidden or inappropriate existed there which might have foreshadowed the traumatic betrayal that saw them separate, though it came regardless.
Auguste: A proud and loyal creature, of fine breeding who commands the uptmost adoration. Magnificent in his colouring, a dark bay steed worthy of nobility whose black mane, tail and stockings contrasted beautifully with the blood red undertones, and small blooms of amber. Certainly not a draft horse, the trim and sleek stallion offered both stamina and speed but would never pull a plow.
Religion: Though she recognizes “Talos” as a hero, a notable figure within history, she does not view him as a god. She believes that his worship should be treated more so as ancestor veneration. It's a middle ground which can be manipulated to be minimally abrasive if ever it was to be brought up in a political setting. Otherwise, religion is not what motivates her. She has a healthy respect for the divines and recognizes them but she is no temple priestess.
Affliction/Disease/Ailments: Most likely she could be diagnosed with some form of anxiety and depression.
She was dark, in presence and in look with just enough mystery to put one ill at ease. Even The air that hung about her seemed to be heavy as if it was difficult to breathe in her midst. It could have been that deep-set gaze, distrusting and only a hair's breadth from ebony that made her beautiful in the way all things unobtainable are, or perhaps it was simply the way she held her shoulders back as she considered the room with an inexplicable sternness resting like a veil over her face. She was like smoke, I decided then, as I watched the delicate pale skin of her throat grow taunt before a curtain of inky black tresses obstructed my view. If she came too near, and I should breathe her in, I feared I would never recover.
She walked as if the world waited on her alone, a slow and purposeful walk which emphasize the smooth sway of her hips and the long legs that lead her. She was never generous with her laughter, no smile lines marked her, preferring to languidly extend a slender, soft hand in greeting with an undeniable sense of poise. It was all she needed, to cast her net of intrigue and to pull the unsuspecting in, a knowledge that was conveyed perfectly by the overwhelming intensity of her eyes. Indeed, she had a way of commanding respect, and expected it, as only those who had been impressive throughout their lives could. She was elegant and controlled but the darkness circling her eyes betrayed many sleepless nights, almost as much as that which lived in her gaze. Celeste Moulin was an embodiment of the pure essence of midnight, it pumped through her veins, with tragedy being its terrible consequence. It went without saying that within that women, somehow condensed to fit her 5’6 frame, was the power to build an empire or ensure it's destruction.
Voice: A voice soaked in bourbon, raw and smokey. Steady and unwavering.
“Confident and strong, and as all of the best stones, most likely formed under intense pressure.”
The ability to take what was given to her and grow it into something far more fantastic, as she had done with herself, was learned young. She had been subjected to constant pruning and pushing, and many other such attempts to manipulate her to fit into the tight space they wanted her to fill throughout her youth. Whereas many would have submitted, and been tempered she rejected limitations and thrived.
Each opportunity became tenfold with her own effort and tenacity, her overwhelming desire to succeed, and ambition for which she made no apology. There was always a drive for excellent fueled by recognition she refused to seek out or accept without earning it first. It brought her more pleasure than most anything else, and although not immune to pride, it had always been confidence that consumed her and helped to define the elusive woman in the eyes of the onlookers. To others, she was reliably true to her own agenda and strong beyond what was expected of her. Her charm, a particularly palatable variety of poison.
She was an unpredictable team player, however, and not opposed to exposing the weaker members. The gift of her loyalty was so incredibly rare, and temporary alliance much more common, that it made her intense passion for safeguarding those she pledges herself to seem extreme, an opinion not without truth. Balancing diplomacy and a blunt and fiery temperament with unsettling ease made her uniquely suited to her position and though she felt no need to bite her tongue or hide her opinion she was still deeply private. Always keeping her own secrets hidden.
In the political sphere she seemed to operate seamlessly but away from the space in which she shone, Celeste was profoundly tragic. She discouraged most physical affection, like her bones were made of glass and she was wary of being broken. Though she had built herself something worthy of gratification no satisfaction was awarded to her for any length of time, a soul stuck perpetually between questioning her worth and knowing exactly what she deserved. She was desperate for relief from the weight of her own scrutiny and the pressure that gripped her lungs and caused her heart to flutter wildly. But she had no right to feel this way, she believed firmly, for all she had and all those whose troubles here far beyond her own. So she caged her tortured thoughts and presented only her strength to those that were allowed to know her intimately, to her own detriment.
Despite these dramatic statements, however, darkness did not rule her. Forceful, and pensive behaviour hid a dark sense of humor and the enjoyment of a little foolishness between friends for which she yearned. Likewise, though appearing serious she found that frivolous things pleased her, so much so that she fought herself not to collect them for the joy of it. It meant she made constant reminders that like people, possessions needed to have some use, to fulfill a purpose or she would drown in her own imprudence. A thought that likely revealed something unsettling about the way she viewed others. This was not helped by a concealed yet deeply sentimental nature and great tendency towards nostalgia. For this reason, all of her possessions held more meaning as they had utility, and were injected with traits that brought her happiness often through their luxury.
Due to a great disturbance in her life, however, it is important to note, she has become increasingly unpredictable. What still lives of the political player is fractured, a creature evolved to suit a specific environment then cast from her biome. The risk of danger associated with her presence, therefore, has increased tenfold.
“she was completely whole
and yet never fully complete”
-Maquita Donyel Irvin
Positive Traits: Headstrong, Smart, Problem solver, Independent, Thorough, Disciplined, Discrete
Negative Traits: Moody, Evasive, Pessimistic, Demanding, Mistrustful, Abrasive, Spiteful
Gems and other finery
Hot springs or being drawn a hot bath
A strong and astute leader
Stimulating and complex conversation
Intricate lace and the feel of velvet
Triumphing over an adversary
Solving a difficult problem
Unseemly public displays of affection
Being impacted by the social ineptitude of others
Underserved or foolish leadership
Having outsiders expect services of her
Fears: Failure, Betrayal
Current Goals: To redeem herself and expose those who have wronged her and chased her from her home. She is also ever searching for another hero to fall in her midst and to be recruited into her personal ranks.
Alignment: Chaotic Good
COMBAT STATS/ DETAILS
It was always excepted and natural that magic should be her field of study, though she could never accept being ordinary. Not that there was ever much of a choice. Céleste would have liked to claim that she had chosen necromancy, that it's taboo nature and intrigue drew her in, but it had chosen her in a most terrible of ways. From the unsettling past, however, she was able to build on a skill many refused to acknowledge with immense speed as if gifted. Using such skills, combined with a variety of other wells of knowledge she fortified herself to be a formidable opponent both in the verbal sphere and in the realm of physical warfare.
She used them like walls to guard her, or did once. It is more accurate to say she used him to guard her with shield and sword and unshakable devotion. Camille was her wall, pushing against the tide as she sent courage through a body where nothing but emptiness lived. As in life, when her walls failed, she used fear to poison them and send the enemy to cower and await their demise in the shadows. To wait for the moment that she would choose as the end or to turn them against each other. Sending ice to hold them, to burn their skin with sick irony. To appear without a sign and use an embodiment of her power, summoned to take their souls. A shadow of a blade, glowing blue with its hate.
Class: Necromancer, Witch
Other Note-worthy Skills:
Other Schools of Magic (varying degrees)
Weapons: Her biting wit and magical talents don’t tend to fail her, however, it is always prudent to carry a supplementary dagger or two. Dagger and cloak as the saying goes…
The black velvet of her doublet was perfectly fitted and seemed to hold her in a way that no other was permitted. Bordered with a half inch of white ribbon with overlaying lace along its hem and climbing along each side of it's joining point which ran along its front. An inch away another similar ribbon mirrored the placement of the first. Structured until it reached the waist it gave way to flattering pleats and opened at this point in the front. Pearls were sewn carefully, scattered like stars bursting from the darkness of the upright collar though they faded and never reached very far. The scoop of its neckline could reveal any number of chemises, though while traveling a luxurious and lightweight linen was preferred for its breathability.
During inclement weather, a great, heavy woolen cape swallowed her in its expanse, hood all but eliminating her from sight. Over black trousers and long leather boots which ended just above her knee, a layer of elegant travel skirts could be used to fight off the bite of cold. A jacket was also available, with long tails and demonstrating exemplary tailored work. Finally, though wool was often sufficient in its ability to retain warmth when soaked, a roll of waxed canvas was almost always to be found on her steed while she traveled.
Inventory: TO BE ADDED
HISTORY: TO BE ADDED
“She was a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands,appreciating its subtle nuances. She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.” ― Jonathan Safran Foer
Pronunciation of Céleste:
Pronunciation of Moulin:
A WEIRD SONG/ POEM TO FOLLOW THIS CARD:
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