| Identity |

Duela

| Origin & Backstory |

The history of the young woman who refers to herself simply as “Duela” is a mystery. She has claimed everything from being jilted at her junior prom, to having witnessed the murder of her parents-at the hands of one of her mother’s close friends-, to having simply always been an outcast-never accepted by society-, as her motivation for what she does. In truth not a single one of her sob stories are true; Duela steals real grief and real tragedies, and crafts her own tapestry of trauma and sorrow, in an attempt to try and fill the lucid void in her own head.

Where others wanted simply to be accepted by society, Duela wished to be adored. Where others simply wanted friends to support and nurture them, Duela wished for a horde of followers, to slave away at her beck and call. Where others simply wanted to be loved, Duela wanted to hear thousands upon thousands of voices crying out in admiration of her, willing to lay down their lives for their dark mistress.

Better to be a somebody in hell, than a nobody in heaven.

In truth, “Duela” was Chelsea Cohen, the daughter of a successful criminal lawyer, and student at Gotham High.

The leader of one of the high school’s most formidable cliques, Chelsea was a megalomaniac, suffering from Narcissistic Personality Disorder, who used her persuasive talents to manipulate those around her, and to make sure that she remained the queen bee of her particular friend group.

A clandestine sociopath, Chelsea cared little about who she hurt, or how badly she hurt them, as long as she remained on top. Despite her family’s wealth, and her status as one of the most popular girls at her high school, Chelsea hungered for more, never fully content with life. Falling in with one of the sketchier crowds at Gotham High, Chelsea got a job as a pusher in the street-level drug trade, indirectly working for the Valestras crime family.

One of Chelsea’s most frequent customers was Barton Mathis,Gotham high’s eccentric janitor. Unbenounced to Chelsea, Barton was not actually taking any of the drugs, but was simply using the sales as an opportunity to talk to her, having developed an obsessive fascination with her.

Barton was a master serial-killer and cannibal, who had once studied under his father, Schazlar Mathis. Schazlar would often take his son out “hunting” with him, and before long Barton could kill, eat, and dispose of a human body as expertly as his father could. After his father was gunned down by the cops, Barton had adopted Schazlar’s mantle, leading double life as a serial-killer.

Barton was also a skilled surgeon, and ran an underground clinic-where he would operate on wounded criminals-in his spare time, working under the alias “Dollmaker”, and it was rumoured that he could do anything with human skin.

Whilst Chelsea was working as a drug dealer, she became hooked on the products she was pushing, and steadily begun to take more and more of the narcotics that she was supposed to be selling.

When word of this reached back to the Valestras, a squad of thugs were dispatched to “discipline” her.

Following Chelsea on her way home from school, the brutes ambushed her, and beat her excessively, stabbing and lacerating her, carving a Glasgow Smile in the sides of her mouth, and slashing at her face.

However, Barton had made a habit of stalking Chelsea on her way home, and leapt out of his hiding place, using the darkness as cover, before dispatching with the thugs-just as his father had taught him, and rescuing the young girl.

She had lost an almost fatal amount of blood, and so Barton took her back to his clinic, using his expertise to try and salvage what he could.

When Chelsea awoke she was in immense pain, but still very much alive.

Barton nervously showed Chelsea a mirror, but the reflection she saw was so broken and deformed, so far from the gorgeous image she’d grown used to seeing when she looked in the mirror, that it completely broke her mind, shattering her sanity, and leaving her an impressionable husk.

Barton spent the next few weeks caring for Chelsea and nurturing her, feeding her human flesh that he smuggled back from the trips he took, and keeping her medicated. The sheer amount of the young girl’s blood that was found at the scene of her disappearance led to the belief that Chelsea Cohen was dead, and that her body had been dumped in a river somewhere.

During her time in Barton’s care, Chelsea developed a taste for human flesh, and so-once she was able to function again-the young lad tutored her in the same way that his father had, teacher her how to kill, and how to cover her tracks.

Carrying out her first kill with surgical precision, the warm rush of blood against the young girl’s skin awoke something with in her subconscious, further twisting and warping her mentally.

Unable to regain her old memories, Chelsea took to calling herself Duela, welcoming her transformation into a monster.

Barton fell madly in love with Duela, whereas she was simply fond of him, pleasuring him in return for his usefulness, as she had done to so many others in her previous life.

However, it was not long before Duela grew tired of Barton, the killer having exhausted his worth. Stowing away in the middle of the night, Duela left Dollmaker’s clinic, and slipped off into the city.

Now living out of an abandoned apartment in Downtown Gotham, Duela prays on those unfortunate enough to stray within her territory, putting Barton’s lessons to good use.

| Powers & Abilities |

Duela is a skilled killer, and adept at covering her tracks. She uses stealth to her advantage, and occasionally utilises the old manipulation tactics of her former life.

| How is this character different? |

In the cannon Duela is the self-mutilating prophet of the Joker’s return. My interpretation is cannibalistic serial-killer, who answers to no one but herself.

| What is your goal with this character? |

To try and create a sort of reverse-detective arch, that primarily follows a killer trying to evade detection, as well as trying to interact with other players in a way that will hopefully create enjoyable role-play.

| Sample Post |

Ralph Hardy sat glumly at the table, listening to his friends drone on about their boring lives.

“I’m taking her out onto the water, for her maiden voyage.” Albert exclaimed loudly, his obnoxious tone making Ralph’s head hurt. “You simply –MUST- come with! I think it will be a rather –SPLENDID- afternoon.”

“It sounds utterly spectacular!” Chirped Vanesa, her voice shrill and sharp.

“That it does.” Agreed Toby, gently nodding as he took a lingering sip from his wine glass.

Albert had booked them all a table at the Achilles Diner-a ritzy restaurant on the Gotham City waterfront-, and had managed to drag Ralph away from the Pirates of the Caribbean movie marathon, to get him to accompany them, but Ralph would have quite frankly preferred to stay at home.

The prospect of a free meal was always an enticing one, but the restaurant was hot and stuffy, and they had insisted that he come dressed up for the occasion.

The diner itself was a fairly small establishment, comprised of a few white cloth covered tables, ornate vases and oil paintings, low hanging ceiling lights, and an expensive looking carpet.

The room was cramped and confined, and Ralph could think of a million other places that he’d rather have eaten dinner.

The restaurant was full tonight-which only contributed to the stuffiness of it all, and they had to constantly fight over the various murmurs of the other customers, in order to be heard.

They must have ordered dinner a good fifteen minutes ago, but it had yet to arrive, which gave Albert ample opportunity to go on and on about his bloody boat.

“I swear I’ve never seen anything like her! Fastest I’ve –EVER- sailed on!”

Having heard quite enough for one evening, Ralph foraged his cell phone out of his trouser pocket, fiddling with the interface, underneath the table. He navigated to his ringtone folder, before hitting “play”, the phone then simulating the noise it made when he was receiving a call.

The ringing cut off Albert halfway through his dreary recollection, drowning out his tedious words.

“Sorry,” Ralph faked a sincere apology as he got up out of his chair “But I really do need to take this.” He lied, gesturing to his blackberry.

“Well, hurry back soon, old sport. The starters are bound to arrive, any minute now.”

Ralph nodded, before promptly scurrying out of the restaurant, trying to put as much distance between him and that god-awful diner as was humanly possible.

He stepped out into the streets, a blast of refreshing cool air hitting him. It was silent out here, calm and uplifting, and he didn’t have to battle with any witless idiots, in order to simply hear himself think.

The night sky was a deep purple, glistening with a smattering of bright white stars, and Ralph took a moment to admire the majestic beauty of it.

Nearby, the cool liquids of the waterfront lapped gently against the side of the road, moving in a harmonious motion, sliding forwards and retreating in a blissful accord.

He slowly made his way down the cobbled street, a peaceful wind drifting calmly past in smooth tranquillity, singing lightly in his ear.

When surrounded by others, be it in a pompous restaurant or a booming nightclub, Ralph felt anxious and on edge, but in serene isolation, sharing a cherished moment with nothing but his own thoughts, he felt truly alive. Unfortunately, such moments were fleeting recently, so he treasured them that much more, and found them that much more precious.

He strolled gently down the street, passing glitzy restaurants after glitzy restaurant, until he reached a small and secluded spot that gave him an exquisite view of the Gotham City waterfront, a tide of rippling water stretching out as far as the eye could see, dominating his view.

He leaned forwards on the steely railing that ran between the road and the water, letting out a relaxed sigh, as he simply gazed out at the natural beauty that rolled out before him.

So encapsulated was he, that he never heard the soft pitter-patter of lithe feet on the cobble stone before him, nor had time to register the razor’s edge severing his spinal cord.

Duela leered over her kill, his muscular body sprawled out before her, a thread-like trail of blood leaking out through the cracks in the immaculate stone floor.

Her mismatched eyes darted across his form, as she smacked her serpentine tongue against the corners of her full-lips.

“Nothing personal, Hun.” She whispered to no one in particular, a sly smirk spreading across the corners of her warped form.

“But at the end of the day…a girls gotta eat.”