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Fading Memory
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Plead the 5th.
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The breakfast of champions.
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Urban Fantasy is Best Fantasy.
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Bio
A humble cog in a very clever and beautiful watch, perhaps.
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies,
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies,
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Most Recent Posts
Looking forward to writing some cool stuff with all of you. :)
@Fading Memory Review away! I am satisfied.
I will only accept payment in the form of Sophia being allowed to pet Meru.
AM I DOING THIS RIGHT?!
Yelling at the GM that is.
I'll probably do some editing today or early tomorrow, but probably nothing too major.
Yelling at the GM that is.
I'll probably do some editing today or early tomorrow, but probably nothing too major.
Moving from a WIP to a complete draft*, I think this will do until a wonderful nap and coffee:
*I suppose a draft is still a WIP, but relative completion felt like it deserved a new post.
Name: Sophia "Doc" Wallace, although it is almost a certainty that this is an assumed name.
Age: Mid-twenties
Descriptor: A kind necromancer, efficient undertaker, and skilled practitioner of medicine.
Physical Appearance:
Far from a gunslinger, Sophia does not come across as very intermediating or threatening, and she stands evenly at an average height in a good pair of shoes. There is a stillness to her person, a reassuring thoughtfulness, and a subtle reminder of the polite civilization that is often left behind on the way to Ulysses. Sophia has a way of putting people at ease and has mastered the medically necessary talent of convincing her others that things will be alright, even when they clearly will not. Keen to avoid undue attention, the young necromancer does not have the pale skin that one might expect of a crypt-dwelling vampire or traditionally grave-robbing necromancer. Her skin is instead cast in a light shade of beige, warmed by the touch of the sun and painted with a collection of gentle freckles. Sophia has clever, azure eyes, that shine with a strange, eerie light when she casts spells. She has delicate eyebrows and full, expressive lips, that are only rarely set with severity or anger. She keeps her long black hair pinned in an elaborate knot at the nape of her neck, not quite having the heart to cut it short despite the impracticality of caring for long hair on the frontier. To secure the chignon, Sophia uses ivory or silver hairpins that match the tasteful jewelry that decorates her ears.
In short, for a person who spends most of her time among the dead and dying, Sophia has a remarkably warm disposition.
Unlike a great many of the other residents of Ulysses, Sophia does not have any impressive scars or missing body parts, and she has yet to lose so-much as a tooth in a drunken scuffle. She firmly believes that a healthy appearance is as important of an indicator of the skill of the medical practitioner as the girth of a chef is to the quality of the cooking.
Day to Day Attire: Sophia is an androgynous dresser and favors bespoke three piece suits in shades of black, grey, or brown, bow ties, dark low-heeled leather shoes, and reasonably sized top hats. It is a rare sight to see Sophia in a dress, but rumors persist that the young woman was once seen in a tavern wearing a blue silk evening gown. She wears a variety of small rings, inlaid with silver and set with jewels that seem to dance with arcane energy, on her fingers.
Frontier/Traveling Attire: When venturing out into the wilds, Sophia favors the practical dress of the vaqueros, and some have accused her of being overly fond of the vest and poncho combo.
Biography:
Magical Powers/Special Abilities:
Mundane Skills:
Equipment:
Other:
Age: Mid-twenties
Descriptor: A kind necromancer, efficient undertaker, and skilled practitioner of medicine.
Physical Appearance:
Far from a gunslinger, Sophia does not come across as very intermediating or threatening, and she stands evenly at an average height in a good pair of shoes. There is a stillness to her person, a reassuring thoughtfulness, and a subtle reminder of the polite civilization that is often left behind on the way to Ulysses. Sophia has a way of putting people at ease and has mastered the medically necessary talent of convincing her others that things will be alright, even when they clearly will not. Keen to avoid undue attention, the young necromancer does not have the pale skin that one might expect of a crypt-dwelling vampire or traditionally grave-robbing necromancer. Her skin is instead cast in a light shade of beige, warmed by the touch of the sun and painted with a collection of gentle freckles. Sophia has clever, azure eyes, that shine with a strange, eerie light when she casts spells. She has delicate eyebrows and full, expressive lips, that are only rarely set with severity or anger. She keeps her long black hair pinned in an elaborate knot at the nape of her neck, not quite having the heart to cut it short despite the impracticality of caring for long hair on the frontier. To secure the chignon, Sophia uses ivory or silver hairpins that match the tasteful jewelry that decorates her ears.
In short, for a person who spends most of her time among the dead and dying, Sophia has a remarkably warm disposition.
Unlike a great many of the other residents of Ulysses, Sophia does not have any impressive scars or missing body parts, and she has yet to lose so-much as a tooth in a drunken scuffle. She firmly believes that a healthy appearance is as important of an indicator of the skill of the medical practitioner as the girth of a chef is to the quality of the cooking.
Day to Day Attire: Sophia is an androgynous dresser and favors bespoke three piece suits in shades of black, grey, or brown, bow ties, dark low-heeled leather shoes, and reasonably sized top hats. It is a rare sight to see Sophia in a dress, but rumors persist that the young woman was once seen in a tavern wearing a blue silk evening gown. She wears a variety of small rings, inlaid with silver and set with jewels that seem to dance with arcane energy, on her fingers.
Frontier/Traveling Attire: When venturing out into the wilds, Sophia favors the practical dress of the vaqueros, and some have accused her of being overly fond of the vest and poncho combo.
Biography:
What Was:
Sophia was born somewhere on the East Coast a little more than two decades ago, likely Connecticut if her accent is any indication, and unlike a great many of the citizens of Ulysses she comes from a decidedly upper middle class family. A precocious child, she grew up wishing to follow in the footsteps of her father, a trained surgeon, and spent much of her early life buried in books. She lived something of a charmed life, wanting little, and basking in the comfort afforded to her by her family. What promised to be a pleasant, if predictable life, was forever changed when a teenage Sophia visited an antique bookshop with her mother. Drawn to a dark, seldom visited corner of the tomb-like shop, she found an strange book bound in leather and dyed a deep midnight. It was an ancient tome written in a strange hand and a stranger language still.
At first, the grimoire made little sense. However, with time, Sophia began to understand letters, then words, then phrases, then paragraphs, and finally pages. It was then that she met Balthazar, or rather, what remained of the ancient wizard. He was an ethereal creature, a spirit, that appeared only to the young girl. Once, had a been a great wizard, an infamous necromancer feared and respected throughout both the Old and the New World. He had met his end, predictably for a necromancer, at the hands of a coalition of his many enemies. It was his books that she had found, Balthazar said. He had written it centuries earlier, weaving powerful magic into each page, creating a bridge to another, cheating death, and ensuring that his legacy would not die with him, as it had with so many other persecuted necromancers.
The ancient spirit suggested that Sophia enter into a pact with him, providing him with an anchor to the mortal world far stronger than the weakening magic that still remained in his grimoire. In return, Balthazar promised Sophia knowledge, the vast sum of knowledge, both mundane and magical that he had acquired over his long life. He promised her guidance, training in the arcane arts, instruction in hermetic rituals, and an unparalleled mastery of the grim school of necromancy. But most of all, he promised her a friendship that would last beyond the grave. One oath, various arcane ingredients, and a small quantity of blood later, Sophia found herself with her very own spirit mentor.
From that point onwards, Sophia changed, she grew focused, impossibly focused, and a sense of purpose pervaded all her actions. Gone was the carefree girl she had been, replaced by an ambitious young woman. Guided by Balthazar, Sophia broke off an engagement that would have seen her married off to the son of a steel baron soon after. She had never seemed overly excited about the prospect and her parents could do little to convince the willful young woman that she was threatening her future. With great effort, she convinced her parents to send her off to a proper school, a university of peerless prestige, unparalleled scientific achievement, and great wealth. Her days were spent studying medicine, pouring over books concerning anatomy, chemistry, and the treatment of diseases. Her nights were spent in her darkened room with Balthazar, pouring over arcane tomes, drawing ritual patterns in chalk, and learning spells that manipulated life and death.
A scant four years later, Sophia left the world of academia and the university with a medical degree in hand. Although her instructors professed that they were a bit alarmed at the strange hours she kept, and the ease with which she dealt with dead bodies. Still, she was a talented surgeon they all remarked, one of the best they had ever seen. If she was a bit strange? Well, what did that really matter? Ambitions to establish a practice near her childhood home were soon crushed by resistance in the established medical community and Sophia found herself reduced to nothing more than an undertaker, the closet job she could find to a actually practicing medicine. On a bet and to prove a point, Sophia eventually secured the necessary license to pursue this line of work.
For a time, life was good, and Sophia managed to make a comfortable living seeing to the burial of the dead. At the very least, it afforded her discreet access to the raw materials required for any self-respecting necromancer to continue their work, namely corpses of varying vintage. As her mundane career faltered, Sophia continued to pursue her mastery of the arcane arts. Like Balthazar before her, Sophia had little interest in forced servitude as a member of one of the great orders of mages that existed in the New World. Instead, through talent, wit, and occasionally bribery, Sophia maintained a precarious position as an unaffiliated and sometimes only barely tolerated wizard. None, save Balthazar, and especially not other students of magic, were privy to her practice of necromancy.
For all her caution, Sophia's life was undone by a whirlwind romance with a conjurer, a naive hope to do good, and the robbery of an arcane vault belonging to the fanatical arcane inquisitors of the Guardians of the Veil. Balthazar had warned her, but she had not listened, and she paid the price. Betrayed by the woman she loved, Sophia did unspeakable, necessary, and evil things in order to survive. She broke the only oath she had lived by. The only oath that mattered. She took a life. A life that had mattered to her more than any other. Others followed. Bystanders. Unintended victims. The result of a spell gone horribly wrong. An entire city block lost to the ether.
And then...
Sophia ran.
She ran as far as she could. Stealing a horse, a gun, and then an entire wagon, she headed out West. Shedding her past, her name, and even her appearance along the way. Long days turned to weeks, then months, and when Sophia finally arrived in Ulysses she awoke to find that the melancholy dreams that had accompanied her journey had changed her. There was a darkness in the heart of the town that called to her, but she was no longer afraid. She had found a new purpose, a new place to call home, and a path towards the sort of redemption that only the wasteland can offer.
She wouldn't run.
Not this time.
Not again.
What Is:
Sophia Wallace is currently the only practicing doctor and licensed undertaker in the small town of Ulysses. Among the citizens of Ulysses, both mundane and supernatural, she is invariably known as "Doc" or at most "Doc Wallace". A newcomer to the town, Sophia has quickly established herself as a respected and indispensable member of the community. The timing of her arrival was most fortuitous for the townsfolk, as the previous town doctor, Mr. Francois Dumont, had perished only a few weeks prior to her arrival in a tragic and mysterious wagon accident.
Sophia's skill as a doctor are truly remarkable, and in the safety of the Leaky Pitcher some of the townsfolk quietly whisper that there is something supernatural about the effortless way the young woman wields her scalpel. However, following those rare times when even the good doctor is unable to cure a patient, the townsfolk take comfort in the knowledge that a coffin and a proper burial can be arranged for in the very same building for a most reasonable price.
A gifted necromancer, Sophia relies on the widespread, but mistaken belief that necromancers cannot command healing magic and a steady supply of legally acquired corpses to hide herself and her necromantic magic in plain sight. Despite her chosen arcane vocation, Sophia is far from evil, and simply wants to make an honest living helping others.
Sophia was born somewhere on the East Coast a little more than two decades ago, likely Connecticut if her accent is any indication, and unlike a great many of the citizens of Ulysses she comes from a decidedly upper middle class family. A precocious child, she grew up wishing to follow in the footsteps of her father, a trained surgeon, and spent much of her early life buried in books. She lived something of a charmed life, wanting little, and basking in the comfort afforded to her by her family. What promised to be a pleasant, if predictable life, was forever changed when a teenage Sophia visited an antique bookshop with her mother. Drawn to a dark, seldom visited corner of the tomb-like shop, she found an strange book bound in leather and dyed a deep midnight. It was an ancient tome written in a strange hand and a stranger language still.
At first, the grimoire made little sense. However, with time, Sophia began to understand letters, then words, then phrases, then paragraphs, and finally pages. It was then that she met Balthazar, or rather, what remained of the ancient wizard. He was an ethereal creature, a spirit, that appeared only to the young girl. Once, had a been a great wizard, an infamous necromancer feared and respected throughout both the Old and the New World. He had met his end, predictably for a necromancer, at the hands of a coalition of his many enemies. It was his books that she had found, Balthazar said. He had written it centuries earlier, weaving powerful magic into each page, creating a bridge to another, cheating death, and ensuring that his legacy would not die with him, as it had with so many other persecuted necromancers.
The ancient spirit suggested that Sophia enter into a pact with him, providing him with an anchor to the mortal world far stronger than the weakening magic that still remained in his grimoire. In return, Balthazar promised Sophia knowledge, the vast sum of knowledge, both mundane and magical that he had acquired over his long life. He promised her guidance, training in the arcane arts, instruction in hermetic rituals, and an unparalleled mastery of the grim school of necromancy. But most of all, he promised her a friendship that would last beyond the grave. One oath, various arcane ingredients, and a small quantity of blood later, Sophia found herself with her very own spirit mentor.
From that point onwards, Sophia changed, she grew focused, impossibly focused, and a sense of purpose pervaded all her actions. Gone was the carefree girl she had been, replaced by an ambitious young woman. Guided by Balthazar, Sophia broke off an engagement that would have seen her married off to the son of a steel baron soon after. She had never seemed overly excited about the prospect and her parents could do little to convince the willful young woman that she was threatening her future. With great effort, she convinced her parents to send her off to a proper school, a university of peerless prestige, unparalleled scientific achievement, and great wealth. Her days were spent studying medicine, pouring over books concerning anatomy, chemistry, and the treatment of diseases. Her nights were spent in her darkened room with Balthazar, pouring over arcane tomes, drawing ritual patterns in chalk, and learning spells that manipulated life and death.
A scant four years later, Sophia left the world of academia and the university with a medical degree in hand. Although her instructors professed that they were a bit alarmed at the strange hours she kept, and the ease with which she dealt with dead bodies. Still, she was a talented surgeon they all remarked, one of the best they had ever seen. If she was a bit strange? Well, what did that really matter? Ambitions to establish a practice near her childhood home were soon crushed by resistance in the established medical community and Sophia found herself reduced to nothing more than an undertaker, the closet job she could find to a actually practicing medicine. On a bet and to prove a point, Sophia eventually secured the necessary license to pursue this line of work.
For a time, life was good, and Sophia managed to make a comfortable living seeing to the burial of the dead. At the very least, it afforded her discreet access to the raw materials required for any self-respecting necromancer to continue their work, namely corpses of varying vintage. As her mundane career faltered, Sophia continued to pursue her mastery of the arcane arts. Like Balthazar before her, Sophia had little interest in forced servitude as a member of one of the great orders of mages that existed in the New World. Instead, through talent, wit, and occasionally bribery, Sophia maintained a precarious position as an unaffiliated and sometimes only barely tolerated wizard. None, save Balthazar, and especially not other students of magic, were privy to her practice of necromancy.
For all her caution, Sophia's life was undone by a whirlwind romance with a conjurer, a naive hope to do good, and the robbery of an arcane vault belonging to the fanatical arcane inquisitors of the Guardians of the Veil. Balthazar had warned her, but she had not listened, and she paid the price. Betrayed by the woman she loved, Sophia did unspeakable, necessary, and evil things in order to survive. She broke the only oath she had lived by. The only oath that mattered. She took a life. A life that had mattered to her more than any other. Others followed. Bystanders. Unintended victims. The result of a spell gone horribly wrong. An entire city block lost to the ether.
And then...
Sophia ran.
She ran as far as she could. Stealing a horse, a gun, and then an entire wagon, she headed out West. Shedding her past, her name, and even her appearance along the way. Long days turned to weeks, then months, and when Sophia finally arrived in Ulysses she awoke to find that the melancholy dreams that had accompanied her journey had changed her. There was a darkness in the heart of the town that called to her, but she was no longer afraid. She had found a new purpose, a new place to call home, and a path towards the sort of redemption that only the wasteland can offer.
She wouldn't run.
Not this time.
Not again.
What Is:
Sophia Wallace is currently the only practicing doctor and licensed undertaker in the small town of Ulysses. Among the citizens of Ulysses, both mundane and supernatural, she is invariably known as "Doc" or at most "Doc Wallace". A newcomer to the town, Sophia has quickly established herself as a respected and indispensable member of the community. The timing of her arrival was most fortuitous for the townsfolk, as the previous town doctor, Mr. Francois Dumont, had perished only a few weeks prior to her arrival in a tragic and mysterious wagon accident.
Sophia's skill as a doctor are truly remarkable, and in the safety of the Leaky Pitcher some of the townsfolk quietly whisper that there is something supernatural about the effortless way the young woman wields her scalpel. However, following those rare times when even the good doctor is unable to cure a patient, the townsfolk take comfort in the knowledge that a coffin and a proper burial can be arranged for in the very same building for a most reasonable price.
A gifted necromancer, Sophia relies on the widespread, but mistaken belief that necromancers cannot command healing magic and a steady supply of legally acquired corpses to hide herself and her necromantic magic in plain sight. Despite her chosen arcane vocation, Sophia is far from evil, and simply wants to make an honest living helping others.
"Sophia Wallace?"
"That depends, who's asking?" Sophia warily answered. She had only just gotten her drink. It had been a long day. Three burials in one morning was two too many. One would have been enough, more than enough. She only asked for a bit of business, she wasn't greedy, she didn't need to be so busy. She had books to read, and undead to converse with. She wanted to take a bath. A real bath, a hot bath...she needed a bath tub.
Despite knowing better, Sophia eventually looked up from her drink. In front of her stood a prim and proper lady, an aristocrat that had no business in the Leaky Pitcher. Especially not on a Sunday. She wore a green satin dress with laced short sleeves over a linen chemise, a lace cap trimmed with rose-colored tassels, and an elaborate fan in her hand. She was stunning, and Sophia was almost surprised she had made it unaccosted to her table.
"Hannelore Weber," the young woman energetically proclaimed with a nod that was intended to be very serious. The dramatic and all too obvious pause that followed told Sophia that she was dealing with the worst sort of actress. "Of the Guardians of the Veil, perhaps you have heard of us?"
Sophia let out a low sigh in response, but did her best to recover, it wouldn't do to offend the newcomer, she wasn't in the mood for a tavern brawl, especially not an arcane one,"Who hasn't?"
Mention of the infamous, among wizards, order of do-gooders and fanatical inquisitors sent a shiver down Sophia's spine and caused a presence to stir in the most carefully guarded recesses of her mind. He was angry, but more importantly, he was annoyed.
"Only the uninitiated," Hannelore smugly agreed, taking a seat unbidden across from Sophia.
"Well, Miss Hannelore, what brings you to this wonderful stretch of desolation and death known to the Gods as the town of Ulysses?"
"It has come to our attention, through a confidential source, that there are strange forces, arcane forces, at work in this town. And naturally when it also came to our attention that you were a recent immigrant to this fair city...well, you can't exactly be surprised that my superiors felt best to send a member of our order to have a chat with you."
"Oh, indeed?" Sophia answered, doing her best to appear bored.
"There's quite the file on you in the archives. I haven't seen it, of course, but I've been told it's extensive and very detailed."
"I'm sure there are only good things about me mentioned in your papers," the young necromancer hesitantly added, carefully studying her glass of whiskey.
"However, all our information was a bit out of date. We had great trouble identifying your current associates. Notwithstanding, Miss —"
"Don't say her name!" Sophia growled, slamming a fist hand down on the table, feeling the heat that spread across her cheeks.
It had the desired effect, and Hannelore looked at her cautiously with wide eyes. "Ahem. Well. I must ask, to what great order or society do you currently belong?"
"None."
"You aren't a member of a hermetic order?"
"No," Sophia replied with a small chortle.
"Surely, a magician as talented as you is aware of the dangers of exploring the matters of the occult alone and without the proper guidance?"
"I am, but all the same, I prefer to work alone. For obvious reasons..."
"That's a lie," a voice indignantly interjected, clearly hurt at what the young necromancer had insinuated. Vaguely British-sounding, the proud voice was accompanied by the sweet smell of pipe tobacco and a subtle hint of jasmine. "How long have I not guided you? I raised you up from middle class drollery and saved you from a loveless marriage to some fool of a baron's son. I initiated you into study of the great hermetic mysteries of existence. I taught you how to summon and command the dead. I instructed you in how to parley with spirits and devils alike. I forged a pact with you to span the ages and defeated death herself."
Sophia rubbed her brows wearily. It took some effort not to reply out loud in order to silence the long-dead wizard that now resided mostly in her head. He was arrogant, so damn arrogant, and even death had not robbed him of all of his power. The contract bound him to her, but it also bound her to him. Nominally, she was the master, but all magicians knew better than to trust the oaths of spirits and devils. At least in theory.
"Not now, Balthazar, I'm trying to be diplomatic," Sophia thought, shaping her thoughts into as strong of a command as she could discreetly muster.
"Oh yes, let us reason with our enemies," Balthazar disdainfully quipped.
"They are not our enemies, they are not my enemies, at least not yet."
"Don't worry, they will be soon enough, girl," Balthazar cheerfully mused. "The Guardians of the Veil have never been overly fond of necromancers. Do you know how many of my laboratories they destroyed? How many of my books they burned? And how many of my apprentices they killed?"
"I know."
"No one will notice one more body, not here, not now."
"No."
"Then what are you?" The prim and proper woman sitting across from Sophia practically hissed. She was growing increasingly irritated. Sophia had ignored her for too long. Balthazar had a habit of interrupting her thoughts as he pleased. He was a perpetual back-seat wagon driver. Most of the time it had the effect of making Sophia seem very thoughtful, like a philosopher of yore. The rest of the time it had the unfortunate habit of irritating those that expected a quick reply.
Sophia composed herself and took a small sip from the neat glass of whiskey that stood on the battered table in front of her. She relished the warmth that burned it's way down her throat and filled her chest with a pleasant tingling sensation. She carefully considered what to reply. Hermetic wizards were a superstitious and cautious lot and never took kindly to practitioners of the magical arts that operated outside of the usually safe domain of well-established and supposedly safe rituals. She didn't want to make a scene. It wouldn't do for the Sheriff to have to make an appearance. Not again. It had barely been a week.
Still thinking, she tapped a finger against her nose, "Ah, I suppose you could say that I am something of an independent contractor."
"A witch?" The other woman venomously asked. Sophia could not help but notice that she had managed to shift her chair away from her in record time. There was fear in her eyes, and that was never good. Not in a patient, not in a corpse, and certainly not in a hermetic wizard that was primed to blow you sky high with a fireball at the drop of a hat.
"Actually, I prefer the title Doctor," Sophia replied, flashing what she hoped was a disarming smile in the direction of the her conversational companion. She hefted her medical bag onto the table and patted it on the side, like one would pat a very large and very friendly dog. She leaned across the table, placing her elbows on the uneven wood of the table, and resting her chin on her interlaced fingers.
"Look, I'm flattered, very flattered that your order has taken an interest in my person and my interests here. However, I assure you, I am simply trying to make an honest living."
"Here?" Hannelore asked incredulously. "In this place."
"You have a point there," Sophia agreed taking in the filthy tavern and the filthier patrons surrounding her. "But yes."
"Why?"
Sophia laughed, smiling again, and shook her head slowly from side to side with amusement, "I told you, I'm a doctor. I have to help."
"That depends, who's asking?" Sophia warily answered. She had only just gotten her drink. It had been a long day. Three burials in one morning was two too many. One would have been enough, more than enough. She only asked for a bit of business, she wasn't greedy, she didn't need to be so busy. She had books to read, and undead to converse with. She wanted to take a bath. A real bath, a hot bath...she needed a bath tub.
Despite knowing better, Sophia eventually looked up from her drink. In front of her stood a prim and proper lady, an aristocrat that had no business in the Leaky Pitcher. Especially not on a Sunday. She wore a green satin dress with laced short sleeves over a linen chemise, a lace cap trimmed with rose-colored tassels, and an elaborate fan in her hand. She was stunning, and Sophia was almost surprised she had made it unaccosted to her table.
"Hannelore Weber," the young woman energetically proclaimed with a nod that was intended to be very serious. The dramatic and all too obvious pause that followed told Sophia that she was dealing with the worst sort of actress. "Of the Guardians of the Veil, perhaps you have heard of us?"
Sophia let out a low sigh in response, but did her best to recover, it wouldn't do to offend the newcomer, she wasn't in the mood for a tavern brawl, especially not an arcane one,"Who hasn't?"
Mention of the infamous, among wizards, order of do-gooders and fanatical inquisitors sent a shiver down Sophia's spine and caused a presence to stir in the most carefully guarded recesses of her mind. He was angry, but more importantly, he was annoyed.
"Only the uninitiated," Hannelore smugly agreed, taking a seat unbidden across from Sophia.
"Well, Miss Hannelore, what brings you to this wonderful stretch of desolation and death known to the Gods as the town of Ulysses?"
"It has come to our attention, through a confidential source, that there are strange forces, arcane forces, at work in this town. And naturally when it also came to our attention that you were a recent immigrant to this fair city...well, you can't exactly be surprised that my superiors felt best to send a member of our order to have a chat with you."
"Oh, indeed?" Sophia answered, doing her best to appear bored.
"There's quite the file on you in the archives. I haven't seen it, of course, but I've been told it's extensive and very detailed."
"I'm sure there are only good things about me mentioned in your papers," the young necromancer hesitantly added, carefully studying her glass of whiskey.
"However, all our information was a bit out of date. We had great trouble identifying your current associates. Notwithstanding, Miss —"
"Don't say her name!" Sophia growled, slamming a fist hand down on the table, feeling the heat that spread across her cheeks.
It had the desired effect, and Hannelore looked at her cautiously with wide eyes. "Ahem. Well. I must ask, to what great order or society do you currently belong?"
"None."
"You aren't a member of a hermetic order?"
"No," Sophia replied with a small chortle.
"Surely, a magician as talented as you is aware of the dangers of exploring the matters of the occult alone and without the proper guidance?"
"I am, but all the same, I prefer to work alone. For obvious reasons..."
"That's a lie," a voice indignantly interjected, clearly hurt at what the young necromancer had insinuated. Vaguely British-sounding, the proud voice was accompanied by the sweet smell of pipe tobacco and a subtle hint of jasmine. "How long have I not guided you? I raised you up from middle class drollery and saved you from a loveless marriage to some fool of a baron's son. I initiated you into study of the great hermetic mysteries of existence. I taught you how to summon and command the dead. I instructed you in how to parley with spirits and devils alike. I forged a pact with you to span the ages and defeated death herself."
Sophia rubbed her brows wearily. It took some effort not to reply out loud in order to silence the long-dead wizard that now resided mostly in her head. He was arrogant, so damn arrogant, and even death had not robbed him of all of his power. The contract bound him to her, but it also bound her to him. Nominally, she was the master, but all magicians knew better than to trust the oaths of spirits and devils. At least in theory.
"Not now, Balthazar, I'm trying to be diplomatic," Sophia thought, shaping her thoughts into as strong of a command as she could discreetly muster.
"Oh yes, let us reason with our enemies," Balthazar disdainfully quipped.
"They are not our enemies, they are not my enemies, at least not yet."
"Don't worry, they will be soon enough, girl," Balthazar cheerfully mused. "The Guardians of the Veil have never been overly fond of necromancers. Do you know how many of my laboratories they destroyed? How many of my books they burned? And how many of my apprentices they killed?"
"I know."
"No one will notice one more body, not here, not now."
"No."
"Then what are you?" The prim and proper woman sitting across from Sophia practically hissed. She was growing increasingly irritated. Sophia had ignored her for too long. Balthazar had a habit of interrupting her thoughts as he pleased. He was a perpetual back-seat wagon driver. Most of the time it had the effect of making Sophia seem very thoughtful, like a philosopher of yore. The rest of the time it had the unfortunate habit of irritating those that expected a quick reply.
Sophia composed herself and took a small sip from the neat glass of whiskey that stood on the battered table in front of her. She relished the warmth that burned it's way down her throat and filled her chest with a pleasant tingling sensation. She carefully considered what to reply. Hermetic wizards were a superstitious and cautious lot and never took kindly to practitioners of the magical arts that operated outside of the usually safe domain of well-established and supposedly safe rituals. She didn't want to make a scene. It wouldn't do for the Sheriff to have to make an appearance. Not again. It had barely been a week.
Still thinking, she tapped a finger against her nose, "Ah, I suppose you could say that I am something of an independent contractor."
"A witch?" The other woman venomously asked. Sophia could not help but notice that she had managed to shift her chair away from her in record time. There was fear in her eyes, and that was never good. Not in a patient, not in a corpse, and certainly not in a hermetic wizard that was primed to blow you sky high with a fireball at the drop of a hat.
"Actually, I prefer the title Doctor," Sophia replied, flashing what she hoped was a disarming smile in the direction of the her conversational companion. She hefted her medical bag onto the table and patted it on the side, like one would pat a very large and very friendly dog. She leaned across the table, placing her elbows on the uneven wood of the table, and resting her chin on her interlaced fingers.
"Look, I'm flattered, very flattered that your order has taken an interest in my person and my interests here. However, I assure you, I am simply trying to make an honest living."
"Here?" Hannelore asked incredulously. "In this place."
"You have a point there," Sophia agreed taking in the filthy tavern and the filthier patrons surrounding her. "But yes."
"Why?"
Sophia laughed, smiling again, and shook her head slowly from side to side with amusement, "I told you, I'm a doctor. I have to help."
Magical Powers/Special Abilities:
- I Put On My Necromancer Hat - Sophia is a talented wizard focusing on furthering her knowledge of the much feared and reviled art of necromancy. Like most practitioners of magic, Sophia is well-versed in hermetic rituals and the ways of spirits, devils, and other creatures found beyond the natural plane of existence. While, she secretly identifies as a necromancer, Sophia is also a capable spellslinger in a number of other more mainstream domains of magic.
- They Being Dead Still Speakth - Sophia has a knack for conversing with the dead, managing to successfully interpret their often disjointed thoughts and understanding the strange, dead languages that seem to be in vogue among the deceased of all ages.
- Dead Friends in High Places - Guided by the whispers of the dead, Sophia has a second-sense for avoiding danger, spotting traps, and navigating through the domains of the dead.
- Tough as Bone - Having spent so much time among the dead, Sophia appears to have gained some of the qualities of an undead creature. In the course of her study of the art of necromancy, Sophia has become remarkably resistant to disease, physical damage, and pain. To her great sorrow, the young wizard is however still very mortal, if very cold to the touch of others.
- Mental Bastion - Dealing with the undead and restless spirits on a frequent basis has left Sophia with a remarkably casual attitude towards all things related to horror, death, and madness.
- Spirit Mentor - Sophia has a spirit mentor, a ghostly companion and guide that has accompanied her since her early childhood. The ghost is the incorporeal and usually grumpy spirit of a once living necromancer, infamous across all of the New World for his mastery of the dark arts. Balthazar the Black, as he calls himself, rarely makes himself perceptible to others or affects the world in any noticeable way, apart from advising Sophia on arcane matters. He appears capable of changing forms at a whim, but mostly takes the form of a weathered old man, with a carefully trimmed beard in the style of Gibraldi, a long flowing gray robe, and a soft-crowned gray hat. The ghost claims to be the incorporeal and usually grumpy spirit of a once living necromancer, infamous across all of the New World for his mastery of the dark arts. Although he is understandably reluctant to speak about it, almost forgotten stories mention that the ancient necromancer met his end at the hands of a coalition of powerful enemies several centuries ago. Tragic deaths notwithstanding, Sophia has learned most of what she knows about hermetic magic, the occult, and necromancy under Balthazar's exacting tutelage.
Mundane Skills:
- Licensed Undertaker - Sophia is one of the few legitimately licensed undertakers in found this far from proper civilization. She knows how to make coffins, cheap and expensive, small and large, and how to prepare all manner of bodies for burial.
- Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a... - Surprisingly for the era, Sophia is an actual doctor, a very good doctor, and not just a barber moonlighting as a surgeon like many of her so-called colleagues. She has a fancy diploma on her office wall that mentions some place called the "Harvard School of Medicine". However, whether this diploma is real or a high quality forgery is another matter entirely.
- Experienced Traveler - Sophia is an experienced traveler and is used to life on the road or in the wilderness. When asked she claims to have traveled far and wide in search of alchemical knowledge and she commands a number of rare or esoteric languages, some of which do not sound like they were meant for human tongues.
- Passable Shot - Sophia knows how to use firearms, especially shotguns and rifles, well-enough for someone living on the increasingly dangerous frontier. However, given her adherence to the Hippocratic Oath, she's reluctant to aim her gun at another person in anger and slower still to actually shoot to harm or kill.
- Well Read - An educated woman, Sophia has wide range of knowledge regarding subjects both mundane and supernatural in nature.
Equipment:
- Leather Physician's Bag - When she leaves her practice, Sophia brings a well-worn, leather physician's bag with her of impeccable quality. To those initiated in hermetic mysteries or sensitive to the arcane, there is a faint, but powerful force of magic that emanates from the bag. To everyone else, the medical bag is n different from any other and is full of the tools of Sophia's medical trade.
- Silver Pocket Watch - One of Sophia's most prized possession is an ancient keywind pocket watch cast in silver. Inside the front cover of the pocket watch are strange etchings and words that are clearly not human in origin.
- Arcane Grimoire - Sophia's other prized possession is a leather-bound grimoire dyed midnight black. Clearly ancient, the book is full of arcane formulas, long-forgotten rituals, and forbidden spells belonging to the shunned school of necromancy. An astute observer might notice that the handwriting of this arcane tome matches that etched into the front cover of Sophia's pocket watch.
- Appaloosa Horse - Recalling the tragic fate of her predecessor, Sophia has steered clear of wagons, and for transportation she has an Appaloosa horse, a lovely spotted creature that she won from a Nez Perce shaman in a wager she speaks of with a mischievous smile painted on her lips.
- Coach Gun - When good sense demands it, Sophia carries a shortened, double-barred shotgun discreetly in her medical bag. Currently, she sports a fashionable 10 gauge William Moore & Company coach gun. Although accuracy tapers off at medium to far range, at close range the firearm is most effective.
Other:
- Wallace's Medical and Funeral Services - Sophia's medical practice is located in a decrepit building that was once the local funeral home. Within the storied walls of the simple two-story house she offers both medical and funeral services depending on the current needs of her customer. Since buying the building Sophia has effected only the most basic repairs and painted the building an already fading shade of green. Marked by death, the building is somehow mildly threatening, filling those that view it with a sense of dread and unexpected wariness. The local neighborhood children claim that the building is haunted and tell stories of a strange glowing light emanating from the windows in the middle of the night. To Sophia's chagrin, it has become something of a game for the children to dare one another to knock on her door after dark.
- Whiskey Drinker - At the end of a long day, Sophia enjoys a drink or two, and if given a choice she prefers a simple, neat glass of whiskey.
- Mysterious - Sophia carefully cultivates an air of mystery around herself and her past. She has few friends, but many acquaintances, and while she is seen as a respected member of both the mundane and supernatural communities she remains aloof of any established organizations.
*I suppose a draft is still a WIP, but relative completion felt like it deserved a new post.
@Hour Error
I'm all for additional writings and extra narrative reveals, but I do request that you keep to what little required information I have requested. I probably have the sparsest sheet in Advanced, and I'll hold everyone to it who submits a character. So give at least some form of summative backstory, but feel free to also supplant what you've presented here onto the sheet in a neatly filed manner. Characterization is an ever-pleasant thing to witness.
Fair. :)
Hopefully this works, but I am happy to make any changes:
What Was:
Sophia was born somewhere on the East Coast, likely Connecticut if her accent is any indication, and unlike a great many of the citizens of Ulysses she comes from a decidedly upper middle class family. A precocious child, she grew up wishing to follow in the footsteps of her father, a trained surgeon, and spent much of her early life buried in books. She lived something of a charmed life, wanting little, and basking in the comfort afforded to her by her family. What promised to be a pleasant, if predictable life, was forever changed when a teenage Sophia visited an antique bookshop with her mother. Drawn to a dark, seldom visited corner of the tomb-like shop, she found an strange book bound in leather and dyed a deep midnight. It was an ancient tome written in a strange hand and a stranger language still.
At first, the grimoire made little sense. However, with time, Sophia began to understand letters, then words, then phrases, then paragraphs, and finally pages. It was then that she met Baltasar, or rather, what remained of the ancient wizard. He was an ethereal creature, a spirit, that appeared only to the young girl. Once, had a been a great wizard, an infamous necromancer feared and respected throughout both the Old and the New World. He had met his end, predictably for a necromancer, at the hands of a coalition of his many enemies. It was his books that she had found, Baltasar said. He had written it centuries earlier, weaving powerful magic into each page, creating a bridge to another, cheating death, and ensuring that his legacy would not die with him, as it had with so many other persecuted necromancers.
The ancient spirit suggested that Sophia enter into a pact with him, providing him with an anchor to the mortal world far stronger than the weakening magic that still remained in his grimoire. In return, Baltasar promised Sophia knowledge, the vast sum of knowledge, both mundane and magical that he had acquired over his long life. He promised her guidance, training in the arcane arts, instruction in hermetic rituals, and an unparalleled mastery of the grim school of necromancy. But most of all, he promised her a friendship that would last beyond the grave. One oath, various arcane ingredients, and a small quantity of blood later, Sophia found herself with her very own spirit mentor.
From that point onwards, Sophia changed, she grew focused, impossibly focused, and a sense of purpose pervaded all her actions. Gone was the carefree girl she had been, replaced by an ambitious young woman. Guided by Baltasar, Sophia broke off an engagement that would have seen her married off to the son of a steel baron soon after. She had never seemed overly excited about the prospect and her parents could do little to convince the willful young woman that she was threatening her future. With great effort, she convinced her parents to send her off to a proper school, a university of peerless prestige, unparalleled scientific achievement, and great wealth. Her days were spent studying medicine, pouring over books concerning anatomy, chemistry, and the treatment of diseases. Her nights were spent in her darkened room with Baltasar, pouring over arcane tomes, drawing ritual patterns in chalk, and learning spells that manipulated life and death.
A scant four years later, Sophia left the world of academia and the university with a medical degree in hand. Although her instructors professed that they were a bit alarmed at the strange hours she kept, and the ease with which she dealt with dead bodies. Still, she was a talented surgeon they all remarked, one of the best they had ever seen. If she was a bit strange? Well, what did that really matter? Ambitions to establish a practice near her childhood home were soon crushed by resistance in the established medical community and Sophia found herself reduced to nothing more than an undertaker, the closet job she could find to a actually practicing medicine. On a bet and to prove a point, Sophia eventually secured the necessary license to pursue this line of work.
For a time, life was good, and Sophia managed to make a comfortable living seeing to the burial of the dead. At the very least, it afforded her discreet access to the raw materials required for any self-respecting necromancer to continue their work, namely corpses of varying vintage. As her mundane career faltered, Sophia continued to pursue her mastery of the arcane arts. Like Baltasar before her, Sophia had little interest in forced servitude as a member of one of the great orders of mages that existed in the New World. Instead, through talent, wit, and occasionally bribery, Sophia maintained a precarious position as an unaffiliated and sometimes only barely tolerated wizard. None, save Baltasar, and especially not other students of magic, were privy to her practice of necromancy.
For all her caution, Sophia's life was undone by a whirlwind romance with a conjurer, a naive hope to do good, and the robbery of an arcane vault belonging to the fanatical arcane inquisitors of the Guardians of the Veil. Baltasar had warned her, but she had not listened, and she paid the price. Betrayed by the woman she loved, Sophia did unspeakable, necessary, and evil things in order to survive. She broke the only oath she had lived by. The only oath that mattered. She took a life. A life that had mattered to her more than any other. Others followed. Bystanders. Unintended victims. The result of a spell gone horribly wrong. An entire city block lost to the ether.
And then...
Sophia ran.
She ran as far as she could. Stealing a horse, a gun, and then an entire wagon, she headed out West. Shedding her past, her name, and even her appearance along the way. Long days turned to weeks, then months, and when Sophia finally arrived in Ulysses she awoke to find that the melancholy dreams that had accompanied her journey had changed her. There was a darkness in the heart of the town that called to her, but she was no longer afraid. She had found a new purpose, a new place to call home, and a path towards the sort of redemption that only the wasteland can offer.
She wouldn't run.
Not this time.
Not again.
What Is:
Sophia Wallace is currently the only practicing doctor and licensed undertaker in the small town of Ulysses. Among the citizens of Ulysses, both mundane and supernatural, Sophia is invariably known as "Doc" or at most "Doc Wallace". A newcomer to the town, Sophia has quickly established herself as a respected and indispensable member of the community. The timing of her arrival was most fortuitous for the townsfolk, as the previous town doctor, Mr. Francois Dumont, had perished only a few weeks prior to her arrival in a tragic and mysterious wagon accident.
Sophia's skill as a doctor are truly remarkable, and in the safety of the Leaky Pitcher some of the townsfolk quietly whisper that there is something supernatural about the effortless way the young woman wields her scalpel. However, following those rare times when even the good doctor is unable to cure a patient, the townsfolk take comfort in the knowledge that a coffin and a proper burial can be arranged for in the very same building for a most reasonable price.
A gifted necromancer, Sophia relies on the widespread, but mistaken belief that necromancers cannot command healing magic and a steady supply of legally acquired corpses to hide herself and her necromantic magic in plain sight. Despite her chosen arcane vocation, Sophia is far from evil, and simply wants to make an honest living helping others.
Sophia was born somewhere on the East Coast, likely Connecticut if her accent is any indication, and unlike a great many of the citizens of Ulysses she comes from a decidedly upper middle class family. A precocious child, she grew up wishing to follow in the footsteps of her father, a trained surgeon, and spent much of her early life buried in books. She lived something of a charmed life, wanting little, and basking in the comfort afforded to her by her family. What promised to be a pleasant, if predictable life, was forever changed when a teenage Sophia visited an antique bookshop with her mother. Drawn to a dark, seldom visited corner of the tomb-like shop, she found an strange book bound in leather and dyed a deep midnight. It was an ancient tome written in a strange hand and a stranger language still.
At first, the grimoire made little sense. However, with time, Sophia began to understand letters, then words, then phrases, then paragraphs, and finally pages. It was then that she met Baltasar, or rather, what remained of the ancient wizard. He was an ethereal creature, a spirit, that appeared only to the young girl. Once, had a been a great wizard, an infamous necromancer feared and respected throughout both the Old and the New World. He had met his end, predictably for a necromancer, at the hands of a coalition of his many enemies. It was his books that she had found, Baltasar said. He had written it centuries earlier, weaving powerful magic into each page, creating a bridge to another, cheating death, and ensuring that his legacy would not die with him, as it had with so many other persecuted necromancers.
The ancient spirit suggested that Sophia enter into a pact with him, providing him with an anchor to the mortal world far stronger than the weakening magic that still remained in his grimoire. In return, Baltasar promised Sophia knowledge, the vast sum of knowledge, both mundane and magical that he had acquired over his long life. He promised her guidance, training in the arcane arts, instruction in hermetic rituals, and an unparalleled mastery of the grim school of necromancy. But most of all, he promised her a friendship that would last beyond the grave. One oath, various arcane ingredients, and a small quantity of blood later, Sophia found herself with her very own spirit mentor.
From that point onwards, Sophia changed, she grew focused, impossibly focused, and a sense of purpose pervaded all her actions. Gone was the carefree girl she had been, replaced by an ambitious young woman. Guided by Baltasar, Sophia broke off an engagement that would have seen her married off to the son of a steel baron soon after. She had never seemed overly excited about the prospect and her parents could do little to convince the willful young woman that she was threatening her future. With great effort, she convinced her parents to send her off to a proper school, a university of peerless prestige, unparalleled scientific achievement, and great wealth. Her days were spent studying medicine, pouring over books concerning anatomy, chemistry, and the treatment of diseases. Her nights were spent in her darkened room with Baltasar, pouring over arcane tomes, drawing ritual patterns in chalk, and learning spells that manipulated life and death.
A scant four years later, Sophia left the world of academia and the university with a medical degree in hand. Although her instructors professed that they were a bit alarmed at the strange hours she kept, and the ease with which she dealt with dead bodies. Still, she was a talented surgeon they all remarked, one of the best they had ever seen. If she was a bit strange? Well, what did that really matter? Ambitions to establish a practice near her childhood home were soon crushed by resistance in the established medical community and Sophia found herself reduced to nothing more than an undertaker, the closet job she could find to a actually practicing medicine. On a bet and to prove a point, Sophia eventually secured the necessary license to pursue this line of work.
For a time, life was good, and Sophia managed to make a comfortable living seeing to the burial of the dead. At the very least, it afforded her discreet access to the raw materials required for any self-respecting necromancer to continue their work, namely corpses of varying vintage. As her mundane career faltered, Sophia continued to pursue her mastery of the arcane arts. Like Baltasar before her, Sophia had little interest in forced servitude as a member of one of the great orders of mages that existed in the New World. Instead, through talent, wit, and occasionally bribery, Sophia maintained a precarious position as an unaffiliated and sometimes only barely tolerated wizard. None, save Baltasar, and especially not other students of magic, were privy to her practice of necromancy.
For all her caution, Sophia's life was undone by a whirlwind romance with a conjurer, a naive hope to do good, and the robbery of an arcane vault belonging to the fanatical arcane inquisitors of the Guardians of the Veil. Baltasar had warned her, but she had not listened, and she paid the price. Betrayed by the woman she loved, Sophia did unspeakable, necessary, and evil things in order to survive. She broke the only oath she had lived by. The only oath that mattered. She took a life. A life that had mattered to her more than any other. Others followed. Bystanders. Unintended victims. The result of a spell gone horribly wrong. An entire city block lost to the ether.
And then...
Sophia ran.
She ran as far as she could. Stealing a horse, a gun, and then an entire wagon, she headed out West. Shedding her past, her name, and even her appearance along the way. Long days turned to weeks, then months, and when Sophia finally arrived in Ulysses she awoke to find that the melancholy dreams that had accompanied her journey had changed her. There was a darkness in the heart of the town that called to her, but she was no longer afraid. She had found a new purpose, a new place to call home, and a path towards the sort of redemption that only the wasteland can offer.
She wouldn't run.
Not this time.
Not again.
What Is:
Sophia Wallace is currently the only practicing doctor and licensed undertaker in the small town of Ulysses. Among the citizens of Ulysses, both mundane and supernatural, Sophia is invariably known as "Doc" or at most "Doc Wallace". A newcomer to the town, Sophia has quickly established herself as a respected and indispensable member of the community. The timing of her arrival was most fortuitous for the townsfolk, as the previous town doctor, Mr. Francois Dumont, had perished only a few weeks prior to her arrival in a tragic and mysterious wagon accident.
Sophia's skill as a doctor are truly remarkable, and in the safety of the Leaky Pitcher some of the townsfolk quietly whisper that there is something supernatural about the effortless way the young woman wields her scalpel. However, following those rare times when even the good doctor is unable to cure a patient, the townsfolk take comfort in the knowledge that a coffin and a proper burial can be arranged for in the very same building for a most reasonable price.
A gifted necromancer, Sophia relies on the widespread, but mistaken belief that necromancers cannot command healing magic and a steady supply of legally acquired corpses to hide herself and her necromantic magic in plain sight. Despite her chosen arcane vocation, Sophia is far from evil, and simply wants to make an honest living helping others.
I usually don't try to make things so dramatic, but Westerns always have that edge of tragedy/regret to them and it seemed interesting to explore the character of a doctor that took a couple of lives (if perhaps not intentionally).
I'm not a huge fan of writing summary histories, so I wrote this:
Hopefully it serves to reveal some of Sophia's character and backstory. Haven't read through it after writing it (yet), so apologizes for any obvious errors/half-awake writing.
Edit: I hope you don't mind @ElRey814, but I referenced the Leaky Pitcher.
"Sophia Wallace?"
"That depends, who's asking?" Sophia warily answered. She had only just gotten her drink. It had been a long day. Three burials in one morning was two too many. One would have been enough, more than enough. She only asked for a bit of business, she wasn't greedy, she didn't need to be so busy. She had books to read, and undead to converse with. She wanted to take a bath. A real bath, a hot bath...she needed a bath tub.
Despite knowing better, Sophia eventually looked up from her drink. In front of her stood a prim and proper lady, an aristocrat that had no business in the Leaky Pitcher. Especially not on a Sunday. She wore a green satin dress with laced short sleeves over a linen chemise, a lace cap trimmed with rose-colored tassels, and an elaborate fan in her hand. She was stunning, and Sophia was almost surprised she had made it unaccosted to her table.
"Hannelore Weber," the young woman energetically proclaimed with a nod that was intended to be very serious. The dramatic and all too obvious pause that followed told Sophia that she was dealing with the worst sort of actress. "Of the Guardians of the Veil, perhaps you have heard of us?"
Sophia let out a low sigh in response, but did her best to recover, it wouldn't do to offend the newcomer, she wasn't in the mood for a tavern brawl, especially not an arcane one,"Who hasn't?"
Mention of the infamous, among wizards, order of do-gooders and fanatical inquisitors sent a shiver down Sophia's spine and caused a presence to stir in the most carefully guarded recesses of her mind. He was angry, but more importantly, he was annoyed.
"Only the uninitiated," Hannelore smugly agreed, taking a seat unbidden across from Sophia.
"Well, Miss Hannelore, what brings you to this wonderful stretch of desolation and death known to the Gods as the town of Ulysses?"
"It has come to our attention, through a confidential source, that there are strange forces, arcane forces, at work in this town. And naturally when it also came to our attention that you were a recent immigrant to this fair city...well, you can't exactly be surprised that my superiors felt best to send a member of our order to have a chat with you."
"Oh, indeed?" Sophia answered, doing her best to appear bored.
"There's quite the file on you in the archives. I haven't seen it, of course, but I've been told it's extensive and very detailed."
"I'm sure there are only good things about me mentioned in your papers," the young necromancer hesitantly added, carefully studying her glass of whiskey.
"However, all our information was a bit out of date. We had great trouble identifying your current associates. Notwithstanding, Miss —"
"Don't say her name!" Sophia growled, slamming a fist hand down on the table, feeling the heat that spread across her cheeks.
It had the desired effect, and Hannelore looked at her cautiously with wide eyes. "Ahem. Well. I must ask, to what great order or society do you currently belong?"
"None."
"You aren't a member of a hermetic order?"
"No," Sophia replied with a small chortle.
"Surely, a magician as talented as you is aware of the dangers of exploring the matters of the occult alone and without the proper guidance?"
"I am, but all the same, I prefer to work alone. For obvious reasons..."
"That's a lie," a voice indignantly interjected, clearly hurt at what the young necromancer had insinuated. Vaguely British-sounding, the proud voice was accompanied by the sweet smell of pipe tobacco and a subtle hint of jasmine. "How long have I not guided you? I raised you up from middle class drollery and saved you from a loveless marriage to some fool of a baron's son. I initiated you into study of the great hermetic mysteries of existence. I taught you how to summon and command the dead. I instructed you in how to parley with spirits and devils alike. I forged a pact with you to span the ages and defeated death herself."
Sophia rubbed her brows wearily. It took some effort not to reply out loud in order to silence the long-dead wizard that now resided mostly in her head. He was arrogant, so damn arrogant, and even death had not robbed him of all of his power. The contract bound him to her, but it also bound her to him. Nominally, she was the master, but all magicians knew better than to trust the oaths of spirits and devils. At least in theory.
"Not now, Baltasar, I'm trying to be diplomatic," Sophia thought, shaping her thoughts into as strong of a command as she could discreetly muster.
"Oh yes, let us reason with our enemies," Baltasar disdainfully quipped.
"They are not our enemies, they are not my enemies, at least not yet."
"Don't worry, they will be soon enough, girl," Baltasar cheerfully mused. "The Guardians of the Veil have never been overly fond of necromancers. Do you know how many of my laboratories they destroyed? How many of my books they burned? And how many of my apprentices they killed?"
"I know."
"No one will notice one more body, not here, not now."
"No."
"Then what are you?" The prim and proper woman sitting across from Sophia practically hissed. She was growing increasingly irritated. Sophia had ignored her for too long. Baltasar had a habit of interrupting her thoughts as he pleased. He was a perpetual back-seat wagon driver. Most of the time it had the effect of making Sophia seem very thoughtful, like a philosopher of yore. The rest of the time it had the unfortunate habit of irritating those that expected a quick reply.
Sophia composed herself and took a small sip from the neat glass of whiskey that stood on the battered table in front of her. She relished the warmth that burned it's way down her throat and filled her chest with a pleasant tingling sensation. She carefully considered what to reply. Hermetic wizards were a superstitious and cautious lot and never took kindly to practitioners of the magical arts that operated outside of the usually safe domain of well-established and supposedly safe rituals. She didn't want to make a scene. It wouldn't do for the Sheriff to have to make an appearance. Not again. It had barely been a week.
Still thinking, she tapped a finger against her nose, "Ah, I suppose you could say that I am something of an independent contractor."
"A witch?" The other woman venomously asked. Sophia could not help but notice that she had managed to shift her chair away from her in record time. There was fear in her eyes, and that was never good. Not in a patient, not in a corpse, and certainly not in a hermetic wizard that was primed to blow you sky high with a fireball at the drop of a hat.
"Actually, I prefer the title Doctor," Sophia replied, flashing what she hoped was a disarming smile in the direction of the her conversational companion. She hefted her medical bag onto the table and patted it on the side, like one would pat a very large and very friendly dog. She leaned across the table, placing her elbows on the uneven wood of the table, and resting her chin on her interlaced fingers.
"Look, I'm flattered, very flattered that your order has taken an interest in my person and my interests here. However, I assure you, I am simply trying to make an honest living."
"Here?" Hannelore asked incredulously. "In this place."
"You have a point there," Sophia agreed taking in the filthy tavern and the filthier patrons surrounding her. "But yes."
"Why?"
Sophia laughed, smiling again, and shook her head slowly from side to side with amusement, "I told you, I'm a doctor. I have to help."
"That depends, who's asking?" Sophia warily answered. She had only just gotten her drink. It had been a long day. Three burials in one morning was two too many. One would have been enough, more than enough. She only asked for a bit of business, she wasn't greedy, she didn't need to be so busy. She had books to read, and undead to converse with. She wanted to take a bath. A real bath, a hot bath...she needed a bath tub.
Despite knowing better, Sophia eventually looked up from her drink. In front of her stood a prim and proper lady, an aristocrat that had no business in the Leaky Pitcher. Especially not on a Sunday. She wore a green satin dress with laced short sleeves over a linen chemise, a lace cap trimmed with rose-colored tassels, and an elaborate fan in her hand. She was stunning, and Sophia was almost surprised she had made it unaccosted to her table.
"Hannelore Weber," the young woman energetically proclaimed with a nod that was intended to be very serious. The dramatic and all too obvious pause that followed told Sophia that she was dealing with the worst sort of actress. "Of the Guardians of the Veil, perhaps you have heard of us?"
Sophia let out a low sigh in response, but did her best to recover, it wouldn't do to offend the newcomer, she wasn't in the mood for a tavern brawl, especially not an arcane one,"Who hasn't?"
Mention of the infamous, among wizards, order of do-gooders and fanatical inquisitors sent a shiver down Sophia's spine and caused a presence to stir in the most carefully guarded recesses of her mind. He was angry, but more importantly, he was annoyed.
"Only the uninitiated," Hannelore smugly agreed, taking a seat unbidden across from Sophia.
"Well, Miss Hannelore, what brings you to this wonderful stretch of desolation and death known to the Gods as the town of Ulysses?"
"It has come to our attention, through a confidential source, that there are strange forces, arcane forces, at work in this town. And naturally when it also came to our attention that you were a recent immigrant to this fair city...well, you can't exactly be surprised that my superiors felt best to send a member of our order to have a chat with you."
"Oh, indeed?" Sophia answered, doing her best to appear bored.
"There's quite the file on you in the archives. I haven't seen it, of course, but I've been told it's extensive and very detailed."
"I'm sure there are only good things about me mentioned in your papers," the young necromancer hesitantly added, carefully studying her glass of whiskey.
"However, all our information was a bit out of date. We had great trouble identifying your current associates. Notwithstanding, Miss —"
"Don't say her name!" Sophia growled, slamming a fist hand down on the table, feeling the heat that spread across her cheeks.
It had the desired effect, and Hannelore looked at her cautiously with wide eyes. "Ahem. Well. I must ask, to what great order or society do you currently belong?"
"None."
"You aren't a member of a hermetic order?"
"No," Sophia replied with a small chortle.
"Surely, a magician as talented as you is aware of the dangers of exploring the matters of the occult alone and without the proper guidance?"
"I am, but all the same, I prefer to work alone. For obvious reasons..."
"That's a lie," a voice indignantly interjected, clearly hurt at what the young necromancer had insinuated. Vaguely British-sounding, the proud voice was accompanied by the sweet smell of pipe tobacco and a subtle hint of jasmine. "How long have I not guided you? I raised you up from middle class drollery and saved you from a loveless marriage to some fool of a baron's son. I initiated you into study of the great hermetic mysteries of existence. I taught you how to summon and command the dead. I instructed you in how to parley with spirits and devils alike. I forged a pact with you to span the ages and defeated death herself."
Sophia rubbed her brows wearily. It took some effort not to reply out loud in order to silence the long-dead wizard that now resided mostly in her head. He was arrogant, so damn arrogant, and even death had not robbed him of all of his power. The contract bound him to her, but it also bound her to him. Nominally, she was the master, but all magicians knew better than to trust the oaths of spirits and devils. At least in theory.
"Not now, Baltasar, I'm trying to be diplomatic," Sophia thought, shaping her thoughts into as strong of a command as she could discreetly muster.
"Oh yes, let us reason with our enemies," Baltasar disdainfully quipped.
"They are not our enemies, they are not my enemies, at least not yet."
"Don't worry, they will be soon enough, girl," Baltasar cheerfully mused. "The Guardians of the Veil have never been overly fond of necromancers. Do you know how many of my laboratories they destroyed? How many of my books they burned? And how many of my apprentices they killed?"
"I know."
"No one will notice one more body, not here, not now."
"No."
"Then what are you?" The prim and proper woman sitting across from Sophia practically hissed. She was growing increasingly irritated. Sophia had ignored her for too long. Baltasar had a habit of interrupting her thoughts as he pleased. He was a perpetual back-seat wagon driver. Most of the time it had the effect of making Sophia seem very thoughtful, like a philosopher of yore. The rest of the time it had the unfortunate habit of irritating those that expected a quick reply.
Sophia composed herself and took a small sip from the neat glass of whiskey that stood on the battered table in front of her. She relished the warmth that burned it's way down her throat and filled her chest with a pleasant tingling sensation. She carefully considered what to reply. Hermetic wizards were a superstitious and cautious lot and never took kindly to practitioners of the magical arts that operated outside of the usually safe domain of well-established and supposedly safe rituals. She didn't want to make a scene. It wouldn't do for the Sheriff to have to make an appearance. Not again. It had barely been a week.
Still thinking, she tapped a finger against her nose, "Ah, I suppose you could say that I am something of an independent contractor."
"A witch?" The other woman venomously asked. Sophia could not help but notice that she had managed to shift her chair away from her in record time. There was fear in her eyes, and that was never good. Not in a patient, not in a corpse, and certainly not in a hermetic wizard that was primed to blow you sky high with a fireball at the drop of a hat.
"Actually, I prefer the title Doctor," Sophia replied, flashing what she hoped was a disarming smile in the direction of the her conversational companion. She hefted her medical bag onto the table and patted it on the side, like one would pat a very large and very friendly dog. She leaned across the table, placing her elbows on the uneven wood of the table, and resting her chin on her interlaced fingers.
"Look, I'm flattered, very flattered that your order has taken an interest in my person and my interests here. However, I assure you, I am simply trying to make an honest living."
"Here?" Hannelore asked incredulously. "In this place."
"You have a point there," Sophia agreed taking in the filthy tavern and the filthier patrons surrounding her. "But yes."
"Why?"
Sophia laughed, smiling again, and shook her head slowly from side to side with amusement, "I told you, I'm a doctor. I have to help."
Hopefully it serves to reveal some of Sophia's character and backstory. Haven't read through it after writing it (yet), so apologizes for any obvious errors/half-awake writing.
Edit: I hope you don't mind @ElRey814, but I referenced the Leaky Pitcher.
By the power of Ennio Morricone I am here with my CS in all it's current WIPness.
A humble necromancer, moonlighting as a doctor/undertaker (a most efficient combination).
A humble necromancer, moonlighting as a doctor/undertaker (a most efficient combination).
Name: Sophia "Doc" Wallace
Age: Mid-twenties
Descriptor: A kind necromancer, efficient undertaker, and skilled practitioner of medicine.
Physical Appearance:
Day to Day Attire: Sophia is an androgynous dresser and favors bespoke three piece suits in shades of black, grey, or brown, bow ties, dark low-heeled leather shoes, and reasonably sized top hats. It is a rare sight to see Sophia in a dress, but rumors persist that the young woman was once seen in a tavern wearing a blue silk evening gown.
Frontier/Traveling Attire: When venturing out into the wilds, Sophia favors the practical dress of the vaqueros, and some have accused her of being overly fond of the vest and poncho combo.
Biography:
Magical Powers/Special Abilities:
Mundane Skills:
Equipment:
Other:
Age: Mid-twenties
Descriptor: A kind necromancer, efficient undertaker, and skilled practitioner of medicine.
Physical Appearance:
Day to Day Attire: Sophia is an androgynous dresser and favors bespoke three piece suits in shades of black, grey, or brown, bow ties, dark low-heeled leather shoes, and reasonably sized top hats. It is a rare sight to see Sophia in a dress, but rumors persist that the young woman was once seen in a tavern wearing a blue silk evening gown.
Frontier/Traveling Attire: When venturing out into the wilds, Sophia favors the practical dress of the vaqueros, and some have accused her of being overly fond of the vest and poncho combo.
Biography:
What Was:
Sophia was born somewhere on the East Coast, likely Connecticut if her accent is any indication, and unlike a great many of the citizens of Ulysses she comes from a decidedly upper middle class family. A precocious child, she grew up wishing to follow in the footsteps of her father, a trained surgeon, and spent much of her early life buried in books. She lived something of a charmed life, wanting little, and basking in the comfort afforded to her by her family. What promised to be a pleasant, if predictable life, was forever changed when a teenage Sophia visited an antique bookshop with her mother. Drawn to a dark, seldom visited corner of the tomb-like shop, she found an strange book bound in leather and dyed a deep midnight. It was an ancient tome written in a strange hand and a stranger language still.
At first, the grimoire made little sense. However, with time, Sophia began to understand letters, then words, then phrases, then paragraphs, and finally pages. It was then that she met Baltasar, or rather, what remained of the ancient wizard. He was an ethereal creature, a spirit, that appeared only to the young girl. Once, had a been a great wizard, an infamous necromancer feared and respected throughout both the Old and the New World. He had met his end, predictably for a necromancer, at the hands of a coalition of his many enemies. It was his books that she had found, Baltasar said. He had written it centuries earlier, weaving powerful magic into each page, creating a bridge to another, cheating death, and ensuring that his legacy would not die with him, as it had with so many other persecuted necromancers.
The ancient spirit suggested that Sophia enter into a pact with him, providing him with an anchor to the mortal world far stronger than the weakening magic that still remained in his grimoire. In return, Baltasar promised Sophia knowledge, the vast sum of knowledge, both mundane and magical that he had acquired over his long life. He promised her guidance, training in the arcane arts, instruction in hermetic rituals, and an unparalleled mastery of the grim school of necromancy. But most of all, he promised her a friendship that would last beyond the grave. One oath, various arcane ingredients, and a small quantity of blood later, Sophia found herself with her very own spirit mentor.
From that point onwards, Sophia changed, she grew focused, impossibly focused, and a sense of purpose pervaded all her actions. Gone was the carefree girl she had been, replaced by an ambitious young woman. Guided by Baltasar, Sophia broke off an engagement that would have seen her married off to the son of a steel baron soon after. She had never seemed overly excited about the prospect and her parents could do little to convince the willful young woman that she was threatening her future. With great effort, she convinced her parents to send her off to a proper school, a university of peerless prestige, unparalleled scientific achievement, and great wealth. Her days were spent studying medicine, pouring over books concerning anatomy, chemistry, and the treatment of diseases. Her nights were spent in her darkened room with Baltasar, pouring over arcane tomes, drawing ritual patterns in chalk, and learning spells that manipulated life and death.
A scant four years later, Sophia left the world of academia and the university with a medical degree in hand. Although her instructors professed that they were a bit alarmed at the strange hours she kept, and the ease with which she dealt with dead bodies. Still, she was a talented surgeon they all remarked, one of the best they had ever seen. If she was a bit strange? Well, what did that really matter? Ambitions to establish a practice near her childhood home were soon crushed by resistance in the established medical community and Sophia found herself reduced to nothing more than an undertaker, the closet job she could find to a actually practicing medicine. On a bet and to prove a point, Sophia eventually secured the necessary license to pursue this line of work.
For a time, life was good, and Sophia managed to make a comfortable living seeing to the burial of the dead. At the very least, it afforded her discreet access to the raw materials required for any self-respecting necromancer to continue their work, namely corpses of varying vintage. As her mundane career faltered, Sophia continued to pursue her mastery of the arcane arts. Like Baltasar before her, Sophia had little interest in forced servitude as a member of one of the great orders of mages that existed in the New World. Instead, through talent, wit, and occasionally bribery, Sophia maintained a precarious position as an unaffiliated and sometimes only barely tolerated wizard. None, save Baltasar, and especially not other students of magic, were privy to her practice of necromancy.
For all her caution, Sophia's life was undone by a whirlwind romance with a conjurer, a naive hope to do good, and the robbery of an arcane vault belonging to the fanatical arcane inquisitors of the Guardians of the Veil. Baltasar had warned her, but she had not listened, and she paid the price. Betrayed by the woman she loved, Sophia did unspeakable, necessary, and evil things in order to survive. She broke the only oath she had lived by. The only oath that mattered. She took a life. A life that had mattered to her more than any other. Others followed. Bystanders. Unintended victims. The result of a spell gone horribly wrong. An entire city block lost to the ether.
And then...
Sophia ran.
She ran as far as she could. Stealing a horse, a gun, and then an entire wagon, she headed out West. Shedding her past, her name, and even her appearance along the way. Long days turned to weeks, then months, and when Sophia finally arrived in Ulysses she awoke to find that the melancholy dreams that had accompanied her journey had changed her. There was a darkness in the heart of the town that called to her, but she was no longer afraid. She had found a new purpose, a new place to call home, and a path towards the sort of redemption that only the wasteland can offer.
She wouldn't run.
Not this time.
Not again.
What Is:
Sophia Wallace is currently the only practicing doctor and licensed undertaker in the small town of Ulysses. Among the citizens of Ulysses, both mundane and supernatural, Sophia is invariably known as "Doc" or at most "Doc Wallace". A newcomer to the town, Sophia has quickly established herself as a respected and indispensable member of the community. The timing of her arrival was most fortuitous for the townsfolk, as the previous town doctor, Mr. Francois Dumont, had perished only a few weeks prior to her arrival in a tragic and mysterious wagon accident.
Sophia's skill as a doctor are truly remarkable, and in the safety of the Leaky Pitcher some of the townsfolk quietly whisper that there is something supernatural about the effortless way the young woman wields her scalpel. However, following those rare times when even the good doctor is unable to cure a patient, the townsfolk take comfort in the knowledge that a coffin and a proper burial can be arranged for in the very same building for a most reasonable price.
A gifted necromancer, Sophia relies on the widespread, but mistaken belief that necromancers cannot command healing magic and a steady supply of legally acquired corpses to hide herself and her necromantic magic in plain sight. Despite her chosen arcane vocation, Sophia is far from evil, and simply wants to make an honest living helping others.
Sophia was born somewhere on the East Coast, likely Connecticut if her accent is any indication, and unlike a great many of the citizens of Ulysses she comes from a decidedly upper middle class family. A precocious child, she grew up wishing to follow in the footsteps of her father, a trained surgeon, and spent much of her early life buried in books. She lived something of a charmed life, wanting little, and basking in the comfort afforded to her by her family. What promised to be a pleasant, if predictable life, was forever changed when a teenage Sophia visited an antique bookshop with her mother. Drawn to a dark, seldom visited corner of the tomb-like shop, she found an strange book bound in leather and dyed a deep midnight. It was an ancient tome written in a strange hand and a stranger language still.
At first, the grimoire made little sense. However, with time, Sophia began to understand letters, then words, then phrases, then paragraphs, and finally pages. It was then that she met Baltasar, or rather, what remained of the ancient wizard. He was an ethereal creature, a spirit, that appeared only to the young girl. Once, had a been a great wizard, an infamous necromancer feared and respected throughout both the Old and the New World. He had met his end, predictably for a necromancer, at the hands of a coalition of his many enemies. It was his books that she had found, Baltasar said. He had written it centuries earlier, weaving powerful magic into each page, creating a bridge to another, cheating death, and ensuring that his legacy would not die with him, as it had with so many other persecuted necromancers.
The ancient spirit suggested that Sophia enter into a pact with him, providing him with an anchor to the mortal world far stronger than the weakening magic that still remained in his grimoire. In return, Baltasar promised Sophia knowledge, the vast sum of knowledge, both mundane and magical that he had acquired over his long life. He promised her guidance, training in the arcane arts, instruction in hermetic rituals, and an unparalleled mastery of the grim school of necromancy. But most of all, he promised her a friendship that would last beyond the grave. One oath, various arcane ingredients, and a small quantity of blood later, Sophia found herself with her very own spirit mentor.
From that point onwards, Sophia changed, she grew focused, impossibly focused, and a sense of purpose pervaded all her actions. Gone was the carefree girl she had been, replaced by an ambitious young woman. Guided by Baltasar, Sophia broke off an engagement that would have seen her married off to the son of a steel baron soon after. She had never seemed overly excited about the prospect and her parents could do little to convince the willful young woman that she was threatening her future. With great effort, she convinced her parents to send her off to a proper school, a university of peerless prestige, unparalleled scientific achievement, and great wealth. Her days were spent studying medicine, pouring over books concerning anatomy, chemistry, and the treatment of diseases. Her nights were spent in her darkened room with Baltasar, pouring over arcane tomes, drawing ritual patterns in chalk, and learning spells that manipulated life and death.
A scant four years later, Sophia left the world of academia and the university with a medical degree in hand. Although her instructors professed that they were a bit alarmed at the strange hours she kept, and the ease with which she dealt with dead bodies. Still, she was a talented surgeon they all remarked, one of the best they had ever seen. If she was a bit strange? Well, what did that really matter? Ambitions to establish a practice near her childhood home were soon crushed by resistance in the established medical community and Sophia found herself reduced to nothing more than an undertaker, the closet job she could find to a actually practicing medicine. On a bet and to prove a point, Sophia eventually secured the necessary license to pursue this line of work.
For a time, life was good, and Sophia managed to make a comfortable living seeing to the burial of the dead. At the very least, it afforded her discreet access to the raw materials required for any self-respecting necromancer to continue their work, namely corpses of varying vintage. As her mundane career faltered, Sophia continued to pursue her mastery of the arcane arts. Like Baltasar before her, Sophia had little interest in forced servitude as a member of one of the great orders of mages that existed in the New World. Instead, through talent, wit, and occasionally bribery, Sophia maintained a precarious position as an unaffiliated and sometimes only barely tolerated wizard. None, save Baltasar, and especially not other students of magic, were privy to her practice of necromancy.
For all her caution, Sophia's life was undone by a whirlwind romance with a conjurer, a naive hope to do good, and the robbery of an arcane vault belonging to the fanatical arcane inquisitors of the Guardians of the Veil. Baltasar had warned her, but she had not listened, and she paid the price. Betrayed by the woman she loved, Sophia did unspeakable, necessary, and evil things in order to survive. She broke the only oath she had lived by. The only oath that mattered. She took a life. A life that had mattered to her more than any other. Others followed. Bystanders. Unintended victims. The result of a spell gone horribly wrong. An entire city block lost to the ether.
And then...
Sophia ran.
She ran as far as she could. Stealing a horse, a gun, and then an entire wagon, she headed out West. Shedding her past, her name, and even her appearance along the way. Long days turned to weeks, then months, and when Sophia finally arrived in Ulysses she awoke to find that the melancholy dreams that had accompanied her journey had changed her. There was a darkness in the heart of the town that called to her, but she was no longer afraid. She had found a new purpose, a new place to call home, and a path towards the sort of redemption that only the wasteland can offer.
She wouldn't run.
Not this time.
Not again.
What Is:
Sophia Wallace is currently the only practicing doctor and licensed undertaker in the small town of Ulysses. Among the citizens of Ulysses, both mundane and supernatural, Sophia is invariably known as "Doc" or at most "Doc Wallace". A newcomer to the town, Sophia has quickly established herself as a respected and indispensable member of the community. The timing of her arrival was most fortuitous for the townsfolk, as the previous town doctor, Mr. Francois Dumont, had perished only a few weeks prior to her arrival in a tragic and mysterious wagon accident.
Sophia's skill as a doctor are truly remarkable, and in the safety of the Leaky Pitcher some of the townsfolk quietly whisper that there is something supernatural about the effortless way the young woman wields her scalpel. However, following those rare times when even the good doctor is unable to cure a patient, the townsfolk take comfort in the knowledge that a coffin and a proper burial can be arranged for in the very same building for a most reasonable price.
A gifted necromancer, Sophia relies on the widespread, but mistaken belief that necromancers cannot command healing magic and a steady supply of legally acquired corpses to hide herself and her necromantic magic in plain sight. Despite her chosen arcane vocation, Sophia is far from evil, and simply wants to make an honest living helping others.
"Sophia Wallace?"
"That depends, who's asking?" Sophia warily answered. She had only just gotten her drink. It had been a long day. Three burials in one morning was two too many. One would have been enough, more than enough. She only asked for a bit of business, she wasn't greedy, she didn't need to be so busy. She had books to read, and undead to converse with. She wanted to take a bath. A real bath, a hot bath...she needed a bath tub.
Despite knowing better, Sophia eventually looked up from her drink. In front of her stood a prim and proper lady, an aristocrat that had no business in the Leaky Pitcher. Especially not on a Sunday. She wore a green satin dress with laced short sleeves over a linen chemise, a lace cap trimmed with rose-colored tassels, and an elaborate fan in her hand. She was stunning, and Sophia was almost surprised she had made it unaccosted to her table.
"Hannelore Weber," the young woman energetically proclaimed with a nod that was intended to be very serious. The dramatic and all too obvious pause that followed told Sophia that she was dealing with the worst sort of actress. "Of the Guardians of the Veil, perhaps you have heard of us?"
Sophia let out a low sigh in response, but did her best to recover, it wouldn't do to offend the newcomer, she wasn't in the mood for a tavern brawl, especially not an arcane one,"Who hasn't?"
Mention of the infamous, among wizards, order of do-gooders and fanatical inquisitors sent a shiver down Sophia's spine and caused a presence to stir in the most carefully guarded recesses of her mind. He was angry, but more importantly, he was annoyed.
"Only the uninitiated," Hannelore smugly agreed, taking a seat unbidden across from Sophia.
"Well, Miss Hannelore, what brings you to this wonderful stretch of desolation and death known to the Gods as the town of Ulysses?"
"It has come to our attention, through a confidential source, that there are strange forces, arcane forces, at work in this town. And naturally when it also came to our attention that you were a recent immigrant to this fair city...well, you can't exactly be surprised that my superiors felt best to send a member of our order to have a chat with you."
"Oh, indeed?" Sophia answered, doing her best to appear bored.
"There's quite the file on you in the archives. I haven't seen it, of course, but I've been told it's extensive and very detailed."
"I'm sure there are only good things about me mentioned in your papers," the young necromancer hesitantly added, carefully studying her glass of whiskey.
"However, all our information was a bit out of date. We had great trouble identifying your current associates. Notwithstanding, Miss —"
"Don't say her name!" Sophia growled, slamming a fist hand down on the table, feeling the heat that spread across her cheeks.
It had the desired effect, and Hannelore looked at her cautiously with wide eyes. "Ahem. Well. I must ask, to what great order or society do you currently belong?"
"None."
"You aren't a member of a hermetic order?"
"No," Sophia replied with a small chortle.
"Surely, a magician as talented as you is aware of the dangers of exploring the matters of the occult alone and without the proper guidance?"
"I am, but all the same, I prefer to work alone. For obvious reasons..."
"That's a lie," a voice indignantly interjected, clearly hurt at what the young necromancer had insinuated. Vaguely British-sounding, the proud voice was accompanied by the sweet smell of pipe tobacco and a subtle hint of jasmine. "How long have I not guided you? I raised you up from middle class drollery and saved you from a loveless marriage to some fool of a baron's son. I initiated you into study of the great hermetic mysteries of existence. I taught you how to summon and command the dead. I instructed you in how to parley with spirits and devils alike. I forged a pact with you to span the ages and defeated death herself."
Sophia rubbed her brows wearily. It took some effort not to reply out loud in order to silence the long-dead wizard that now resided mostly in her head. He was arrogant, so damn arrogant, and even death had not robbed him of all of his power. The contract bound him to her, but it also bound her to him. Nominally, she was the master, but all magicians knew better than to trust the oaths of spirits and devils. At least in theory.
"Not now, Baltasar, I'm trying to be diplomatic," Sophia thought, shaping her thoughts into as strong of a command as she could discreetly muster.
"Oh yes, let us reason with our enemies," Baltasar disdainfully quipped.
"They are not our enemies, they are not my enemies, at least not yet."
"Don't worry, they will be soon enough, girl," Baltasar cheerfully mused. "The Guardians of the Veil have never been overly fond of necromancers. Do you know how many of my laboratories they destroyed? How many of my books they burned? And how many of my apprentices they killed?"
"I know."
"No one will notice one more body, not here, not now."
"No."
"Then what are you?" The prim and proper woman sitting across from Sophia practically hissed. She was growing increasingly irritated. Sophia had ignored her for too long. Baltasar had a habit of interrupting her thoughts as he pleased. He was a perpetual back-seat wagon driver. Most of the time it had the effect of making Sophia seem very thoughtful, like a philosopher of yore. The rest of the time it had the unfortunate habit of irritating those that expected a quick reply.
Sophia composed herself and took a small sip from the neat glass of whiskey that stood on the battered table in front of her. She relished the warmth that burned it's way down her throat and filled her chest with a pleasant tingling sensation. She carefully considered what to reply. Hermetic wizards were a superstitious and cautious lot and never took kindly to practitioners of the magical arts that operated outside of the usually safe domain of well-established and supposedly safe rituals. She didn't want to make a scene. It wouldn't do for the Sheriff to have to make an appearance. Not again. It had barely been a week.
Still thinking, she tapped a finger against her nose, "Ah, I suppose you could say that I am something of an independent contractor."
"A witch?" The other woman venomously asked. Sophia could not help but notice that she had managed to shift her chair away from her in record time. There was fear in her eyes, and that was never good. Not in a patient, not in a corpse, and certainly not in a hermetic wizard that was primed to blow you sky high with a fireball at the drop of a hat.
"Actually, I prefer the title Doctor," Sophia replied, flashing what she hoped was a disarming smile in the direction of the her conversational companion. She hefted her medical bag onto the table and patted it on the side, like one would pat a very large and very friendly dog. She leaned across the table, placing her elbows on the uneven wood of the table, and resting her chin on her interlaced fingers.
"Look, I'm flattered, very flattered that your order has taken an interest in my person and my interests here. However, I assure you, I am simply trying to make an honest living."
"Here?" Hannelore asked incredulously. "In this place."
"You have a point there," Sophia agreed taking in the filthy tavern and the filthier patrons surrounding her. "But yes."
"Why?"
Sophia laughed, smiling again, and shook her head slowly from side to side with amusement, "I told you, I'm a doctor. I have to help."
"That depends, who's asking?" Sophia warily answered. She had only just gotten her drink. It had been a long day. Three burials in one morning was two too many. One would have been enough, more than enough. She only asked for a bit of business, she wasn't greedy, she didn't need to be so busy. She had books to read, and undead to converse with. She wanted to take a bath. A real bath, a hot bath...she needed a bath tub.
Despite knowing better, Sophia eventually looked up from her drink. In front of her stood a prim and proper lady, an aristocrat that had no business in the Leaky Pitcher. Especially not on a Sunday. She wore a green satin dress with laced short sleeves over a linen chemise, a lace cap trimmed with rose-colored tassels, and an elaborate fan in her hand. She was stunning, and Sophia was almost surprised she had made it unaccosted to her table.
"Hannelore Weber," the young woman energetically proclaimed with a nod that was intended to be very serious. The dramatic and all too obvious pause that followed told Sophia that she was dealing with the worst sort of actress. "Of the Guardians of the Veil, perhaps you have heard of us?"
Sophia let out a low sigh in response, but did her best to recover, it wouldn't do to offend the newcomer, she wasn't in the mood for a tavern brawl, especially not an arcane one,"Who hasn't?"
Mention of the infamous, among wizards, order of do-gooders and fanatical inquisitors sent a shiver down Sophia's spine and caused a presence to stir in the most carefully guarded recesses of her mind. He was angry, but more importantly, he was annoyed.
"Only the uninitiated," Hannelore smugly agreed, taking a seat unbidden across from Sophia.
"Well, Miss Hannelore, what brings you to this wonderful stretch of desolation and death known to the Gods as the town of Ulysses?"
"It has come to our attention, through a confidential source, that there are strange forces, arcane forces, at work in this town. And naturally when it also came to our attention that you were a recent immigrant to this fair city...well, you can't exactly be surprised that my superiors felt best to send a member of our order to have a chat with you."
"Oh, indeed?" Sophia answered, doing her best to appear bored.
"There's quite the file on you in the archives. I haven't seen it, of course, but I've been told it's extensive and very detailed."
"I'm sure there are only good things about me mentioned in your papers," the young necromancer hesitantly added, carefully studying her glass of whiskey.
"However, all our information was a bit out of date. We had great trouble identifying your current associates. Notwithstanding, Miss —"
"Don't say her name!" Sophia growled, slamming a fist hand down on the table, feeling the heat that spread across her cheeks.
It had the desired effect, and Hannelore looked at her cautiously with wide eyes. "Ahem. Well. I must ask, to what great order or society do you currently belong?"
"None."
"You aren't a member of a hermetic order?"
"No," Sophia replied with a small chortle.
"Surely, a magician as talented as you is aware of the dangers of exploring the matters of the occult alone and without the proper guidance?"
"I am, but all the same, I prefer to work alone. For obvious reasons..."
"That's a lie," a voice indignantly interjected, clearly hurt at what the young necromancer had insinuated. Vaguely British-sounding, the proud voice was accompanied by the sweet smell of pipe tobacco and a subtle hint of jasmine. "How long have I not guided you? I raised you up from middle class drollery and saved you from a loveless marriage to some fool of a baron's son. I initiated you into study of the great hermetic mysteries of existence. I taught you how to summon and command the dead. I instructed you in how to parley with spirits and devils alike. I forged a pact with you to span the ages and defeated death herself."
Sophia rubbed her brows wearily. It took some effort not to reply out loud in order to silence the long-dead wizard that now resided mostly in her head. He was arrogant, so damn arrogant, and even death had not robbed him of all of his power. The contract bound him to her, but it also bound her to him. Nominally, she was the master, but all magicians knew better than to trust the oaths of spirits and devils. At least in theory.
"Not now, Baltasar, I'm trying to be diplomatic," Sophia thought, shaping her thoughts into as strong of a command as she could discreetly muster.
"Oh yes, let us reason with our enemies," Baltasar disdainfully quipped.
"They are not our enemies, they are not my enemies, at least not yet."
"Don't worry, they will be soon enough, girl," Baltasar cheerfully mused. "The Guardians of the Veil have never been overly fond of necromancers. Do you know how many of my laboratories they destroyed? How many of my books they burned? And how many of my apprentices they killed?"
"I know."
"No one will notice one more body, not here, not now."
"No."
"Then what are you?" The prim and proper woman sitting across from Sophia practically hissed. She was growing increasingly irritated. Sophia had ignored her for too long. Baltasar had a habit of interrupting her thoughts as he pleased. He was a perpetual back-seat wagon driver. Most of the time it had the effect of making Sophia seem very thoughtful, like a philosopher of yore. The rest of the time it had the unfortunate habit of irritating those that expected a quick reply.
Sophia composed herself and took a small sip from the neat glass of whiskey that stood on the battered table in front of her. She relished the warmth that burned it's way down her throat and filled her chest with a pleasant tingling sensation. She carefully considered what to reply. Hermetic wizards were a superstitious and cautious lot and never took kindly to practitioners of the magical arts that operated outside of the usually safe domain of well-established and supposedly safe rituals. She didn't want to make a scene. It wouldn't do for the Sheriff to have to make an appearance. Not again. It had barely been a week.
Still thinking, she tapped a finger against her nose, "Ah, I suppose you could say that I am something of an independent contractor."
"A witch?" The other woman venomously asked. Sophia could not help but notice that she had managed to shift her chair away from her in record time. There was fear in her eyes, and that was never good. Not in a patient, not in a corpse, and certainly not in a hermetic wizard that was primed to blow you sky high with a fireball at the drop of a hat.
"Actually, I prefer the title Doctor," Sophia replied, flashing what she hoped was a disarming smile in the direction of the her conversational companion. She hefted her medical bag onto the table and patted it on the side, like one would pat a very large and very friendly dog. She leaned across the table, placing her elbows on the uneven wood of the table, and resting her chin on her interlaced fingers.
"Look, I'm flattered, very flattered that your order has taken an interest in my person and my interests here. However, I assure you, I am simply trying to make an honest living."
"Here?" Hannelore asked incredulously. "In this place."
"You have a point there," Sophia agreed taking in the filthy tavern and the filthier patrons surrounding her. "But yes."
"Why?"
Sophia laughed, smiling again, and shook her head slowly from side to side with amusement, "I told you, I'm a doctor. I have to help."
Magical Powers/Special Abilities:
- I Put On My Necromancer Hat - Sophia is a talented wizard focusing on furthering her knowledge of the much feared and reviled art of necromancy. Like most practitioners of magic, Sophia is well-versed in hermetic rituals and the ways of spirits, devils, and other creatures found beyond the natural plane of existence. While, she secretly identifies as a necromancer, Sophia is also a capable spellslinger in a number of other more mainstream domains of magic.
- They Being Dead Still Speakth - Sophia has a knack for conversing with the dead, managing to successfully interpret their often disjointed thoughts and understanding the strange, dead languages that seem to be in vogue among the deceased of all ages.
- Dead Friends in High Places - Guided by the whispers of the dead, Sophia has a second-sense for avoiding danger, spotting traps, and navigating through the domains of the dead.
- Tough as Bone - Having spent so much time among the dead, Sophia appears to have gained some of the qualities of an undead creature. In the course of her study of the art of necromancy, Sophia has become remarkably resistant to disease, physical damage, and pain. To her great sorrow, the young wizard is however still very mortal, if very cold to the touch of others.
- Mental Bastion - Dealing with the undead and restless spirits on a frequent basis has left Sophia with a remarkably casual attitude towards all things related to horror, death, and madness.
- Spirit Mentor - Sophia has a spirit mentor, a ghostly companion and guide that has accompanied her since her early childhood. The ghost is the incorporeal and usually grumpy spirit of a once living necromancer, infamous across all of the New World for his mastery of the dark arts. Baltasar the Black, as he calls himself, rarely makes himself perceptible to others or affects the world in any noticeable way, apart from advising Sophia on arcane matters. He appears capable of changing forms at a whim, but mostly takes the form of a weathered old man, with a carefully trimmed beard in the style of Gibraldi, a long flowing gray robe, and a soft-crowned gray hat. The ghost claims to be the incorporeal and usually grumpy spirit of a once living necromancer, infamous across all of the New World for his mastery of the dark arts. Although he is understandably reluctant to speak about it, almost forgotten stories mention that the ancient necromancer met his end at the hands of a coalition of powerful enemies several centuries ago. Tragic deaths notwithstanding, Sophia has learned most of what she knows about hermetic magic, the occult, and necromancy under Batlasar's exacting tutelage.
Mundane Skills:
- Licensed Undertaker - Sophia is one of the few legitimately licensed undertakers in found this far from proper civilization. She knows how to make coffins, cheap and expensive, small and large, and how to prepare all manner of bodies for burial.
- Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a... - Surprisingly for the era, Sophia is an actual doctor, a very good doctor, and not just a barber moonlighting as a surgeon like many of her so-called colleagues. She has a fancy diploma on her office wall that mentions some place called the "Harvard School of Medicine". However, whether this diploma is real or a high quality forgery is another matter entirely.
- Experienced Traveler - Sophia is an experienced traveler and is used to life on the road or in the wilderness. When asked she claims to have traveled far and wide in search of alchemical knowledge and she commands a number of rare or esoteric languages, some of which do not sound like they were meant for human tongues.
- Passable Shot - Sophia knows how to use firearms, especially shotguns and rifles, well-enough for someone living on the increasingly dangerous frontier. However, given her adherence to the Hippocratic Oath, she's reluctant to aim her gun at another person in anger and slower still to actually shoot to harm or kill.
- Well Read - An educated woman, Sophia has wide range of knowledge regarding subjects both mundane and supernatural in nature.
Equipment:
- Leather Physician's Bag - When she leaves her practice, Sophia brings a well-worn, leather physician's bag with her of impeccable quality. To those initiated in hermetic mysteries or sensitive to the arcane, there is a faint, but powerful force of magic that emanates from the bag. To everyone else, the medical bag is n different from any other and is full of the tools of Sophia's medical trade.
- Silver Pocket Watch - One of Sophia's most prized possession is an ancient keywind pocket watch cast in silver. Inside the front cover of the pocket watch are strange etchings and words that are clearly not human in origin.
- Arcane Grimoire - Sophia's other prized possession is a leather-bound grimoire dyed midnight black. Clearly ancient, the book is full of arcane formulas, long-forgotten rituals, and forbidden spells belonging to the shunned school of necromancy. An astute observer might notice that the handwriting of this arcane tome matches that etched into the front cover of Sophia's pocket watch.
- Appaloosa Horse - Recalling the tragic fate of her predecessor, Sophia has steered clear of wagons, and for transportation she has an Appaloosa horse, a lovely spotted creature that she won from a Nez Perce shaman in a wager she speaks of with a mischievous smile painted on her lips.
- Coach Gun - When good sense demands it, Sophia carries a shortened, double-barred shotgun discreetly in her medical bag. Currently, she sports a fashionable 10 gauge William Moore & Company coach gun. Although accuracy tapers off at medium to far range, at close range the firearm is most effective.
Other:
- Wallace's Medical and Funeral Services - Sophia's medical practice is located in a decrepit building that was once the local funeral home. Within the storied walls of the simple two-story house she offers both medical and funeral services depending on the current needs of her customer. Since buying the building Sophia has effected only the most basic repairs and painted the building an already fading shade of green. Marked by death, the building is somehow mildly threatening, filling those that view it with a sense of dread and unexpected wariness. The local neighborhood children claim that the building is haunted and tell stories of a strange glowing light emanating from the windows in the middle of the night. To Sophia's chagrin, it has become something of a game for the children to dare one another to knock on her door after dark.
- Whiskey Drinker - At the end of a long day, Sophia enjoys a drink or two, and if given a choice she prefers a simple, neat glass of whiskey.
- Mysterious - Sophia carefully cultivates an air of mystery around herself and her past. She has few friends, but many acquaintances, and while she is seen as a respected member of both the mundane and supernatural communities she remains aloof of any established organizations.
In
Black Powder Arcana [Hard West Inspired Western Roleplay]
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6 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
I think I'll wrap up physical appearance and biography tomorrow, but I've had a lot of fun writing thus far, so thanks for that. :)
A humble cog in a very clever and beautiful watch, perhaps.
[hider=The Tyger - William Blake]
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies,
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
[/hider]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">A humble cog in a very clever and beautiful watch, perhaps.<br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="The Tyger - William Blake">The Tyger - William Blake [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">Tyger Tyger, burning bright, <br>In the forests of the night; <br>What immortal hand or eye, <br>Could frame thy fearful symmetry?<br><br>In what distant deeps or skies, <br>Burnt the fire of thine eyes?<br>On what wings dare he aspire?<br>What the hand, dare seize the fire?<br><br>And what shoulder, & what art,<br>Could twist the sinews of thy heart?<br>And when thy heart began to beat,<br>What dread hand? & what dread feet?<br><br>What the hammer? what the chain, <br>In what furnace was thy brain?<br>What the anvil? what dread grasp, <br>Dare its deadly terrors clasp! <br><br>When the stars threw down their spears <br>And water'd heaven with their tears: <br>Did he smile his work to see?<br>Did he who made the Lamb make thee?<br><br>Tyger Tyger burning bright, <br>In the forests of the night: <br>What immortal hand or eye,<br>Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?</div></div></div>
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