Singing Her Own Song: Profiling Ellen Lancaster
--by Jamie Easton, New York Times
Ellen Lancaster is a woman who refuses to be labeled. Eschewing recognition, this powerful Delta seeks fulfillment through helping others find their voice. While her tale might seem one of rags to riches, she sees only a lifetime of riches, many of them far more precious than material wealth.
A series of singers and strummers, summarily simple and sinuous, subsisting with singularly spectacular song-stylings.
I've sat on this one for long enough. Feel free to fill in the gaps.
I was just another nobody, not part of the clique, not one of the Heathers, just a nameless, faceless nobody. Then, I died.
And became somebody.
Shababa sat sadly in a corner, tears falling from her yellow eyes and dripping from her tusks. "All I want to do is be a dancing girl, it’s not my fault that the Gods made me an Orc. Why is eveyone so narrow minded?"
30 entertainers to make even the miserable forget their troubles and be happy again, if only for a short time before their sorrows close in again.
Lithe as a willow and just as flexible
Space-Faring, Hard-Rocking, Metal-Grinding, Star-Tripping, Deathdealing, Dwarves.
The Black Bard of Nihilism
Alowin Brackwater is a beautiful young man, with mesmerizing eyes and a sly, mischievious expression. He just happens to be painted on a large canvas, rather than being alive. Surely, this cannot be held against him.
Extras and alternate “headliners” for The Carnival of Forgotten Souls and other traveling shows
A noblewoman of mixed pedigree, patron of the arts and infamous for playing ‘the older woman’.
Inspired by a secret muse, a humble man sketches heroes and battles for the folk of the Market Quarter.
Neither here nor there, the City of Shadows borders on the twilight of existance…
Yeah yeah, I know the Duke. Of course I do. P. Donkey Donque travels in some high circles, jester.
Failure. For most, it is an occasional streak of bad luck to be suffered. For others… well, it’s a living.
A harper is a harper no matter where they are.
A result of the experiments of the world’s first bioengineer, as manifested by a needle and thread and a whole lot of blotting paper.
A lovable old traveller with a voice that can make stories come alive.
A melancholy bard, with good reason.
Sages and naturalists frown at the common name given to these strange creatures by the small folk, but sometimes the silliest nicknames for creatures, places and people persevere in the minds of many. “Purifiers”, “Pond Jellies”, “Breath-Stealers”, “Lung-Ticklers” and “River Butterflies” are much less commonly heard appellations for these life forms. Wet Faeries are basically (and simply) a species of fist-sized, fresh-water jellyfish. Several traits steer them toward the peculiar category however. Firstly, Wet Faeries are nearly invisible in the water, much like their marine cousins but even more so. One can swim in a river swarming with these critters and not even notice their presence. Secondly, they possess the unique ability to clean and purify whatever body of water they inhabit. They do this via some sort of biological filtration process, sucking in all toxins present in the water, and releasing it back in its purest form. Needless to say, they are both a blessing and a curse to whichever folk dwell beside the rivers and lakes Wet Faeries inhabit. On one hand, no purer water can be found anywhere than a Wet Faerie lake or pond, and yet, in “pure” water “life” tends in fact to die out, lacking the needed nutrients to prosper. Thirdly, their “sting” is (unfortunately) virulently poisonous to all mammalians. Wet Faeries are loathe to sting anyone or anything, using their barbed fronds as a last line of defense, but if stung, most swimmers will suffer respiratory arrest, and die within minutes, usually drowning before they can make it back to shore.
Alchemists, druids, and less savory characters have studied these creatures over the years, and have predictably found all the ways Wet Faeries could be exploited. Morbidly humorous, some bards find it, that the Poisoners and Assassins Guilds as well as the Healer’s Union, all prize these creatures. The assassins use the extracted venom in obvious fashion, while the priests and healers use the still-living jelly-fish to sterilize other poison potions and to cure those already poisoned on death’s door.
It is known that a certain Earl Von Trumble keeps his vast castle moat stocked with Wet Faeries, the waters so clear that every bone of every one of his past enemies can be clearly seen on the bottom, twenty two feet below.