Elenore Frost is gonna be the best con-artist the world has ever seen... if she doesn't let revenge get in the way.
Dressed in the finest clothes that are meant to flatter her pale skin, show off her light blond hair, and accent her clear blue eyes, Elenore is always dressed to impress. Her frocks are never dirtied and although the group may have traveled through the swamp, you wouldn’t be able to tell by the pristine condition of Elenore’s boots.
One might say that the only flaw to her impeccable appearance is that her right hand is bandaged in fine light blue silk. Ask her about the injury, however, and her scowl will be your only response.
I’ve always been different.
Even when I was little, the other girls who came to play with me at my manor knew there was something off about me. I was always given the best dolls to play with, of course; after all, they were all mine and my father was shipping in orphans to keep me company so I’d learn to play well with those less fortunate than I. But while the other girls preferred treating the dolls to tea parties and fancy dresses, I sliced mine open with a knife I’d taken from Cook while she wasn’t looking and dip them in Father’s best red wax, or hang them from the banisters. I got very good at killing my dolls; I got even better at taking things that weren’t supposed to be mine.
Father said I wasn’t good inside. He’d said it a hundred times, of that I’m almost certain, but after he’d found my latest collection of fine silver from the neighbors, and he was missing his favorite pen again, and then I pushed that annoying little orphan Lissie down the stairs…well, something changed. He meant it when he said it this time.
Packed off like a vagrant to one of Father’s favorite charities – the Sisters of Sigmar – I was left penniless and in their charge to redeem my wicked ways. The Sisters found me obedient, charitable, and trustworthy – when they weren’t looking. Being an accomplished liar by the time I left Father’s charge, I worked each Sister to gain her trust and within a few years had earned one of the more choice positions – scribe. Each day I was instructed to carefully copy from the holy scripts so that the blessed teachings of Sigmar could be shared with all, and I did this duty faithfully and excellently – but I was also teaching myself to be able to copy anyone’s handwriting, to forge important looking documents, and to replicate seals of some of the noblest houses in all the countryside. I taught myself day and night to steal faster, manipulate better, and forge more accurately – until the day a Sister aired out my sheets and found parchment upon parchment of forged paper.
My punishment was light – to them. “We’re going easy on you because of your youth and your innocence which may still be restored,” they told me, smiling serenely. And with that the bitches branded my right hand with the twin-tailed comet of Sigmar and left me screaming in pain. “Think on what you’ve done, then return to us as the Elenore we know to be your true character,” they murmured as they sailed out of my quarters.
It’s been a year and a half since I fled that night. My right hand is healing nicely, and my left hand is even better at forging and stealing than before. My smile is bright, my eyes are clear, and in my satchel I carry papers, seals, ink, and whatever shiny thing has caught my eye.
They said they wanted me to return to them when I was ready to show them my true personality.
They should have chosen their words more carefully.