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 Ellen Thack, 64 - Glenn Close - Citizen
Ellen Thack
 Posted: Mar 25 2015, 01:59 PM
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acorncap is Offline
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Citizen
CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?!


Ellen Thack
64
Citizen
Glenn Close

Ellen Thack, nee Ellen Horn, is a farmer. Whatever lord may have laid claim to her farmlands before the curses came is of no concern to her- they are hers now. She tills the fields, plants the crops, keeps the bees- not all by herself of course. She has employed other farmers, paying them in carefully divided shares of crops as they are harvested, to do with as they will. An honest woman, she does her best to treat them fairly, and to keep her own head above water. The farm runs relatively smoothly, and thrives under her direction. She's not an educated woman, but she's not a stupid one either, and in her sixty-four years of living she's managed to pick up just enough letters to spell her own name- LN. It's good enough, she supposes, though she hasn't had to sign much in recent years.

When she was younger, she married a woodsman. It was a good match- both of them were quiet, and kept to themselves, and while outsiders might comment that it seemed a rather unexciting marriage, both Ellen and Agnar seemed rather content with it, and eventually had a son together, Sedar. Quiet people raise quiet children, and both of them seemed proud of what they had made together (Though really, it was always hard to tell with the Thacks.).

When her son was seven, after nine years of marriage, Agnar died, and after a brief period of mourning, Ellen returned to to the field. Always a practical woman, she had a son and crops to raise- there was no time to waste in mourning. She kept her dead husband's name, and her quiet, steady temprament, until the curses came.

Ellen had never put much stock in rumors or stories- what did corn care about some dark witches being banished from the kingdom? What did those witches care for an unknown farmer’s field? They were irrelevant to her life, right up until they weren't.

Ellen is no longer a quiet woman. Her curse compels her to scream everything, from soothing words to casual conversations, the curse now ensures that this private, quiet woman is always heard. Every word is shrieked at ear-splitting decibels, scraping her throat raw until her sentences became punctuated with dry, bloody coughing. She tries to mitigate this with pantomime as much as she can, only to find that some people are just ghastly at charades.

She didn’t have much fondness for magic before, and that hasn’t changed- as far as she's seen, it causes far more trouble than it's worth. But, if magic is going to butt its way into her life regardless, she might as well make the best of it. She's started practicing some bits of white magic, with varying results. Give a button from her shirt to keep the bees from stinging. Offer encouraging (though booming) words to keep rot and mildew away. Small things for small rewards, that's the sort of magic Ellen can stand behind. Big things, things that upset the natural order, that tear her throat and turn her son into a hulking beast, well. That's the sort of thing no one needed, and no one should have asked for anyway.

She's still a quiet woman (When she can afford to be), and patient in her own way, but she's become less forgiving in the past five years. Some might say she's lost her tact, but in truth, she's just cutting her words down to the minimum necessary to get her point across. So she has become harsh, loud, and blunt, and more than a little bitter about the state of things. She's too damn old, too damn tired, and too damn busy to give a damn what people think of her anymore.

Ellen is a tallish woman, taller than most at least, and she's thin, but not bony, with a strong jaw and broad shoulders. She's stronger than she looks, after years of swinging hoes and pitchforks, and she's surprisingly healthy for someone her age. Her once-blond hair has grayed considerably, and she does nothing to hide her weathered, wrinkled skin. It is what it is, and she's not about to waste her time bemoaning beauty lost. Not when there's work to do.

Curse: Every word she says comes out at maximum volume. It's doing awful things to her throat.

Acorncap
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Emma
 Posted: Mar 25 2015, 10:02 PM
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Emma is Offline
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"We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown.”



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