[center][hider=Cecilia Booth - Cleric]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/6GH4JEk.jpg?1[/img][/center]
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[center][hider=Appearance][center][img] https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/fa58be62-c406-4a95-881b-5ab5bba0f121.jpg[/img][/center][/hider][/center]
[b][color=white]• Name:[/color][/b] [i][color=coral]Cecilia Booth[/color][/i]
[b][color=white]• Age:[/color][/b] [i][color=coral]25[/color][/i]
[b][color=white]• Class:[/color][/b] [i][color=coral]Cleric[/color][/i]
[b][color=white]• Level:[/color][/b] [i][color=coral]01[/color][/i]

[b][color=white]• Equipment:[/color][/b]
[indent][i][color=coral]-Heal[/color]
[color=coral]-Heal[/color]
[color=coral]-Warp[/color][/i][/indent]

[b][color=white]• Personal Skill:[/color][/b] 
[indent][b]-Voyeur's Excitement:[/b] [i][color=coral] Seeing allies wounded excites Cecilia love of blood sport. Resistance +4 with wounded ally in range of three tiles.[/color][/i][/indent]
[b][color=white]• Skills:[/color][/b]
[indent][color=white][b]-Live to Serve:[/b][/color][i][color=coral]When healing an Ally, the user recovers the same amount of HP.[/color][/i] 
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[b][color=white]• Story:[/color][/b] [i][color=coral]Born to a Zuiterran concubine taken home by a red faced Nunielan soldier in the wake of a briefly successful offensive, Cecilia Booth had her mother's complexion and her father's disposition. Trophies were common practice and it kept up morale in event he strictest of military hierarchies so the practice was common enough, just as it wise for woman in occupied territory to wind a young man around their finger to provide for the necessities in life. By all accounts they took things too far, but such was the whims of Fate that Cecilia was born in Nuniel, a country with a long history of being less the effective in their war upon her mother's people. 

Her life was lived humbly and frugally, as a footman's salary didn't stretch far when starting a family so soon into their career. That was, till Cecilia was found to have an aptitude for magic. To the young girl's displeasure it wasn't anything so glamorous as being a deft hand with tomes of awesome power, but the healing arts. A staff fit well in her hand, but a position in the clergy of stuffy Clerics and Sisters didn't. 

No, her passion lay in conflict, buoyed forth by stories of glory from both sides of the dessert battlefront and stoked to new heights by the reassuring weight of a healing staff in hand. Cecilia would put her aptitude to use, not to mend the poor, but the mighty! 

So by certain strokes of circumstance and appeals to aesthetics, Cecilia came upon a long standing gladiatorial arena. The kind with no rules restraining the combatants that left one side usually split in two or pulverized via hammer. A place with constant strife, gambling, and oodles of injured to work her magic on. Not to mention, having a ground floor seat to watch the bouts and be filled with the roar of the crowd as they roared adulation and jeer upon the struggling contestants. Cecilia's favorites were the bloody slug fests, both sides tearing into each other till one side was pushed just far enough past the brink they fell to the weight of their wounds.

Those early years were some of the happiest memories Cecilia had, but alas, the arena was coming upon hard times, and the first thing they'd cut was an in-house Curate. Far cheaper to just let the winner wander off with a plethora of injuries and hope he doesn't drop dead in a gutter before he returns for another performance.

Cecilia handled this with the grace of a spurned lover abandoned for the anus of a goat. That is to say, she kept the uniform, broke a staff over her employer's head, and left for greener pastures down south. Around such rowdy crowds made drunk by blood sport and good cheer, loose lips sang the promises of riches and glory to be found in mercenary work, and while plying her trade she heard a name repeated numerous enough to be curious.

Surely the Red Branch could afford a healer.

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[center][hider=Sample Post]A broad expanse of hard packed dirt and sand sat ensconced between rising rings of wooden bleachers. They were jammed with the worst sort of people, riddled with scars and nasty scowls as all focused upon the arena floor with a singular intensity. Cutthroats, brigands, and off duty soldiers were joined together in a shared commiseration of simple blood sport. 

Down on the arena level stood Cecilia from the same entrance one of the fighters had used, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she threw her voice into the myriad cheers that shook the earth around her. With lips pulled back into a broad toothy smile she reveled in the raw power of the crowd, even as her eyes remained affixed upon the bout in progress. Two berserkers squared off, great axes whirling and crashing into armor and flesh as they remained in a constant state of motion. They made a right mess of the sands, painting their colors in broad strokes of the ax head.  

It was nothing so poetic as to be called a dance of blades and skill. Raw savagery met like in kind and everyone drank in the performance. Cecilia clutched her staff close and prayed to whatever deity supported this that she'd wind up in the splash zone, but alas these Arena's were rather good at keeping the action away from the audience. Even on the duelist's level she was far enough that even an arterial eruption wouldn't get a drop on her uniform. 

[color=coral]"Whoooooo!"[/color] The cheers reached their inevitable crescendo as a lucky blow sundered armor and cut deep into flesh, tissue, and vertebra. The loser fell lifeless, no glory to be found, while his killer raised his arms high and bellowed back to the bleachers in turn.  Crying out in kind Cecilia darted out onto the Arena, stealing no small degree of attention for her uniform. Awhile ago she'd have berated her employer for the obvious intentions of a maid outfit, but as with all things, time thickened her skin to. [color=coral][i]I've gotten way too comfortable in this. Though the fabric is nice and airy.[/i][/color]

Casting aside such thoughts she raised her staff to the victor and channeled her magic to heal his wounds. If she was lucky he'd keep fighting and she'd get to enjoy every minute of the show. Life was good for the Cleric.

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