Recently, a woman in her mid 20s has arrived in town. There is something alluring in her green eyes, yet she appears austere and proud, a strict gaze that rarely offers any warmth. Her dark-red hair is kept in a stern chignon, and it is evident by her controlled posture she has had martial training of some sort. She says she is travelling with her mother, who has yet to appear in public.
She professes to be on a mission to raise awareness of her Lady's wrathful gaze among everyone, especially the destitute and those who have lost everything: after experiencing ruin, she says, that is the moment to appease the Lady properly and make it right, for a chance to be spared next time.
Apparently, those who accept her counsels also receive help to rebuild from the ashes of ruin. In the past, some of them referred to her as "Madam Leverage" - due to her ability to detect lies, recognize precious from forgeries and talk predatory creditors down with her words - a moniker she still carries today.
Sometime after her arrival, it became largely known that "Madam Leverage" had taken residence in one of the taverns in the Lower City, where she began what she considers her work of faith, mostly lecturing poor folks she stumbles upon about repentance and redemption in the eyes of Fate which chastised them so.
Despite arranging numerous deals with merchants of the Wide, she still wears worn-down gown and shawl every day, covering her body in full and never returning any warmth to those she interacts with, a decadent figure in her own way. When busy giving her sermons around the Heapside, she looks distant and prideful as ever, but assertive and presence-driven nonetheless.
She was seen carrying a heavy harp somewhere through the alleys, but it is not the only quirk of hers: some say that at night she stays watchful over the marketplace, seemingly content with the silence. Other times, she returns from outside the Gate wearing a plate armor adorned with violet accents.
Engelia Kissinger aka "Madam Leverage" cautionary prophetess & arbiter of second chances
The Wide was bustling with its usual chaos when the woman in purple armor returned from out of town. She moved through the crowd like a ghost, marching straight to the tavern where she resides without entertaining merchants or peddlers alike. Word is she had been gone for days.
Nobody knew that, once inside her rented room, she sank into the chair by the window, rigid still in her armor, as her mind replayed what had been with her counterparts. She had offered them reason, but they chose zealotry; she had offered them foresight, but they chose annihilation. To the survivors, she gave words that sounded more like a plea to never come back than an intimidating threat from the winning party.
She would remain in her room alone with her reminiscing long enough for a new dawn to rise, and another full day would pass before anyone saw her outside again.
Engelia Kissinger aka "Madam Leverage" cautionary prophetess & arbiter of second chances
Since the People Festival concluded, the prophetess in purple has been seen more often around the Heapside, pacing the narrow alleys and engaging in quiet conversation with the locals and those who appear to be down on their luck.
Everyone knows hers is not an act of charity: there is nothing maternal or warmly cordial in her demeanor, though she doesn't dip into hostility either. She offers words of renewal and financial help, a taxing presence that feels both promising and unsettling.
It is known that she considers every hardship a lesson to be learned in order to deserve a second chance at life: all it takes is acknowledging Lady Doom properly, and for this reason she watches, questions, and waits, reminding all that certain signals should not be ignored next time.
Engelia Kissinger aka "Madam Leverage" cautionary prophetess & arbiter of second chances
During the recent Feats of the Spirits, along the banks of the Chiontar river, the woman in purple stepped forward after listening to three tales.
Seizing a bottle of festival wine, she began to recite a chilling poem, pacing the delivery by pouring the alcohol directly onto the fire, commanding the sparks up in air to match the mood of her words.
When her dark tale finished, the prophetess of Doom departed into the night, indifferent to the attention of the crowd. As she slipped away from the gathering, she was heard muttering to herself that only those wise enough to read the signs will reach their destined end.
