Jeanne Giroux | Bloodletting Cleric

Character Name: Jeanne Giroux

Age: 71
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Nationality: Flamellen
Place of Residence: Flamelle

Appearance: Despite her age, Jeanne still stands upright and proud. Being a woman of habit, she has kept up with the calisthenics and exercises she learned from soldiers during the war with Castinis. Once blonde, her hair is now white, with scarce interruptions of grey. Her skin is tanned from working in the sun and light wrinkles line her face. Blue eyes, once full with color, have faded over the harsh years. Typically, she wears the red riding cloak of her sect. It is trimmed with white fabric, the edges of the cloak barely hovering off of the ground. The emblem of the ‘Donpretue’ is featured on it, displaying an open palm with a black maw in the center (symbolizing ‘the giver’ and ‘the taker’). Beneath, she wears a dark tunic that has seen many years, as colorful patches have been stitched over various tears and holes. Her legs are kept warm by white slacks and black boots that are meant survive the harsh environment of the mountain. Clasped to her belt by her side is a sizable grimoire, page filled with ‘offerings,’ the primary ingredient to her spellcasting. Each page is a lengthy document, signed and sealed with blood, a sacrifice that allows her to utilize the miracles of the ‘Donpretue.’ A satchel attached to her right thigh contains a sharpened quill, fresh bandages, a vial of ink, and a small pad of paper. Bandages typically cover her left forearm, as it is her primary drawing point for the grimoire. She carries no weapons, as she is quite aware that, being proficient with none of them, she would not be able to utilize them. That, and she is not fond of violence of any sort. Her coin purse hangs freely on her neck.

Background Jeanne Giroux, like her parents before her, was born in the mountains. In an isolated area at the base of the Carreboix Mountains is the small village of Le Muret. Known by few, the village has managed to separate itself from Flamellen society almost entirely, as most are not aware of its quiet existence. As a result, they have strayed from the eye of the Elder One, choosing, instead, to follow the teachings of the Donpretue. The Donpretue is a pantheon of gods, sometimes referred to as ‘the five fingers.’ They hide their teachings, generally, despite the low risk of discovery.

Though their primary focus is the healing arts, some would be frightened by their methods. A ‘spell’ is crafted through an offering. The Donpretue is willing to give, but, in return, it must take. Grimoires, blessed by the village elder, are handed out to clerics where they can write their miracles. Each spell, typically focused around reparation of the body, is written in blood, each page representing an expendable contract. When the spell is activated, the page dissipates, the offering accepted by the Donpretue.

While the cult is very effective at restoring vitality, closing wounds, and keeping those from the brink of death, they have little to no experience in dealing with diseases. As a result, many from the village suffer from various ailments. These diseases are very painful, but much of their effects can be mitigated by daily healing spells. Because of this, many live far longer than the disease would normally permit, creating a very painful existence that not many can mentally survive.

Jeanne spent the first thirty years of her life in this village under the tutelage of her parents. Though isolated, the people of Le Muret valued knowledge and felt it was vital that all knew how to read and write. Their traders would often pick up texts from the cities they visited, bringing back another addition to the village’s ever growing library. Jeanne would spend many days there, learning of exciting, alien worlds that existed beyond the bubble of Le Muret. She was quite happy in her younger years and her parents cherished every moment they had together.

At the age of ten she was removed from her household and placed under the care of the village elder. It was a strict custom, one her parents knew was necessary. Deeper in the mountains, a great temple overlooked the village. There, the village elder Cyrille passed on her teachings to the youth of the village, utilizing the aid of instructors and veteran students to ensure this knowledge was instilled. The young students would be put under intense physical and mental stress for a decade with little reprieve.

Jeanne survived, as did many others. She did not excell or lag behind, making her an unremarkable student, but she still succeeded. No one was ever kicked out, but it was possible to give up. Those who quit their training would march back down the mountain and either take up a trade within the village or travel elsewhere. Jeanne did not descend the mountain until she had a grimoire latched to her belt.

After a short holiday, Jeanne was offered a position as an instructor. Lodging and food were taken care of, as long as she was successful in her work. Cyrille kept a sharp eye on her instructors, as she was known to quickly fire whoever she felt wasn’t taking their job seriously. Fora few years, Jeanne successfully avoided termination and learned even more of the healing arts than her initial training could have taught her. Cyrille was impressed with her improvements as a teacher and offered her a permanent position. Jeanne could have stayed until her life expired. It would be a hard life, but a comfortably stable one. Everything would be provided for. She declined.

War called to her. The southern border of Flamelle had become a battlefield. Conflict with Castinis had risen to an alarming degree, enough that even the village of Le Muret heard of it. Jeanne left quickly, which came as no surprise to Cyrille. Often, after training, clerics leave in an effort to prove themselves. Those who are not killed or criticized due to their methods become very successful in their work. Hospitals and clinics all over need whatever help they can get, even if they don’t understand how it works.

Though Jeanne would have gladly worked without pay, the only way she could support the Flamellen conflict without joining their army was as a civilian contractor. When she filed her paperwork she called herself a ‘medic.’ With casualties rising in numbers every day, she was gladly accepted and quickly shipped off to work in a clinic at the edge of the battlefield. There, she witnessed more bloodshed than most ever hope to see in their life. Many were saved, but many were also lost. Jeanne was forced to learn some of the more practical methods of the military medics, as she quickly realized her grimoire could not heal them all. For six years she stayed with the aid station, always at the edge of the battle, but never involved with the fight. She formed a bond with the medical company there. Though she would never admit it, the end of the war was sad news to her.

Within the month they were transported back to Flamelle, back to civilization. For five more years, Jeanne wandered the country, feeling useless and alone, hoping to be put to use somehow. At the closing of her journey, the grimoire was entirely empty. She’d need a new one, and there was only one place to get it. Home. When Jeanne returned, hardly anyone recognized her. Her once long, blonde hair had been cut shorter and tied into a tight bun, military style; her robe was in tatters, face gaunt and eyes bloodshot. Jeanne was a stranger.

She remained for a long time after that, returning to work for Cyrille as an instructor. It took years for her vigor to return. Though she found her work rewarding, Jeanne desperately wanted to return to action once more. With a new, thicker grimoire, the only thing stopping her from leaving once more was the lack of news. No big events, conflicts, or situations drew her attention. So she stayed. She stayed for decades, growing older, wiser. Jeanne felt she was in some sort of great slumber. The days blurred together. When she heard news of a new outbreak, she woke up again. She was seventy-one years old, older than she could have possibly imagined. It didn’t stop her from leaving the moment she heard of the curse. The border was calling her once more. Though she had no means to remove their sickness, Jeanne knew she could at least keep them alive long enough for them to find a cure.