[Celuien]

Thanks! I'm delighted to be here.

NOTE: Edit by Pio 10/30 -- I placed your Character Bio here with your First Post.

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Character Description Form:


1.) Have you ever played in an RPG at the Barrow Downs? – Not sure if this counts, but YES, Bethberry’s Unforbidden open invitational
2.) How many RPG’s on the Barrow Downs are you currently involved in? none
3.) Have you posted in The Green Dragon or The White Horse Inn – NO, working on a post for the Green Dragon now.

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Celuien’s character


NAME: Panakeia

AGE: 49

RACE: human

GENDER: female

WEAPONS: Just a smooth talking sales pitch and the ability to be persuasive. If pressed, she can modulate her voice into a shrill, high-pitched whine causing those with sensitive hearing to step back in horror. The more toxic contents of her product case (described below) could also double as weaponry if needed.

APPEARANCE: Panakeia is of average height and has long blonde hair of questionable origin. It is rumored that her tresses were a dull, mousy brown shade until she used a bottle of Pearie Ockcide Potion, although she vehemently denies this charge. She tends to be over-dressed and prefers a palette of bright oranges, greens and purple that borders on garishness. She always wears at least three substantial gold necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and has a minimum of two rings on each finger. She has dark blue eyes, but insists that they are “violet.” Panakeia is concerned with her approaching 50th birthday, and will admit to no more than 29 years in Middle-earth. She carries a large lime green bag with her at all times, emblazoned with the phrase “Panakeia’s Cure-Alls” and the picture of a fountain surrounded by smiling, cheerful picnickers. This satchel contains her line of products, since as she says, “You never know when you’ll have a chance to make a sale.”

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Ahem. Vanity. Big time. Pushiness. Being loud and obnoxious. Greed.

HISTORY: Panakeia was born to a poor family from the borders of Harad upon whom the curse of the Anakronism Dweomer sat heavily, like a lump of gravy on a slice of day-old turkey. Fortunately for them, this particular corner of Middle-earth was far from the ears and eyes of those who enforced the Laws of Gondor which outlawed the use of Anakronisms (or any laws at all, for that matter), so it made little difference to the young Panakeia, who grew up discussing Britney Spears and marketing tactics with her two siblings as if such terms were completely normal for Middle-earth in the Fourth Age.

By Panakeia’s 10th birthday, her family’s fortunes mysteriously changed and they found themselves in possession of a large estate. She grew into a surprisingly attractive young woman with high principles, and by 18 she was the belle of the Harad area. It was also about this time that she discovered the reason for her family’s rags-to-riches story: in a locked attic, Panakeia stumbled on a box of pamphlets advertising cheap garden spot lots. Unfortunately, a quick glance at the map included with the ads would have told anyone who had even a passing acquaintance with geography that the so-called garden spot was located smack in the middle of the Dead Marshes. Worse yet, there was evidence for many other schemes run by her family over the years. Panakeia was horrified and vowed never to join the family business, insisting that there was no offer that they could possibly make her that she would not be able to refuse.

But Fate was working against Panakeia. Shortly afterwards, retribution came upon her family in the form of disgruntled investors from the land scheme. These investors burned her home to the ground, forcing her to flee into the wilderness. In the confusion, she became separated from her relatives, none of whom she would see again. Poor Panakeia wandered in the wild for days, lost and starving. Finally, she located an old potato field, clawed a raw tuber from the earth with her fingernails and devoured it. With a cry to the setting sun of “I’ll never be hungry again,” Panakeia decided to wreak her revenge on those who had ended her fairy-tale existence by restarting her family’s old schemes. After all, if people were foolish enough to fall for her scams, they deserved whatever came to them, didn’t they? She then headed out on the road, selling various health and beauty potions of dubious quality from a roadside stand. Over the years, she became accustomed to her lifestyle and completely forgot her early idealism.

In time, her travels took her to the heart of Gondor itself. Unaware of (or perhaps indifferent to) the banning of Anakronisms, she set up her stand on the road to Minas Tirith and called out “Panakeia’s Beauty Cream! Guaranteed to give you J Lo’s youthful glow, or your money back!” She only had time to make two sales before being whisked off to Mordor by the Anakronism Police.


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Celuien's post

Near the back of the crowd gathered on Caer Pairadocks, a small disturbance was growing around Panakeia of Harad, Seller of Health and Beauty Products. Her shrill voice rang out over the crowd “Wrinkle-Away Skin Firming Solution! Take ten years off your face instantly! Only two silver pennies. Two silver pennies! Step right up.” A few purchasers hurried up to her stand, but a pair of stern guards swiftly chased them off. There would be no selling on Caer Pairadocks today. At least, not without a properly sanctioned license, sealed in triplicate with official red tape.

Panakeia glared at the officials, a look of annoyance on her face. Coming here was such a misuse of valuable time. There was work to be done, and now she couldn’t even take advantage of the presence of the many assembled Mordor assignees to hawk her wares. But the day hadn’t been a total waste. A smile flitted over Panakeia’s lips as she thought of the Westron to Black Speech dictionaries she managed to sell on the journey to the meeting. Ordinarily, she would never have thought of selling something so far out of her usual line, but being factory rejects for gross mistranslations, she had picked them up for a pittance. And with all of the new people sent to Mordor recently, there had been a large demand for dictionaries in the Black Speech. She made a tidy profit from that transaction, but she hoped that no one would have the opportunity to use the dictionaries until she was safely on her way back to her own hut.

Panakeia closed up her product case and headed over to a bench to sit down. Her feet were killing her. Several people near Panakeia ostentatiously shielded their eyes as she walked past. She was wearing her trademark tangerine and chartreuse robes with plentiful gold jewelry. Panakeia noted the gesture and swept past in her grandest fashion, clinking her bracelets as she strode along. A titter rose in her wake.

“Idiots! Simpletons!” she thought. These people who laughed at her were the same ones she knew would flock to her stand the instant she was able to open for business. She would show them all, selling them potions and poultices as ineffectual as a posted speed limit. But even though she knew the Wrinkle-Away Skin Firming Solution, like most of her other creams, was nothing more than a variation on sawdust mixed with potato starch and a bit of beet juice (just for color), as her 50th birthday approached, Panakeia had started to use the creams too. Despite flattering herself that she really did look the 29 year old she claimed to be, deep down she knew that this was not the truth. Was she really all that different from the customers she despised in her despairing struggle to hold on to her vanishing (some would say vanished) youth?

Fortunately for her composure, Panakeia’s introspective mood vanished as quickly as it had arrived. She turned her attention to the proceedings at hand. She had only been giving half of her attention to Anakron’s grand speeches, and his use of the ATM barely registered on her mind. She tapped her high-heeled foot impatiently. Would this day ever end?

“Alumìn-E Umfuìl,” droned Anakron’s voice. Panakeia watched in amusement as the young girl stepped up to the ATM and corrected The Grand Anakronist’s pronunciation of her name. Then she sighed. It was always the young, pretty ones who were chosen. Panakeia kicked a stray pebble aside. Why would she want to leave anyway? Business was good in Mordor. “There’s a sucker born every minute, and it seems that they’ve all been sent here,” she mused. But somehow, a yearning for freedom to wander Middle-earth was growing in Panakeia’s mind, despite the favorable sales prospects she had found since arriving.

The ATM whirred again. Anakron announced the next name. “Panakeia of Harad.”

Panakeia blinked in astonishment. Here was her chance to leave! At the thought of freedom, the vision of a new sales empire reaching from Harad to the Grey Havens danced in her head. Quickly recovering her usual brashness, she strode up to the ATM and stood beside Alumìne Umfuìl. “Here, Anakron. Glad to see you’ve come to your senses at last and decided to let some of us out of here. All of this fuss and bother over Anakronisms was nonsense in the first place. When’s the first flight out of here?”

Anakron shook his head at the Anakronism in Panakeia’s speech. Without a word, he returned to the ATM screen to select the next member of the Offending Party.