“For the transgression of my people was he stricken.…” Isaiah 53:8

Name: Eli Fisher

Nickname(s): Most people who know him call him by his last name.

Reincarnate of:  Eli isn’t the reincarnation of anyone, but rather the direct descendent of King Pellam the first Maimed King and his son King Pelles, the first Fisher King.

Age: 32

Power:  Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit – The Fishers are granted the Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit, though over the years, their connection has grown weaker, leaving the effects muted and unconscious, with the stregnth varying day by day depending on his level of faith and piety.

• Sapientia (Wisdom) – When appropriate, Eli can focus on his goals in such a way as to shut out distractions.  This can make him extremely determined and selfless, in order to achieve his aims.
• Intellectus (Understanding) – It’s very hard to lie to Eli.  He’s not easily manipulated and can usually get to the truth of something through calm thought and careful consideration.  Unfortunately, he tends to be impatient and doesn’t get there very easily.
• Consilium (Counsel) – He has a clear sense of right and wrong in a way that goes beyond black and white.  He can often see the threads of connections between actions and outcomes and can choose the ‘right’ course of action to get what he needs.  Sometimes, this manifests in selfish ways, the right words to a pretty girl, the right bet at a poker table, but usually, there’s a backlash that comes from that.  In other words, karma baby.
• Fortitudo (Fortitude) – There’s little he fears, whether jumping off a cliff (he does hate heights) or taking on someone twice his size, he’s not quick to back down.  It gives him courage to stand up to bullies, intellectual or otherwise, allows him to take a good deal of abuse without losing steam and helps him push through exhaustion, pain or other things that might otherwise stop him from whatever he’s trying to accomplish.
• Scientia (Knowledge) – At times, Eli can be inspired with a Eureka like moment.  It usually happens when he’s been stuck on a problem and surrenders and gives in.  Unfortunately, it’s not in his nature to give in, so inspirational moments are few and far between, making him often feel like an idiot for not figuring things out sooner.
• Pietas (Piety) – Perhaps the only effect of the power that could be viewed as purely pleasurable, the gift of piety allows him to truly appreciate the wondrous moments of life.  That might be the view from a sweeping vista, the company of a beautiful woman or the stirring strains of music.  Regardless, he holds those moments above all others and takes them as his reward and payment for the suffering he knows is coming.
• Timor Domini (Fear of the Lord) – When he feels like quitting, giving up or giving in, he’s reminded of disappointing those that matter.  Usually that’s God and his Father, though it could be a friend, associate or just someone he’s made a promise to.  While not exactly fear, this gift is motivation to excel, to strive, to do his best.  And at times, it might actually manifest as a command, an ability to get others listen, believe him and do as he asks.  In other words, these aren't the droids you're looking for.

Abilities:  Eli is athletic and excels in the basics like running and swimming, to the extremes like scuba diving, free climbing, skiing and sky diving (though he hates heights).

While he doesn’t have photographic memory, he’s got a spatial sense that creates maps in his mind, allowing him to retrace his steps, as well as extrapolate the location of areas he hasn’t yet seen, assuming he has some sense of scale to contain his imagination.

He’s also well-travelled and knows several languages fluently and picks up new ones with easy.

Skills:  Though informally trained, Eli is well read and an expert researcher.  Most of his knowledge centers on Religious Theology, History, Mythology and Archeology.

He’s also an informally trained thief, or at least, he knows how to pick locks (though he usually just breaks them), can deal with most basic security systems, is relatively sneaky and knows how to cover his tracks.

He knows how to fight, but not with any ‘style’, knows how to use weapons, but doesn’t and knows how to sail, navigate and generally get around without getting lost.

Description:  Standing a hair over six feet and just shy of 200 lbs, Eli is fit in the sort of way that comes from a life of physical labor and activity rather than exercise or efforts at keeping in shape.  His hair is honey blonde, at least according to a box of hair dye he once saw.  It’s usually short to medium in length and is remarkably well behaved, usually staying swept back without much more effort than a few fingers through it in the morning.

He has deep dimples that bracket his lips when he smiles, something he does often.

He prefers to dress casually, t-shirt and jeans and his favorite red flannel jacket.  He has nicer clothes, a few suits and even a tuxedo, but he despises them and has a tendency to loosen or lose his ties at his earlier convenience.  However, even when dressed up, he usually doesn’t bother to shave, sporting a near perpetual five o’clock shadow since after all, it’s five o’clock somewhere.

Personality:  Eli is a hypocrite and he’d be the first to admit it.  He doesn’t suffer liars or fools, but lies when it suits him and is often a fool.  He seems devoid of concern, carries an easy smile and seems not to let the stresses of life affect him, but there’s something behind his smile, a weariness and dread, as though he’s been keeping up a good front for far too long and knows that time is running out.  He’s friendly, but not particularly polite as he thinks most people expect too much to be given to them, done for them or otherwise handed to them on a silver platter.

He’s personable, but in such an easy going way that it often leaves people with a sense he’s disingenuous or possibly patronizing.  In addition, while he seems easy going in most circumstances, he can be tenacious when focused on a goal.  While never ruthless, he’s not above taking shortcuts and stepping into the grey edges of morality with guile and without guilt.

He’s quite smart and acutely aware of what’s going on around him, even when he might seem oblivious or outright foolish.  With a quick wit and biting tongue, he tries to keep himself amused with a clever turn of phrase, bit of the profane or jokes few people would understand.

Though he tries to keep it hidden, he has a charitable streak and is quick to offer help to those that truly need it, though as with his impoliteness, he knows most people don’t need as much help as they think, so his charity is only offered to those he judges truly suffering.

Writing Sample:  “You seem troubled my son,” the priest said, noting Eli had been sitting in the pews for the better part of the day, staring at the ornate stained glass windows about the alter, “but God can show you the way to peace.”

Eli chuckled, not derisively, but with something akin to a certainty that while God could, he wouldn’t, at least not yet.

“Me and God, we don’t get along,” Eli shared, looking up at the high dark corners of the church, smiling deeply and making it seem like the statement seem like a joke only Eli and God would understand.

“We’re all God’s children, my son,” the priest said, to which Eli wondered, “if we’re all his children, shouldn’t I be your brother, not your son?”

But he lifted a hand and waved it off.  He wasn’t there for a theological debate, or to antagonize the priest, at least not in that way, so the wave became an apology, his hand lifted up in a sign of attrition, like might be given when swearing a vow and promising not to do something again.

“Will you hear my confession father?” he asked the priest, beginning the ritual.

“Bless me father for I have sinned,” he began.

“It's been,” he started, counting out on his fingers, getting to three before stopping, “three weeks since my last confession.  In that time I have lied to my father, lied to a priest, lied to, well, let’s just call an even dozen and leave it at that.  I’ve committed adultery, though technically she committed adultery and I just helped, but I figure it’s close enough.”

That one was a bit of a lie, but for some reason he thought he was being clever and funny.

“I’ve blasphemed on several occasions, missed one Mass, envied others,” he continued with a sigh.  “And fornicated, which really, it's the 21st century, that should come off the list.”

As he’d gone on, he seemed to talk more to the ceiling, than the priest, his confessions more sincere, even if peppered with irreverence.

“Oh,” he added as almost an afterthought, “I’m also going to steal from the Church.”

“Do you absolve me Father?” he asked, sounding mildly annoyed at having to even ask.

“These are grievous sins my son,” the priest began, a bit stunned and concern evident, but Eli put up a warning hand for silence.

“I’m not asking you,” he told the man, his eyes on the dark space above, until he they closed and seemed to relax.

“Stay,” he said, pointing a finger at the priest, like he was a moderately well trained dog.  Getting up, he moved to the front of the church, where a glass case contained relics said to have belonged to Saint Filan, a saint so minor no one knew how he’d become one, let alone why he was the patron saint of skydivers.

“Now that’s blasphemy,” he muttered, thinking jumping out of a perfectly good plane was one of the more idiotic things a person could do, even if he’d done it a few times himself.  At the very least, he was confident it was more of a blasphemy than what followed, his elbow coming down on the glass to shatter the case.  He left most of the items, a tooth, the pitcher, taking only the aspergillum, a little thing that looked like a miniature cat of nine tails.

“This is for the case,” he said, putting down a small bit of cash.

“And this is not yours,” he added, shaking the little whip like brush like he was chastising the old priest, and tucking it into a pocket, he hurried from the room.

~O~

“did… you… get… it…” came the mechanical voice, whirling, clicking, beeping sounds in the background as machines monitored and kept his father alive.

“I got it,” he said into the phone, “but really, this pro bono stuff has got to stop.  We’ve got our own problems to deal with and I need to head to Tintagel.”

“we… don’t… choose… our… path…” the voice returned, which got a dismissive “yeah, yeah,” from Eli.

“I’m just saying, we’ve got bigger things to look for than trinkets and if you ever want that grandson you keep harping about,” he said, the thought making him pause.

“honor… thy…” the voice began, but Eli cut him off before his father could finish typing.

“Don’t push it Old Man," he chuckled, glad the old boy still had a bit of humor left in him, even if it didn't carry through the electronic voice.

"I’ll swing the sprinkler by on my way down, until then, don’t die,” he said, ending the call and heading home.

~O~

History: Eli was born into nobility, or rather, a family that had once been noble.  They’d lost most of their fortune after The Great War, due to a particularly intransigent great great grandfather unable to adapt to the modern world and a particularly shortsighted great grandfather who sold off land and treasure piece by piece.  The family declined rapidly, with Eli’s grandfather dying in Italy during World War Two.  That same day, Eli’s father was struck by a car, leaving the boy all but paralyzed at the tender age of 4.

That might have been the end of the story, the line of the Fishers ended with no heirs, but Eli’s father was a believer in their cause and though it took him 38 years to find a woman to bear him a child, he did, and Eli was born.

He never knew his mother and his father wouldn’t speak of her, except to chastise Eli whenever he doubted her reputation.  He grew up with a nanny, his father collecting what he could through proxy, which was little, if anything.  They had no money beyond what they needed to keep an infirm man and infant boy cared for.  When he was old enough, he was sent off to the finest academies the last of their money could buy, several of them in fact, a recklessness, impertinence and tendencies to get in scuffles getting him kicked from one after another.  Still, he managed to pick up a stellar education and even managed to go onto University, though he never graduated, dropping out in the middle of his second year to get to work.

And work he did.  He might not have had the paper to impress the elites, but he had the knowledge, the skill and an uncanny ability to find things most considered lost, if not outright myth.  He quickly earned a reputation as someone who could obtain things, unbound by borders and to a degree, laws and concepts of ownership.  He funded his own, often unsuccessful work that way, getting baubles for wealthy collectors while he fished for things that interested him.  And he gained another reputation, one that didn’t win him favors with the academic community, as a debunker, crushing more than a few theories about the historical basis for myths and legends or the location of things many sought.

He also made a couple of big finds, the sort that got academic attention, but it was the finds he didn’t share with the community that mattered to him the most.  Most were things his family had once possessed, lost through theft, sale or the fickleness of fate.  But one thing eluded him.  Lost nearly a century prior, sold in a lot by his great grandfather in a drunken stupor.

He wasn’t sure if he would find it at Tintagel, but the Magic Eight Ball said that ‘Signs point to yes’ and he wasn’t one to easily scoff at such magic.

~O~

And so, he arrived in Tintagel a week or so later, a Visiting Scholar for the year, a title and position he took unusual pleasure in having been granted.  He had two courses to teach for the honor, one, his ‘specialty’, Debunking Myths and the other, basic Archeology, which he could only assume was punishment for some transgression in a former life.  And so, taking up residence in one of the little faculty cottages so nicely provided, he began to lay out maps, of the campus, the village and the surrounding land, planning where to begin his search.

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Attempt 2

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“For the transgression of my people was he stricken.…” Isaiah 53:8

Name:  Eli Fisher (most people who know him just call him by his last name)
Gender: Male
Age: 30
Sexual Preference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4c7BA63saF0
Conspiracy: Independent
Origin: Normal
Concept: Divine Treasures Hunter

Disciplines/Sciences/Knacks:
Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit – The Fishers practice a ‘discipline’ known as the Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit, which in practical purposes mirrors Heroic Serendipity and Tenacity.
• Sapientia (Wisdom) – When appropriate, Eli can focus on his goals in such a way as to shut out distractions.  This can make him extremely determined and selfless, in order to achieve his aims.
• Intellectus (Understanding) – It’s very hard to lie to Eli.  He’s not easily manipulated and can usually get to the truth of something through calm thought and careful consideration.  Unfortunately, he tends to be impatient and doesn’t get there very easily.
• Consilium (Counsel) – He has a clear sense of right and wrong in a way that goes beyond black and white.  He can often see the threads of connections between actions and outcomes and can choose the ‘right’ course of action to get what he needs.  Sometimes, this manifests in selfish ways, the right words to a pretty girl, the right bet at a poker table, but usually, there’s a backlash that comes from that.  In other words, karma baby (this most closely models Heroic Serendipity)
• Fortitudo (Fortitude) – There’s little he fears, whether jumping off a cliff (he does hate heights) or taking on someone twice his size, he’s not quick to back down.  It gives him courage to stand up to bullies, intellectual or otherwise, allows him to take a good deal of abuse without losing steam and helps him push through exhaustion, pain or other things that might otherwise stop him from whatever he’s trying to accomplish (Heroic Tenacity)
• Scientia (Knowledge) – At times, Eli can be inspired with a Eureka like moment.  It usually happens when he’s been stuck on a problem and surrenders and gives in.  Unfortunately, it’s not in his nature to give in, so inspirational moments are few and far between, making him often feel like an idiot for not figuring things out sooner.
• Pietas (Piety) – Perhaps the only effect of this discipline is the ability to truly appreciate the wondrous moments of life.  That might be the view from a sweeping vista, the company of a beautiful woman or the stirring strains of music.  Regardless, he holds those moments above all others and takes them as his reward and payment for the suffering he knows is coming.
• Timor Domini (Fear of the Lord) – When he feels like quitting, giving up or giving in, he’s reminded of disappointing those that matter.  Usually that’s God and his Father, though it could be a friend, associate or just someone he’s made a promise to.  While not exactly fear, this gift is motivation to excel, to strive, to do his best.  (Heroic Tenacity again)

Physical Description: His father once described him as a pit bull, which wasn't meant as a compliment, but he hadn’t minded.  Shorter than some men in his rough and tumble world, but stocky enough to hold his own.  Somewhat of a chameleon, he tends to take an appearance designed to fit in, from clean-shaven and bespoke to bearded and simple clothes, preferring the latter, but finding himself adopting the former often enough.

When clean shaven he has a sharp chin and full lips, and shaven or not, he’s able to share a smile with the slightest upturn of his mouth.  His brown hair grows fast, but is currently cut short, his eyes are a blue green.  He has quite a few tattoos, all of which has some sort of meaning, though some have very stupid meanings.  The most obvious and not so stupid if you know him is a picture of the Madonna and a baby on one shoulder.  Others include a Raven, Wolf and Heart, a Union Jack flag and a Dragon, the flag a place he came from, the dragon a place he’d been.

Personality: Eli is a hypocrite and he’d be the first to admit it.  He doesn’t suffer liars or fools, but lies when it suits him and is often a fool.  He seems devoid of concern, carries an easy smile and seems not to let the stresses of life affect him, but there’s something behind his smile, a weariness and dread, as though he’s been keeping up a good front for far too long and knows that time is running out.  He’s friendly, but not particularly polite as he thinks most people expect too much to be given to them, done for them or otherwise handed to them on a silver platter.

He’s personable, but in such an easy going way that it often leaves people with a sense he’s disingenuous or possibly patronizing.  In addition, while he seems easy going in most circumstances, he can be tenacious when focused on a goal.  While never ruthless, he’s not above taking shortcuts and stepping into the grey edges of morality with guile and without guilt.

He’s quite smart and acutely aware of what’s going on around him, even when he might seem oblivious or outright foolish.  With a quick wit and biting tongue, he tries to keep himself amused with a clever turn of phrase, bit of the profane or jokes few people would understand.

Though he tries to keep it hidden, he has a charitable streak and is quick to offer help to those that truly need it, though as with his impoliteness, he knows most people don’t need as much help as they think, so his charity is only offered to those he judges truly suffering.

History:  “You seem troubled my son,” the priest said, noting Eli had been sitting in the pews for the better part of the day, staring at the ornate stained glass windows about the alter, “but God can show you the way to peace.”

Eli chuckled, not derisively, but with something akin to a certainty that while God could, he wouldn’t, at least not yet.

“Me and God, we don’t get along Padre,” Eli shared, looking up at the high dark corners of the church, smiling deeply and making it seem like the statement seem like a joke only Eli and God would understand.

“We’re all God’s children, my son,” the priest said, to which Eli wondered, “if we’re all his children, shouldn’t I be your brother, not your son?”

But he lifted a hand and waved it off.  He wasn’t there for a theological debate, or to antagonize the priest, at least not in that way, so the wave became an apology, his hand lifted up in a sign of attrition, like might be given when swearing a vow and promising not to do something again.

“Will you hear my confession father?” he asked the priest, beginning the ritual.

“Bless me father for I have sinned,” he began.

“It's been,” he started, counting out on his fingers, getting to three before stopping, “three weeks since my last confession.  In that time I have lied to my father, lied to a priest, lied to, well, let’s just call an even dozen and leave it at that.  I’ve committed adultery, though technically she committed adultery and I just helped, but I figure it’s close enough.”

“I’ve blasphemed on several occasions, missed one Mass, envied others,” he continued with a sigh.  “And fornicated, which really, it's the 20th century, that should come off the list.”

As he’d gone on, he seemed to talk more to the ceiling, than the priest, his confessions more sincere, even if peppered with irreverence.

“Oh,” he added as almost an afterthought, “I’m also going to steal from the Church.”

“Do you absolve me Father?” he asked, sounding mildly annoyed at having to even ask.

“These are grievous sins my son,” the priest began, a bit stunned and concern evident, but Eli put up a warning hand for silence.

“I’m not asking you,” he told the man, his eyes on the dark space above, until they closed and he seemed to relax.

“Stay,” he said, pointing a finger at the priest, like he was a moderately well trained dog.  Getting up, he moved to the front of the church, where a glass case contained relics said to have belonged to Saint Filan, a saint so minor no one knew how he’d become one, let alone why he was the patron saint of skydivers.

“Now that’s blasphemy,” he muttered, thinking jumping out of a perfectly good plane was one of the more idiotic things a person could do, even if he’d done it a few times himself.  At the very least, he was confident it was more of a blasphemy than what followed, his elbow coming down on the glass to shatter the case.  He left most of the items, a tooth, the pitcher, taking only the aspergillum, a little thing that looked like a miniature cat of nine tails.

“This is for the case,” he said, putting down a small bit of cash.

“And this is not yours,” he added, shaking the little whip like brush like he was chastising the old priest, and tucking it into a pocket, he hurried from the room.

~O~

“did… you… get… it…” came the mechanical voice, whirling, clicking, beeping sounds in the background as machines monitored and kept his father alive.

“I got it,” he said into the phone, “but really, this pro bono stuff has got to stop.  We’ve got our own problems to deal with.”

“we… don’t… choose… our… path…” the voice returned, which got a dismissive “yeah, yeah,” from Eli.

“I’m just saying, we’ve got bigger things to look for than trinkets and if you ever want that grandson you keep harping about,” he said, the thought making him pause.

“honor… thy…” the voice began, but Eli cut him off before his father could finish typing.

“Don’t push it Old Man," he chuckled, glad the old boy still had a bit of humor left in him, even if it didn't carry through the electronic voice.

"I’ll swing the sprinkler by on my way out tonight.  And remember, don’t die,” he said, hanging up and ending the conversation the same way he did every time they talked.

~O~

Eli was born into nobility, or rather, a family that had once been noble.  They’d lost most of their fortune before the Revolutionary War, due to a particularly shortsighted great great great (plus one or two greats) grandfather who sold off land and treasure piece by piece.  The family declined rapidly, with Eli’s grandfather dying shortly after the Civil War, the same day Eli’s father was thrown from a horse, leaving the boy all but paralyzed at the tender age of 7.

That might have been the end of the story, the line of the Fishers ended with no heirs, but Eli’s father was a believer in their cause and used the most of what money remained to pay for scientists to design the chamber which has kept him alive ever since.  Even then it might have been the end of the Fishers, but though it took him 30 years to find a woman to bear him a child, he did, and Eli was born.

He never knew his mother and his father wouldn’t speak of her, except to chastise Eli whenever he doubted her reputation.  He grew up with a nanny, his father collecting what he could through proxy, which was little, if anything.  They had no money beyond what they needed to keep an infirm man and infant boy cared for.  When he was old enough, he was sent off to the finest academies the last of their money could buy, several of them in fact, a recklessness, impertinence and tendencies to get in scuffles getting him kicked from one after another.  Still, he managed to pick up a stellar education and even managed to go onto University, though he never graduated, dropping out in the middle of his second year to get to work.

And work he did.  He might not have had the paper to impress the elites, but he had the knowledge, the skill and an uncanny ability to find things most considered lost, if not outright myth.  He quickly earned a reputation as someone who could obtain things, unbound by borders and to a degree, laws and concepts of ownership.  He funded his own, often unsuccessful work that way, getting baubles for wealthy collectors while he fished for things that interested him.  But one thing eluded him.  Lost nearly a century prior, sold in a lot by his great great whatever grandfather in a drunken stupor.

He wasn’t sure if he would ever find it, but more than one dream said he would and a particularly scary gypsy suggested he try New York and then added that same old cryptic thing gypsies liked to do, telling him that would just be the start.

Fortunately, that’s where the little sprinkler was meant to go, so New York it was and he grabbed the first boat heading home.

Family:
Franklin Fisher, Franklin Fisher has lived his life in a metal tube, steam and electricity keeping his lungs rising and falling.  Perhaps that alone explains why he is the oldest living Fisher in their family’s history.  In fact, most suffer some sort of unexpected and debilitating injury or illness before the age of 35.  In Franklin’s case, he suffered it sooner and perhaps learned to adapt better than his forebearers.  Or perhaps, as they sometimes joke, he’s just holding out for a grandson, confident the line of Fisher must continue until they restore the family legacy as protectors of… well… they don’t talk about that.
Friends:
The All Seeing Eye – Explorers like to get their own stuff.  Guildsters like to build their own stuff.  Eyeholes like others to get stuff for them.  Fortunately, most of them pay pretty well and he’s worked for more than a few.
Foes:
Biship Joesph Napoli  (Father Joe as Eli calls him) – Father Joe is a Catholic Priest… Bishop to be exact.  Now normally, Eli gets along pretty well with the Church, but Father Joe is as corrupt as they come.  What?  A corrupt priest?  Say it ain’t so Joe.  Not that Eli’s a saint or striving for sainthood, but stealing from widows and orphans to fill your own wallet, that’s just uncharitable.  So Eli’s taken it on himself to be a thorn in Father Joe’s side (or foot if you prefer the classics).  Whenver he’s able, he does his best to disrupt Father Joe’s business, stealing his goodies, especially when they go up for auction.
High Priest Joesph Mansion (or Joe as Eli calls him, he clearly doesn’t get along well with Joes) - Joe and Eli crossed paths when searching for a the ‘Toothpick of Destiny”, a splinter of wood from said to have come from the Spear of Destiny.  The resulting tussle revealed Joe’s coven, which caught the attention of The All Seeing Eye and wound up with most of his followers either killed or ‘returned’.  Eli’s not sure which was worse, but knows Joe’s the sort to hold a grudge.
The Sanguine Court and The Lords of Death – You can overlook werewolves, but the undead?  Thee are dozens of verses condeming vampires and plenty forbidding Necromancy.  While he’s not a zealot or hunter of those sorts, he’s not a fan and when he’s crossed paths with them in the past, he’s usually sided against them and doubts they would ever (or should ever) consider him their friend.