Elinor Sterling-Blumett
The Right Honorable The Viscountess Sterling (a.k.a. El)
Relationships
The Second-born to the late Jaereth Sterling and Head of Sterling Mine Operations; focused on the improvement of the financial workings of the family's estate. Wife of Lady Dahlia Blumett.
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Alignment
Lawful Neutral
Age
27
Date of Birth
Winter
Family
Spouses
Siblings
*late* Lord Davinor Sterling
(Older Brother)
Children
Gender
Female
Eyes
Gray
Hair
Dark Brown
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Fair
Height
5'9"
Aligned Organization
Other Affiliations
Related Reports
The Final Chapter
20th of September, 813
Twentieth of September, 813
From the desk of Viscountess Elinor Sterling-Blumett
I have never been thought of as one given to sudden impulses. No, throughout my life, I have been described in ways both flattering and unkind—astute and dependable by some, stuffy or uninteresting by others. Above all, I have been a planner. Each moment of my day is accounted for, every task carefully assigned to its proper hour. Such has been my manner for as long as I can remember, though it must be confessed that this tendency towards order and procedure intensified sharply after the loss of both my father and my brother.
In the days following their passing, I was untethered, rudderless amidst a sea of upheaval. All that had once been so firmly in my grasp slipped away. The bank that had been my focus was taken from me, and I was thrust instead into the management of the mines. My mother, left fragile and trembling under the weight of her grief, looked to me for support, her shattered nerves requiring attention I scarcely knew how to provide.
It pains me to admit that I did not like the person I became in the aftermath of my father’s and brother’s deaths. Cynical and steely. Bitter. But truly, what reason had I to persist in hope? My dearest friend, my brother, was gone. The business I had poured my heart into, taken from me. And now, society demanded I subject myself to its trivialities and secure a marriage I had no desire to entertain. It was enough to drive even the most agreeable woman to her wits’ end.
Feeling the chaos close in on every side, I did what I thought necessary to stave it off: I tightened my grip on all that I could control. Every action, every moment, was governed by an unyielding sense of order. My family, bless them, allowed me this rigidity without protest, though their pitying glances were impossible to ignore.
In time, I found my footing within the mining operations, a field that had long held my heart. Yet, even in my success, there lingered a bitterness I could not dispel. The shadow of what might have been hung heavy over me. To see Dominic handed so easily all that I had worked tirelessly to achieve was a wound that festered in silence. It was not envy alone, but a deep sorrow for a future that could never be reclaimed.
And then, as if by fate, I met Dahlia. My brilliant, talented, beautiful wife. How extraordinary those words feel as I write them now—how improbable that they should ever have come to pass! I had long ago resigned myself to the notion of never marrying. My life was to be devoted to my work, my studies, and the singular purpose of supporting my family. I was content, or so I believed, for what could marriage offer but another soul to consider and care for when I could scarcely manage my own feelings?
Moreover, I was not, by any measure, a person who inspired affection. In business and academic circles, I navigated with ease, yet on a personal level, I was thought brusque, even abrasive. It was of no consequence. Davinor had been the charming one, the partner of everyone’s dreams—intelligent, kind, and endlessly charismatic. The family had no need of me for such matters; my value was in what I could accomplish, not who I was.
But then Davinor was gone. The weight of my family’s future bore down on my shoulders, and I accepted it with grim determination. My purpose became clear: to secure an advantageous match that would bring the Sterling name to even more prominence. It was a duty, and I approached it as I did all others, with diligence and unwavering focus.
It was during this time that the Countess of Blumett extended her invitation for tea. The Blumetts were formidable in both society and magical prowess, and the connection was of great interest to us all. Duty called, and I answered, fully expecting the encounter to be one of necessity rather than pleasure.
How mistaken I was!
I recall descending the staircase that day, prepared to engage with a family I assumed would be preoccupied with society’s frivolities—lace and perfumes, silks and florals. How pleasantly astonished I was to find instead a family of remarkable intellect and curiosity, their conversations brimming with insight and wit. And at the heart of it all was Dahlia.
From the first, she unsettled me in ways I could not articulate. She challenged my carefully constructed world, shaking its foundations with her brilliance and charm. What began as an obligation transformed into something unspoken but undeniable.
Then the world descended into chaos. It began with Dominic’s friend Gregor, taken under dreadful circumstances, followed by Nicholas’ Fitz, the attack on the Menagerie, and Dominic’s subsequent arrest. Each event was a fresh wave of calamity, culminating in the siege of Shadowby Castle and the battle at Justice Square.
I truly believed I would not survive that castle. Part of me had accepted it, even welcomed it. My focus, as ever, was the family. If my death could protect them, could save Dominic, then so be it. What was my life compared to the future of those I loved? Even if it meant robbing Dahlia and myself of any chance at happiness, it was a sacrifice I was prepared to make.
Yet fate decreed otherwise. Dove and I fled that cursed tower, leaving destruction in our wake, only to find more awaiting us in the square. The sight was harrowing—burned and frozen bodies, blood pooling in the craters. I saw Frankincense commanding an army of tiny Fae, Nicholas desperately calling for aid as Lily lay motionless, and Philip Shadowby, standing apart with sword and pistol in hand.
Choosing compassion over vengeance, I brought Frank Blumett to Nicholas’ side to tend to Lily’s wounds. But even amidst the cacophony of battle, the crack of a gunshot was unmistakable. Turning, I saw Philip, his pistol smoking, his expression stricken. Bernard Vaneforge stood before him, equally shocked, before crumpling to the ground.
I found in that moment that sometimes inaction is just as deadly as the choices we make.
Rage consumed me. Grasping Philip, I soared into the sky, driven by a tempest of fury and grief. Yet his resignation, his utter surrender, extinguished my anger as quickly as it had flared. I let him fall—not as punishment, but because I could no longer bear the weight of him, of it all.
The rest of the battle was a blur, a chaotic cacophony of sound and fury. I scarcely recall the moments between Philip’s fall and the stillness that followed, save for the dreadful weight in my chest and the ringing in my ears. Justice Square was a ruin, the ground littered with debris and stained crimson. Somewhere amidst it all, I found myself kneeling in the rubble, my hand resting on the shoulder of a man I had come to consider a dear friend. His blood soaked through my sleeve, warm and sticky, as I stared at the devastation around me.
Eventually Dahlia knelt beside me, her voice low and steady, weaving together a melody of song and druidic magic. The sound was achingly beautiful, a thread of hope stitched through the fabric of despair. I do not know if it was enough to save the wounded lying around us, but it saved me in that moment. Her presence, her song—it was a tether, anchoring me to the present, keeping me from drowning in the depths of my own grief.
Eventually, the battle’s end was declared. The enemy was routed, my family accounted for—alive, though battered and bloodied. But my friend was dead, and the sight of his lifeless form haunts me still. I could not linger in the square any longer, could not bear the weight of what we had endured.
When I returned to Sterling Manor, the composure I had fought so hard to maintain crumbled almost instantly. My mother opened her arms to me without hesitation. I fell into her embrace, unable to hold back the flood of tears that had been building since the castle. She held me as if I were still a child, murmuring soft reassurances as I wept into her shoulder.
For the first time in years, I allowed myself to grieve—openly, freely, without fear of judgment or reprisal. I grieved for my friend, for the lives lost, for the innocence stolen by the horrors of that day. But most of all, I grieved for the person I had been, the person I would never be again.
How strange it feels now to look back now and realize how impulsive I had been in the time following the battle. Me, who had spent my life mapping every moment, orchestrating each decision with precision. And yet, in that moment, none of it mattered. Order, planning, logic—all were swept away by the urgency of my heart.
When I asked Dahlia to run away with me, I was not entirely sure she would agree. To my immense relief, she did, her eyes alight with the same need to escape, to be untethered from the weight of our respective families, even if just for a single day. It was selfish, perhaps, but it was ours.
Our departure was swift and unsentimental, save for the hurried notes we left behind. I cannot imagine what our families must have thought upon reading them—how their minds must have raced with questions and speculations. But in that moment, the opinions of others were mere whispers compared to the clarity of what I felt.
Within the hour, we were riding out of Donlon, the wind catching in our cloaks as the sun dipped low on the horizon. The city’s bustle gave way to the quiet of the countryside, and with every mile, the tension in my chest eased. I remember glancing over at Dahlia, her hair catching the last rays of sunlight, and thinking that I would give up the world to keep that image with me always.
The chapel where we wed was a modest one, tucked away amidst rolling hills and ancient oaks. Its stone walls bore the weight of centuries, and the air inside carried a sacred stillness. It was perfect in its simplicity.
The priest, a kindly man with a voice like the rumble of distant thunder, led us through our vows. Dahlia’s hands were warm in mine, her gaze steady and unwavering. When I spoke my own vows, I barely recognized my voice—soft, unsteady, vulnerable in a way I had never allowed myself to be. I meant every word, and as I looked into her eyes, I saw the same certainty reflected back at me.
There were no grand celebrations, no raucous laughter or clinking of champagne glasses. Just the two of us, standing together in that quiet chapel, as the last of the day’s light painted the stained glass in hues of amber and rose. It was both more and less than I had imagined my wedding would be.
I had thought such a moment would feel monumental, that I would feel transformed. Instead, it was something quieter, deeper—an anchor settling firmly within me. The weight of the world did not vanish, but it became bearable, shared between us.
We stayed the night in a small inn just outside the village. The room was modest, the bed narrow, but it felt like a palace. We spoke for hours, whispering secrets and dreams as the candle burned low. For the first time in years, I felt truly free, as if I had stepped into a world where nothing mattered but us.
Tomorrow would bring reality crashing back. Letters to be written, explanations to be given, responsibilities to be resumed. But that night, as I lay beside Dahlia, I let myself believe—if only for a moment—that the world could wait a little longer.
A Season of Change
1st September 813
I fear I may not survive the social season.
Truly!
The day started well enough. We arrived with plenty of time to the palace, even Dominic managed to make it with his detour.
I was able to spend most of the soiree on the outskirts of the crowd, though I did have some pleasant conversation with Countess and Earl Blumett. It was not a chance occurrence that I enjoyed their company so much during tea. Conversation flows so naturally with Lady Blumett, though she does seem to carry the same enjoyment of my floundering as Davinor did. She may have tried to hide it, but I was still able to see her amusement when Lord Mica Boulderton came to make his greetings with me.
Consider my surprise, however, when I found myself face to face with the Queen. I did not expect her to take any interest in me and especially did not see her having any opinions on who I would give my attentions to. Who are the Sterlings to her but a newly gentrified family, balancing on the dagger’s edge of tumbling back into obscurity. Of course, Uncle Oliver is a favorite of hers, but he was that long before our family found their new presence among the aristocracy.
Her Majesty suggested speaking to Lady Annallee Ashton. It is well known to all that Lady Ashton is considered the most eligible bachelorette, baring the crown prince and princess, for this year’s season. I had already accepted that it would be very unlikely for a Sterling to make a match with one such as her. All that besides, I do not believe I am in possession of the type of personality that would be of interest to the Lady Ashton based on reputation alone.
Which, speaking of, Lady Annallee Ashton certainly lived up to that reputation. She was every bit as fiery and… alluring as I have heard tale of. When I walked up to the small crowd of individuals seemingly enraptured by her presence, I very much expected to be openly laughed at before taking my leave with my metaphorical tail between my legs.
Imagine my surprise when not only did Lady Ashton not laugh in my face, but showed interest in me. It was different from the attraction Lady Dahlia showed in me. Lady Ashton made me feel wanted physically, perhaps even sexually if her inner thoughts were any indication. I am… unused to being the object of anyone’s fancy, the Lord Boulderton aside.
Now it seems that I have two. Well… I had two. Lady Dahlia’s reaction to Lady Annallee and I conversing seems I may have ruined that chance at courtship before it had the opportunity to start. I still wish to call on her, if not to clear the air, then to give my gift. Hopefully it will still bring her some inkling of joy, even if I cannot.
Storybook Beginnings
27th August 813
It always seems that once I make a decision, the universe decides to come through and make a mess of things.
I awoke to a knock on my door, at much too early an hour considering the time I was finally able to retire last night after drinks in the Blumett den. Thinking that it would be Dove or some other member of staff, I answered in my house coat and was quite shocked to see Lady Dahlia. To say I made a fool of myself during our conversation is an understatement to be sure. She was there to invite me to take in the sunrise together.
With Dove nowhere to be seen considering the hour, Lady Dahlia was kind enough to lend her own lady’s maid to my albeit fruitless cause. She managed to get me presentable in enough time to join Lady Dahlia on horseback. We rode along the grounds, through acres and acres of rolling hills and bountiful orchards. The fruit from these trees is some of the most delectable that I have had the chance to try. Finally we arrived at the hilltop she had spoken of, a picnic breakfast awaiting us.
It felt like something out of a storybook. It is also making my intentions of creating distance between myself and the Blumett heir very difficult. I feel so out of my depth with her, but I just want to keep wading deeper and deeper. Goddess help me and my resolve.
Blooming in Friendship
26th August 813
Tonight was pleasant and most surprising.
I believe I have found a kinship with the Lady Dahlia. If I am to be frank, I have discovered a similar connection with her mother as well. Both are scholars of remarkable intelligence, a trait that I did not fully anticipate. Our conversation flowed with ease and I was captivate by their depth of knowledge and insight.
Reflecting on my time with Lora, I see now that my feelings were rooted in a fascination with her intellect. Never before had I encountered someone my own age that matched my mental acuity. It both vexed and frustrated me, leaving me unable to free my mind of thoughts of her.
Conversation with Dahlia flowed freely and I found my ill ease fading with each minute that we spent at that table.
Upon my return, I found a hot towel delivered by the most curious of creeping vines - a clear testament to the Druidic magic of the Blumetts. The thistle atop betrayed the identity of the sender. While the exact meaning of this gesture eludes me, the gift itself brought a warmth to my heart as comforting as the towel itself. I must think of a gift to reciprocate this gesture.
For so long, I have deemed myself unlovable due to my many rough edges and sharp points, my interests in the academic as opposed to those “normal” of a lady in society. Perhaps what I truly needed was someone who appreciates me because of these qualities, not in spite of them. Lady Dahlia's presence and our connection have sparked a hope within me that I scarcely dared to entertain.
Yet, I find myself yearning to share this experience with my brother. I can almost hear his teasing remarks about the matter. No doubt Dominic and Nicholas will have their share of jests, but strangely, I care little for their opinions at this moment. The prospect of a budding connection with Lady Dahlia outweighs all else… but I still cannot help the logical part of me trying to warn that this has all moved too suddenly.
My purpose in society is to secure an advantageous match to help further my family’s standing within society. While Dahlia, and the Blumetts, are well-established and powerful, it would be selfish of me to not try and find what would help the family most.
For the sake of my family, I will not be blind to the other matches presented to me. I will not let Dahlia Blumett blind me to what my goal this season is…
Letters...
This morning began in the usual manner with Dove arriving in my quarters early with correspondence from Owen, as well as the Blumetts. Troubling news awaited me. One of our ships was battered against some coastal rocks during the recent storms amd upon inspection is unusable in its current state. This is going to severely cut down production, especially after the days that were lost due to the hurricane. This represents a major blow to the mining operations, but I was not put into this position merely because of my name. I sent ahead a missive to Owen with ideas on how to get our production running again at full capacity. It is my hope that one of these measures will mitigate the impact on our bottom line.
Dominic was nearly unbearable this morning at breakfast. I cannot understand the reasoning behind his behavior towards the staff as of late. Given our closeness in age, he should recall the times when our family lacked the wealth and titles we now enjoy. I spoke with him on the matter, but as usual, my words seemed to fall on deaf ears, and he appeared to mock my concerns instead.
Mother and I received an invitation from the Blumetts for tea, as well as an opportunity to stay the night at their estate. I have little to say about this. If it were my option I would reject the invitation. I possess no interest in discussing perfumes and lace and even less in discussing suitors. Nonetheless, we have an image to uphold, and the family’s future takes precedence over my personal inclinations.
I am resigned to accept my fate. With Davinor no longer here to continue on our line of the family, the responsibility falls on me. While the Sterlings would endure through Nicolas and Dominic, I cannot bear to add to my mother's sorrow by refusing to marry.
I will take part in this societal game. I do not care to lose.
I must send out a letter in haste, hopefully ahead of my mother’s, to accept…
---
I saw Davinor again today. Perhaps these strange apparitions are merely a result of stress. Or have I gone well and truly mad?
A Decision Made
It has been decided, in the best interests of our family, that I shall assume responsibility for the mining operations left vacant by my father and brother. I embrace this decision with earnestness, for my uncle and cousins, who stand beside me, were as pivotal in the establishment of our family’s bank as I.
I am only human, however, and in the quiet recesses of my heart a melancholy settles. I devoted years to my pursuits, only to find myself retracing steps I once thought I left behind.
Nevertheless, the unity and strength of our family stand paramount. With unwavering resolve, I shall dedicate myself to the advancement of the Sterling name.
E
Three Days Post Deaths
This morning, I broke my fast in solitude, a circumstance that stirred within me a disquietude. My appetite, scarce as it has been of late, fails to reclaim its usual vigor. Days have passed in a haze of arrangements, the weighty burden of funeral preparations pressing upon me with an unexpected gravity. The intricacies and demands of organizing funerals have proven far more burdensome than I had anticipated. The demands of business, too, clamor incessantly for attention, leaving scant moments for respite.
The affairs of the bank, a source of no small concern, linger heavy upon my mind. I am left to trust in the diligence of others, praying that matters proceed favorably in my absence.
My mother, consumed by her sorrow, has withdrawn from all company, including mine. I do not fault her for this retreat, I expect it shall be some time before she emerges from the shadow of her grief.
Oh, how acutely I feel the absence of my brother.
- E
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