[ Elizabeth Henstridge | she/her ] A new face takes refuge under Dark Skies. Blakely Locke, a 33 year old human, is one of those from the PRESENT learning to navigate this changed world. People say behind her back that she’s cold but the truth is that she’s really compassionate. Their style can best be described as soft academic / practical professional (knits, glasses, case-file chic), and we’ll see how that helps them fit in.
𖤐 Blakely "Blake" Locke
Faceclaim: Elizabeth Henstridge Age: 33 Species: Human Timeline: Present Occupation: Forensic Linguist / Occult Translator (consultant for cold cases and supernatural crime scenes) Affiliation: None (neutral contractor; keeps distance from factions) Residence: Falls District, New Mystic Orleans Falls
✦ Aesthetic Snapshot
Soft knits • ink-smudged fingers Wire-frame glasses • neat buns Stacks of annotated case files Rainy window light • tea gone cold Quiet rooms where secrets get decoded
✦ Personality
Calm under pressure. Empathetic, meticulous, stubbornly ethical. Dry humor when the tension breaks. Keeps promises even when it costs her. Believes language is the last truth people can’t hide from.
✦ Background
Blakely Locke learned to listen to what people didn’t say.
She grew up in a small Gulf Coast town where hurricanes were named and grief wasn’t. Her mother kept ledgers for the marina and taught Blakely that numbers tell the truth even when people don’t. Her father was a harbor master who knew every tide by heart and went missing during a late-season storm when Blakely was thirteen. The Coast Guard called it an accident. Blakely learned to call it a pattern: boats that went out too late, radios that went quiet too quickly, men who didn’t come home. Absence taught her how to read silence.
Language became her way back to certainty. She devoured linguistics, learned to hear cadence before content, intent before confession. In college, she picked up cryptography and forensic phonetics as electives—just enough to notice when someone was lying with their mouth while telling the truth with their rhythm. A professor noticed her talent and funneled her into consulting work for cold cases that hinged on coded letters, threats written in archaic scripts, and recordings degraded beyond easy comprehension. Blakely learned to rebuild meaning from fragments.
The Merge changed the kind of fragments the city produced.
Suddenly, cases arrived bearing sigils that didn’t belong to any living language, threat letters stitched with ritual cadence, recordings where voices layered over themselves as if two throats spoke at once. Blakely didn’t chase explanations. She chased structure. She learned the grammar of wards, the syntax of binding phrases, the phonemes that made certain symbols “bite.” She refused to pick sides—refused to let her work become a weapon for any faction. Her rule stayed simple: translate the truth; don’t participate in harm.
That rule cost her.
A translation she delivered—clean, correct—was used to spring a trap on a witness who thought the words meant sanctuary. The witness survived. Others did not. Blakely testified anyway, knowing her accuracy would be used against people who didn’t deserve it. She stopped sleeping for a while. She started locking her notes in two places. She began insisting on written scope-of-work agreements that limited how her translations could be used. Some clients walked. Others stayed—and learned to fear the paper trail.
Blakely moved to New Mystic Orleans Falls because the city sits at the fault line of language and power. If words can wound, this is where they learn how. She set up a small consultancy in the Falls District—part office, part archive—where she keeps battered dictionaries beside digital spectrograms and hand-copied ward keys. She doesn’t carry a weapon. She carries context. When she steps into a room, she listens to the rhythm before the argument. She asks for the original text. She refuses summaries.
There are nights she walks home with her hood up and her phone off, because knowing how to read threats makes you better at hearing them everywhere. There are mornings she stands on her balcony and practices not translating the city—just letting the noise be noise. Blakely is not brave in the cinematic sense. She is brave in the way of people who keep choosing accuracy when it costs them comfort.
In a city rebuilt on borrowed time, Blakely Locke keeps the ledger of meaning. She believes that words leave tracks—and that if you follow them far enough, you can sometimes keep people from disappearing into the silence.
✦ Skills
• Forensic linguistics & codebreaking • Translation of archaic scripts/sigils • Pattern analysis & cryptography • Courtroom testimony • Meticulous documentation
✦ Weaknesses
• Physically vulnerable • Refuses armed escorts unless mandated • Overcommits to cases • Haunted by cases that went wrong
✦ Reputation
Among investigators: “If Locke can’t read it, it can’t be read.” Among criminals: “She turns secrets into evidence.”
✦ Defining Quote
“Words leave tracks. People forget that.”
