About CilCil
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Ranged
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Base Atk +2
TRAITS
Dragonmarks:
Mark of Death Rogue Talents:
Fast Stealth Skills:
Acrobatics +9 (3 Rank, 3 Dex, 3 Class),
Languages : Common, Elven, Giant
Possessions:
oil of magic weapon (2) potion of cure light wounds (2) potion of mage armor (2) universal solvent alchemist's spark(2) antitoxin (2) noxious smokestick (2) oil (2) mwk leather armor +1
backpack
1,561 gp, 4 sp, 5 cp SPECIAL ABILITIES :
Sneak Attack - +2d6 on flat footed enemy Trapfinding +1 on Perception and Disable Device Evasion - reflex save or half damage Trap Sense - +1 Reflex save,+1 AC Dodge vs traps Minor Change Shape : Changelings have the
Background:
rowing up amongst the filth and squalor in the under pits of Sharn, Cil always looked up to the floating city and dreamed of one day walking its graceful bridges But that was not to be, at least for some time. Survival was paramount for her and her family. Though changelings, they were not of the families that made up the majority of the criminal elite within Sharn. Utilizing their shapeshifting ways they were able to scratch out a life in the darkness. Persecution and prejudice was common, insults mainly and the occasional beating. One especially hot summer, a religious zealot began to foment a program against shapeshifters within the slum. Cil's family made preparations to leave but were too late, they were caught in a storm of hatred and intolerance. Caught out in the confusing slums below Sharn, Cil and her parents found themselves pursued by a small mob, hounding them down alleys. All was lost until a figure stepped out of a nearby alley, directing them towards a nearby hostel. Guarding their retreat, the man said enigmatically "I shouldn't be doing this, but I've stood by too much...". Tossing the hosteler a small bag of coins, he directed the man "Keep them here until the riots die down." The man then left to continue to battle the insanity of the mob, killing a number that attempted to enter the hostel. Young Cil, watched from a grimy window, noting the Denerith emblem remembering every detail of the kind man. Unfortunately, the hosteler was not a man of virtue. Seeing the opportunity to take advantage of the young changeling girl, he caused an altercation with her father resulting in his death. Fleeing, Cil and her mother were soon found by the mob once more, her mother grabbed and swallowed by the sea of people. Cil was quicker, and escaped... Somehow, she evaded all of the hunters, their fierce scowls and cries of rage searching for her here and there. But Cil was more clever than they and they eventually tired of the hunt and moved on to find easier prey. Cil allowed herself a moment to cry over her loss, but then steeled herself for what lay ahead. Emboldened by necessity, Cil made her way into the lower areas of Sharn, using her shapeshifting and her clever nature to remain undetected. Cil felt compelled to seek out the man who had saved her life. A task she accomplished easily, she began to have flowers sent on that day, occasionally she'd perch in a tree outside his house and observe him with his family, her heart aching for that which was lost. For many years she operated under the very nose of the criminal cartels of Sharn, until the day they finally caught on to her presence. Hauled before her area's prefect, Cil was sentenced to exile for operating outside the guild's notice. She was offered a deal however. She obviously had skill, but examples had to be made; she would be exiled, but if she brought back some particular information, she would be offered membership. Her childhood dream within her grasp, Cil agreed and was off the next day to the newly created Mournland. Travelling with 'official' papers, Cil changed her appearance several times on her journey to the Mournlands, her confidence growing in the unfamiliar cities and towns as she passed by unnoticed. However, it was the end of her journey that revealed her true anxiety...the final journey out into the wilderness to find the information she sought. A tower, unexpectedly whole, lay just inside the misty border. It was her destination. Cil's luck evaporated almost the moment she crossed into the Mournland. Confident in her ability to move undetected, she was taken by surprise by a hideous creature, of rock and dirt....and flesh! It had herded her into a small gully, its sides made of a crumbly rock that gave no chance to climb out. Rapier at ready she tried to discern a weak point, aiming to at least hurt the creature before her untimely death, when a number of arrows thudded into
At the top of the rope was a wild looking elf, "Glad I came along when I did! I'm Saronis...". "Thanks...Cil," Cil said gratefully, keeping for now her changeling nature hidden, showing her usual half-elf persona. After a few more moments of introduction, Saronis offered to accompany Cil further into the Mournland, and Cil gratefully accepted, realizing she'd underestimated the dangers within. The pair emerged a short time later, only a few days, but a friendship had been forged. The small book she'd been tasked to find safely tucked in her tunic, the pair parted, agreeing to meet back in Sharn two months hence. Returning triumphant, Cil was accepted into the guild. Slowly over the next few years she developed a solid reputation among the criminal element in Sharn, but also branching out as a 'finder' of lost items for those not connected to the criminal underbelly. One of the things she did upon returning, was to check in on her Denerith benefactor, only to witness his sad departure from his former home. Crouched high in the eaves of a nearby tenement, she watched the man stomp away from his home, shoulders slowly drooping, the stomp slowing to a sad, sad walk. Saronis, as she came to expect, was a bit late, finally arriving in Sharn a couple of years later, his own adventures taking him all over Khorvaire. So it came to pass, a job took her out of the city, deeper into Breland. A simple delivery. On the return leg, Cil was taking shelter from the inclement weather, in a ramshackle but respectable inn. Sharing the empty taproom with her was a girl, obviously running away from something. A bit lonely herself, Cil engaged the shy girl in conversation and after a glass of wine, the two were talking like old friends. After some time, the rain had stopped, Cil had to return to the road to Sharn. "If you're ever in Sharn, look me up at the Dusty Tankard." she said, then disappeared into the misty night. ---- Many months on, Cil is sitting in her room, contemplating an offer she had just received. One of her more eccentric clients wanted her to put a team together, the purpose...a mystery. However, each of his previous
Appearance and personality:
When not shifted, Cil appears as a pale changeling, wide cloud colored eyes in an almost featurless face. Tallish for her race, she sports seemingly thin and unsubstantial limbs, belied when she moves with grace and power; especially if she dances. Usually to be found wearing greyed leathers, with a full cload and hood drawn up to conceal her nature, the observant notices the profusion of knives places about her body. Fit and agile, she presents a fully capable figure, despite her inclination to avoid notice. Circumspect, Cil generally keeps to herself, a lifetime of survival is hard to forget. Also, most immediately are suspicious of her, prejudice is hard to escape. However, she has a ready wit and when accepted as an equal, has the capacity to be generous and welcoming of friendship.
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