Hecate Reeve's page

Hecate sits - slumps, rather - in her chair; her manacled hands are fastened securely behind her back, and her head rests on the table in front of her. She hasn't slept since her arrest. She knows why they won't let her sleep - she's not to regain her powers. Stupid. They're so scared of her. She doesn't mean them any harm. She just wants to go back to her dormitory. She has exams to revise for...

Her interrogator, sitting opposite her, looks well-rested and neat; she feels dishevelled by comparison. She is dishevelled. Gently, the inquisitor reaches out, lifting up her face to look him in the eyes. "So, Miss Reeve. We'd just got to the point where you forsook all decency and delved into forbidden studies. We have your notes, by the way; and I should point out that the mere fact they're written in - in that language is a serious crime in itself."

Infernal. It's called Infernal. WHY are you so AFRAID of it?! It's just knowledge! That's all I was after!

Hecate remains silent. No point in saying anything, now.

Her interrogator flips through his notes. "Miss Reeve. My, my, my. What a busy life you've led. Top of your classes, scholarship student to the Academy - you know how generous that was, don't you? Normally only the sons of the nobility get the chance to study the arcane arts."

Yes, and this 'mere commoner' outstripped them all! I even managed to find time for my other studies, too - the ones you're too afraid to even mention.

Hecate feels a brief glow of pride, but still says nothing.

Her interrogator frowns. "But, despite all that, it wasn't enough was it? You wanted more - you wanted the forbidden knowledge, the dangerous texts. Not only that, you delved into ways and means of casting that are not permitted - blood magics. Such things are banned for a reason, Miss Reeve. They are not safe. They can cause great harm to the caster. Magic is to be respected, to be channelled safely."

Ha, yes - wizards need expensive components and verbal incantations and spellbooks - I managed to find ways around that; I should be rewarded for my research!

Still, Hecate remains silent.

The inquisitor gives a deep sigh. "I understand, Miss Reeve; really, I do; some of it, anyway. You were in the Academy: a place that values knowledge; and yet some knowledge was deliberately being ignored. What harm in curiosity, you are doubtless thinking, yes? Well it stopped being curiosity when you made a pact with that devil. Oh yes, we know about that - it's all in your notes. Tell me, Miss Reeve, what did it offer? Eternal life? Riches? Power?"

"Appreciation." The word bursts out from her lips, despite herself. Yes, appreciation - she needed someone who knew what she had done, the lengths she'd gone to: piecing together the Infernal language from mere fragmentary scraps, teaching herself; the letters she had forged to get access to the forbidden archive; the fact that she had put together - from first principles, no less - a new casting tradition that dispensed with the need for components, for spellbooks: you simply channel the raw magic directly through your own body. Yes, there are a few drawbacks, but oh, the ecstasy of it all! So when she'd finally drawn the pentagram in her own blood and something had answered her call - and been so very, very flattering - of course she had been gratified! Who would not have been?!

Her interrogator looks almost infinitely sad. "And so you admit your crimes. The worst of crimes: consorting with the dark powers. Miss Reeve - Hecate - you have a choice to make, now." He puts a piece of paper in front of her. "You can sign this confession, and we will deal with you fairly and in private. Or, you can refuse and we will put you on trial. We have enough evidence to convict. What will that do to your family, Hecate? Or are you so utterly beyond redemption that you no longer care?"

A pause. "I believe in you, Hecate. I refuse to believe that such a promising student could so forsake their humanity as to be beyond the reach of Mitra. Prove to me that you care for others; spare your family this suffering. Sign the confession and return to Mitra's light."

Hecate is silent. She doesn't think that what she did was wrong; the full extent of the trouble that she is in has not fully sunk in, even now. Her family! So proud, so very proud of her; the scholarship student who was clever enough to make it into the Academy! What shame and disgrace will fall on them?

A solitary tear runs down the girl's cheek and she nods. She is sorry to have caused this trouble. She didn't mean to. Maybe if she repents obviously enough, they'll let her back in to the Academy. With a deep, shuddering sigh, she picks up the pen and signs the confession. It lists no more than the truth of what she did, after all.

The inquisitor sighs too, deeply; almost painfully. "Miss Hecate Reeve, you have admitted to your guilt in consorting with the dark powers. There is only one penalty for that: death by burning at the stake." He looks straight into her eyes. "I am sorry. I wish it were otherwise. But the devil you have bound yourself to can come into this realm through you - the only way to sever that link is with your death. I truly, truly, regret this. But may Mitra have mercy on your soul."

Hecate sits, frozen, disbelieving. But - but she said she's sorry! "NO!" It's a howl, a snarl, a cry, all at once - she lunges at her interrogator, but the chains hold her fast and she slumps again, her head falling against the table. "No, no, no, no...."

She barely even feels the guards lifting her up and dragging her away to her fate. But by all the gods - by Asmodeus's black heart - she will be revenged on them. She will be revenged on them ALL...

Hecate is addicted to magic, and her appearance reflects that. Even her lack of physical development owes less to her premature birth than to to her persistent failure to eat or sleep properly: both of these activities, in Hecate's view, are annoying distractions from the business of reading and studying magic, or casting it. In general, she doesn't so much sleep as pass out (albeit blissfully); usually from having tried to channel more magic than she can cope with.

Thus, although aged 17, Hecate looks considerably younger, a fact which has brought her a degree of mockery (some of it friendly, some of it... less so) from her peers. She has dealt with this the way she has dealt with everything else: by ignoring it and retreating further into her books. Her sole concession to her gaunt face and toast-rack ribs is in wearing concealing, draped cloaks or robes in an attempt to conceal her starveling frame from prying eyes. Besides, who needs other people when the magic is there, just waiting to be enjoyed?

Otherwise, she is of average height, with undistinguished mousy brown hair and dark eyes.

Hecate's middle-class, respectable upbringing is vastly at odds with that of the nobility who study at the Academy, and this has somewhat dented her confidence and her social skills. Her withdrawn nature is a learned reflex, and her natural inclination is to be friendly - if slightly shy. She is deeply aware of her own unworldliness, and outside of her own narrow areas of expertise tends to defer to others; anyone clueless but confident is likely to fool her for quite a while before she catches on.

Her quiet nature masks a determined devotion to the tenets of Diabolism, which she discovered during her research in the forbidden archives; to her, it makes so much more sense than the ridiculous Mitran concepts she has been forced to learn. Take charity for example: why is she required to give her time (precious time that could be spent doing sweet, sweet, magic) and energy to those who are too stupid to work out how to better themselves?

Her evils thus far have been more notional than actually applied (beyond the contract she forged with Bathalazar, her devil companion), but things can - and do - change swiftly...

Devlin Reeve: Hecate's father, a successful clerk-cum-lawyer in Ammon, a small town a day's ride from Matharyn, the capital of Talingarde. Well-respected by his neighbours and clients, he is a devout Mitran with a secret that even Hecate doesn't know: his own father, Bertrand, was a cultist of Asmodeus who died in the purges when Devlin was very young. Devlin has done his best to forget this past and has brought both his children up (single-handed: his wife Martella died giving birth to Hecate and her brother - Hecate barely survived herself) in the Mitran tradition.

Ajax Reeve: Hecate's twin brother; he was unaffected by their traumatic birth and has grown up strong, tall and handsome. Recently accepted as a squire in the Knights of the Alerion, Ajax put all his considerable energy when they were growing up into learning swordplay and martial things. Hecate adores him, but they have almost nothing in common.

The Hon. Jellicoe Dalcourt: a half-elf noble of House Barca and a scion of perfection - and he knows it. From his slim, perfect face to his elegant dapper boots, he is every inch the gentleman. Except in his behaviour: he sneered at Hecate during her first week at the Academy for passing the port to the right; furious and embarrassed, she has devoted hours of her time to learning everything about noble etiquette so she would never be caught out that way again. Annoyingly, he's also deeply intelligent - almost a match for Hecate's own intellect: where she has won first prize in her classes, Jellicoe is guaranteed to come second. He has not taken this well, being convinced of his noble superiority. If he wasn't so capable of being charming, Hecate would hate him. As it is, they have had a deep rivalry, which has ended only because of her arrest and imprisonment.

Professor Standish Purjoss: Hecate's favourite teacher, without a doubt. A former adventurer, he looks nothing like a 'typical' wizard and will often halt his lessons to talk about practical applications of magic with reference to his past. "Ya gotta get outta the library" is his constant refrain; well, Hecate has. It was Professor Purjoss' signature that she forged to get access to the forbidden archives; she is sufficiently fond of him that she (almost) felt bad about it. Standish will doubtless be appalled and heartbroken that his favourite, most gifted student has fallen so catastrophically; he is a devout Mitran.

Bathalazar: Hecate's devil companion. He is cheerful, genial and apparently easygoing. Hecate suspects he's not terribly bright, but she doesn't need brains; she needs brawn and an appreciative audience, both of which Bathalazar supplies in earnest.

Lvl 1: favoured class +1 hp
Lvl 2: favoured class +1 hp
Lvl 3: favoured class +1 spell