Mother said my father was beautiful, the most handsome man she'd ever met. I wouldn't know; she only saw him the one night, just long enough for him to seed me in her womb. Kella's papa was overjoyed that he and Mama were to have another child - until he found out I wasn't his. She tried to convince him otherwise, but my hair was too bright red, my eyes too intensely green, the point of my ears unmistakable. He left, and Mama, Kella and me were on our own.
We ended up living in the smallest, dingiest room of the tavern Mama worked at. It seemed Mama was always working, either wading through the sea of tables carrying drinks or setting herself up to entertain in one of the other rooms above. It fell to Kella to take care of me most of the time, and she didn't do it happily. She told me it was my fault that we had to live like this, my fault that her papa had left, and she pushed and pinched and kicked more with every re-telling.
As Kella grew, I watched as she began to spend more time on the barroom floor, carrying trays to the tables. I watched as the men would tease and catcall. Some of the drunker ones would reach out to cup her chest or swat at her rear end as she walked by - and she let them, for the paltry few extra coins they would leave behind. I knew one day she'd end like Mama, entertaining upstairs for an endless string of customers, and I watched Mama's eyes grow deader year by year.
And I vowed that wouldn't be me. I ran and lost myself in the rush of the city when I had thirteen years. I never even saw a bill posted with my name - for all I know, Mama and Kella never even noticed I was gone.
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There's not many places to go when you're thirteen and on your own, but I found a place I could stay, a defunct inn where other sweepings of the streets like me congregated, with Rena Tallworth the keeper of the keys. She'd give us rooms if we could bring in enough to earn our keep, and I learned quickly enough from the others how to get what I needed. A flash of a hand into a belt pouch and you could buy several days' meals. Get them into a dark, quiet place and swing a sturdy bottle in hand a few times, and you'd have the time for a proper search, pay your way for a fortnight or more.
Sometimes other people would try to take my marks, or give me trouble as I was going back to my room at Rena's. I figured out quick how to take anything at hand and make it work to get rid of them. Once the boy in the next room tried to sneak in and slip his hand under my skirt while I was having a drink. When I smashed the bottle over his head, he got the hint. When he asked nicely, he got to split the other bottle with me.
Were there flashes of guilt, digging through someone else's possessions or smacking them with garbage? Sure. But at least there, I earned my way with my own hands, not flat on my back for dirty old men reeking of liquor. What I took, I had fought for, and won. Law of the urban jungle.
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The shiny gold compass around the gnome's neck was a tasty target. It'd buy meals for a month or more, maybe even a couple of bottles of good wine, and the gnome looked to be my easiest mark in ages.
Boy, was I wrong.
I don't know how, but somehow he heard me coming. I took a swing with the stone in my fist, he shouted a few words in a weird language and wiggled his fingers, and suddenly the edges of his form blurred, and where he'd been a second before I swung through empty air. I tried again to knock him, and a few more weird words later, I was flat on my back at the bottom of a deep hole, wind knocked from my lungs and fighting to stay conscious.
I laid there for a few moments and caught my breath, then got to my feet. When the floor began to rise under me, I rode with it. I stalked after his retreating form, stone raised above my head to strike - and with a few words and a wave, there it stayed, though I tried with all my might to bring it down on his stupid orange curls.
Hmm. A persistent one. He circled around me while I seethed internally, unable to move. And strong, too. Fairly sneaky... He cocked his head to the side, looking at me as if he was buying a horse at market.
You want a job?
His magics faded, but I stayed in place. Wait...what?
A job. You're skilled, clearly, but you also seem to be lacking a productive outlet for those skills. Take my offer or leave it - but the Pathfinders reward their own handsomely.
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His name was Geradrash Laranabath, a sorcerer and long-time member of the Pathfinder Society. He took me to the Society lodge in town and introduced me to the venture-lieutenant there, who had the good grace to only wrinkle his nose at me for a second. After a few assessments of my strength and talents, I was accepted as an initiate on Geradrash's recommendation. It was hard work, but...I'd seen how my mother and half-sister earned their living, and had a taste of what my life would have been otherwise. It felt good to finally make an honest living.
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I've been with the Society for five years now. I mostly get sent out as the muscle. The formalized fighting styles the masters showed me seemed nice and all, and I learned readily from them, but as for me - I got my best training in the school of the streets. Mastering a fancy weapon is great, but when you learn to make anything into a weapon, you're never caught high and dry.
I still haven't gone home; have no idea whether Mama and Kella are still wasting away in that tavern. Still don't know who Father was, or even if he's still living. Doesn't much matter; I've got better things now.
Kaelin Terrall stands five feet, eight inches tall and weighs 155 pounds. Her hair is bright red, her eyes an intense green. She is rarely seen without several gaudy pieces of jewelry and richly embroidered clothing - after all, she can afford it now.
With very little early education in decorum and conversational niceties, Kaelin is not much of one for polite society. She feels much more at home in a run-down winesink than a formal banquet hall, though she's usually ordering the most expensive thing the grog shop offers. Her skill and strength manifest in a fairly apparent arrogance. The stares and catcalls that bothered her at home aren't as troublesome to her now, as she stands a good chance of sending any of them to the ground if they try anything.
