Physical description: Short and frail, she has the look of a common waif. Just another tielfing cast out on the streets. Certainly no one important.
It's only her eyes. Deep, piercing, red-gold eyes that walk toward you on swinging hips. A full, lush mouth and a honeyed tongue telling you exactly what you'd like to hear. Soft, supple arms embracing your neck and firm round breasts pressing in to your chest.
But it's okay. You're certainly in control here.
Race: Tiefling Background: Charlatan Class: Warlock
STR 8 (-1) DEX 15 (+2) CON 14 (+2) INT 9 (-1) WIS 10 (+0) CHA 17 (+3)
HP 10 (HD:2)
AC 14
Initiative +2
Speed: 30
Proficiency +2
Alignment: LE
--Hellish Rebuke[Reaction: If damaged, target hit for 2d10;DX for half. +1d10 every lvl after 1st.] )
--Hex {Concentration:1 hour. Bonus Action} [+1d6 when I hit with attack. AND disadvantage on one chosen ability type.] (when target dies, may use bonus action on next round to continue on new target)
Spells Prepared: 2
(need 3rd spell known)
Class Abilities:
Class Features:
Saves: Widsom, Charisma
Skills: Deception, Intimidation, Slight of Hand, Religion
Class Features: The Fiend
Dark One’s Blessing
Starting at 1st level, when you reduce a hostile creature
to 0 hit points, you gain temporary hit points equal to your
Charisma modifier + your warlock level (minimum o f 1).
Invocations (2)
1)Agonizing Blast! +Cha to damage
2)D e v i l ’s Si g h t
You can see normally in darkness, both magical and
nonmagical, to a distance o f 120 feet.
Trinkets:
A set of fine clothes,
a disguise kit,
tools of the con o f your choice (ten stoppered bottles filled
with colored liquid),
belt pouch containing 15 gp
Specialty: I insinuate myself into people’s lives to prey on their
weakness and secure their fortunes.
Feature: False Identity
Trait: Flattery is my preferred trick for getting what I want.
Ideal: Aspiration. I’m determined to make something
of myself.
Bond: I owe everything to my mentor—a horrible person
who’s probably rotting in jail somewhere.
Flaw: I’m too greedy for my own good. I can’t resist taking a
risk if there’s money involved.
Backstory!
Age 23:
Sophie wondered how she would get all the blood off this knife.
Age 3:
The village of Clearwater lay like a tranquil jewel nestled on the southern reaches of the Cloakwood forest. A mixture of hunting, trapping, and wood-carving brought the small settlement enough income to feed every mouth, and enough goodwill to fear not it's neighbors, so it could remain sleepily in peace, and without walls. It took pride as a place of harmony where all races, human and elf, dwarf and tiefling, could put aside the sword and take up the plowshare.
Which is exactly how Lord Borak liked it.
The raid was over quickly. When every hut had been burned, every man of fighting age had been put to the sword, and every outspoken voice had it's head removed from it's shoulders, the boys were sent south, to the iron mines, and the girls were sent north, to the city.
The Chill had a contract to fill, and he meant to fill it.
Age 13:
"No no no!"
Sophie wilted before Mistress Syra's barbed words. She had been a lowly chargirl in the House of a Thousand Flowers since she could remember, and she desperately wanted to be promoted to Bliss-girl.
"Sophie, you need to walk like the sands of the exotic desert. Talk like the words were a river of wine pouring from your mouth. Kiss like the touch of a rose. Now try it again."
Sophie took a deep, stabilizing breath, lifted her chin, and walked slowly toward the naked young man chained to the bed. She lifted her hand as if she were carrying a tray. "Will there be anything...else, you'd be liking today, sir?"
Age 14:
The whip didn't hurt so bad. She deserved it, really. The old man had fallen -right- to sleep, and had left his signet ring right on the table.
*ouch*
Okay, maybe it hurt a little bit.
*ouch*
She had known they were after a way to infiltrate House Metaurus. It didn't matter that he was only a scholar. The ring would've given them the opportunity they needed. She hadn't been thinking.
*ouch*
Age 18:
"The council has pondered your application to be married. That has been granted."
Sophie's heart flew with joy! Hutch was everything she had ever wanted! Strong, powerful, a good protector. And a wanderer. He was her ticket out of here!
"But your petition to leave the House of a Thousand Flowers is denied. You will remain in your current position, with the addition of bringing us any intelligence on Hutch Calrin's activities. When the council deems the profit to be high enough you will murder him and await further orders."
A fire from her diabolic heritage rouse in her breast. No! This...this is too...too much. Not...not him. Anything but him.
"I...I...I won't...I won't do it. I won't do it!" she said, standing proudly.
The learned heads drew close and said words.
"But of course. You're free to go."
Age 19:
As she lay dying, the poison coursing through her veins, she kept telling Hutch it was just Filth Fever. He didn't need to know.
Age 20:
"Greetings Lord Borak, I'm sure you'll find everything is--"
"Shut up," he said, walking down the column-filled corridor, his pearl-inlaid boots making soft clacking sounds on the immaculate marble. While being an orc made people doubt his magical power, it made ordering lackeys much easier. "Every moment I'm here is not a moment I'm in Thay being fed grapes by naked elven princesses. If everything is not according to my specific instructions I'm going to start killing people until they are. Speak again and I'll set your vocal chords on fire."
Lord Borak the Despoiler had a lot of work to do. He hated interruptions.
Of course the ritual was successful. The girl--some waif who had defied the council--was brought back, but the Mind Splice had cut away any softness. All traces of altruism, benevolence or kindness had been thrown away as chaff before the wind. The Tiefling had been returned to the fold of her race: A cold-hearted killer, with unquestioning loyalty.
Age 27:
Sophie wondered how she would get all the blood off this knife. She shrugged and dropped it on the victim. Just another corpse in the big city. He won't be spilling any more secrets.
She made her way back to the bustling thoroughfare. The Council said her old boyfriend was in town.
