Talithia Foundling's page

Talithia: But what of the maid? We are not mindless killers. We kill only when we absolutely must, or by contract.

Talithia clicks her tongue in irritation. "I can name you three different scenarios that don't require her death." She counts off on her fingers. "In the ideal scenario she doesn't exist. With enough time I can forge a false identity, find employment with the household, and simply discard her name after the job. Second would be to have her intercepted before she reached the household that day. Confederates would be useful, but if required I could restrain her myself at her home the night before. Third would be to ambush her at the mansion itself. A blow to the back of the head and a nap in the broom closet in intelligent but can suffice in a tight spot. Satisfied?" Her glare dares the questioner to argue.

This is Groth again. I had some spare time and the character came together quickly, so I went ahead and wrote her up. If that doesn't sit right I'll adjust things or do someone else. So let me present Talithia Foundling, half-elven ninja.

What can you bring to our organization?

The half-eleven woman gives her questioner a cold stare. "You sought me out to recruit me, so you know very well what talents are. But very well." She curtsies with exaggerated politeness. "My name is Talithia Foundling. My preferred tools of murder are disguise and poison, though I'm decently skilled with a knife in a tight spot. I suppose in a cooperative venture I'd be valuable for my ability to infiltrate a location, report on the defenses, and open doors from the inside. Does that please you?"

Why should we trust you?

One eyebrow raises in surprise. "Trust? An odd question in our profession. I believe you can trust me for two reasons. The first is that if you deliver on your promise of reliable work and good pay I would have no reason to turn against you. The second is that you've already proven I have no defense against your best assassins if I give you cause." She shrugs. "Your letter spoke poorly of fanatical devotion to any cause or faith, so can you honestly expect more than that?"

What future do you see with us?

"Well, that depends very much on who you are and what advancement you offer." She smooths her skirt to check on her hidden knives one more time. "I'd like to be wealthy, I suppose. Enough so that I can wear nice dresses and eat good food every day. If I find your organization pleasant enough to associate with you for more than business, I should like to rise to a rank that recognizes my talents. My future stretches a good many decades more than humans, so I try not to plan more than a single one ahead."

How religious are you?

A slightly bitter note creeps into Talithia's voice. "Foundling is not a family name, you know. It's given to the babes left with the temple. I was raised by the priestesses of Calistria and taught in her ways of service. I was good at it, too. However I was also good at killing people, and felt nothing wrong with using my talent to help others in search of revenge. The priestesses disagreed, and so now I am here." With a tiny shake of her head the mask of detachment settles in place again. "I still hold some fondness for Calistria, but I show my faith in my own way. If you're worried about conflicting loyalties I can promise that I have no connection to the temple anymore."

Your target is sitting in his study smoking a pipe. Next to him is his prized warhound. Across from him his maid is quietly dusting the mantle of the well lit fireplace where a blaze is going brightly on top of the stone floor of the hearth. Thus far you are unseen. What do you do?

She closes her eyes to picture the scene and taps her chin in thought. "If this were my plan, than the maid is myself in a disguise. I'd have dosed the old man's tobacco with oil of taggit when I brought the pouch to him. I need only wait for it to put him to sleep. Then I'll feed the hound some dinner scraps similarly dosed. With both helpless I can easily slit his throat." She nods firmly and looks up. "Depending on the request I can leave him like that, or use some lamp oil to make it seem as if he fell asleep smoking and accidentally immolated himself. Then I'd slip out the side window, switch my disguise to a courier boy, and make my escape."