Ariana "Ari" Malvik
We're doing theme songs now?
Gender: Female
Race: Variant Human
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Class: Barbarian 1 / Rogue 1
Background: Urchin
Passive Perception: 11
Passive Investigation: 9
Passive Insight: 9
HP: 24
Hit Dice: 1d12 + 1d8
AC: 17
Initiative: +2
Size: Medium
Speed: 30
"And I was running far away,
Would I run off the world someday?"
Abilities & Skills
Proficiency Bonus: +2
STR
DEX
CON
INT
WIS
CHA
16
(+3)
14
(+2)
16
(+3)
8
(-1)
8
(-1)
10
(+0)
Save +5
Save +2
Save +5
Save -1
Save -1
Save +0
Athletics +7 (Expert)
Acrobatics +4
Sleight of Hand +4
Stealth +4
Arcana -1
History -1
Investigation -1
Nature -1
Religion -1
Animal Handling -1
Insight -1
Medicine -1
Perception +1
Survival -1
Deception +0
Intimidation +2
Performance +0
Persuasion +0
Proficiencies
Languages
Class Features
Racial Features
Feats
Light Armor
Medium Armor
Shields
Martial Weapons
Simple Weapons
Disguise Kit
Poisoner's Kit
Thieves Tools (Expert)
Common
Elvish
Thieves' Cant
Barbarian Features
Barbarian Rage (Damage: +2)PHB, pg. 48
As a bonus action enter a rage for up to 1 minute (10 rounds).
You gain advantage on STR checks and saving throws (not attacks), +2 melee damage with STR weapons, resistance to bludgeoning, piercing, slashing damage. You can't cast or concentrate on spells while raging.
Your rage ends early if you are knocked unconscious or if your turn ends and you haven’t attacked a hostile creature since your last turn or taken damage since then. You can also end your rage as a bonus action.
Unarmored DefensePHB, pg. 48
While not wearing armor, your AC equals 10 + DEX modifier + CON modifier + any shield bonus.
Rogue Features
ExpertisePHB, pg. 96
Your proficiency bonus is doubled for any ability check you make for two chosen proficiencies.
Athletics
Thieves' Tools
Sneak Attack (1d6)PHB, pg. 96
Once per turn, you can deal an extra 1d6 damage to one creature you hit with an attack with a finesse or ranged weapon if you have advantage on the attack roll. You don’t need advantage on the attack roll if another enemy of the target is within 5 ft. of it, that enemy isn’t incapacitated, and you don’t have disadvantage on the attack roll.
Thieves' CantPHB, pg. 96
You have learned thieves’ cant, a secret mix of dialect, jargon, and code that allows you to hide messages in seemingly normal conversation. It takes four times longer to convey such a message than it does to speak the same idea plainly.
Variant Human
LanguagesBR, pg. 31
You can speak, red, and write Common and one extra language.
Elvish
Ability Score IncreaseBR, pg. 31
Two different ability scores of your choice increase by 1.
Strength
Constitution
SkillsBR, pg. 31
You gain proficiency in one skill of your choice.
Perception
FeatBR, pg. 31
You gain one feat of your choice.
Eldritch Adept
Eldritch Adept (Devil's Sight)TCoE, pg. 79
You learn one Eldritch Invocation option of your choice from the warlock class. If the invocation has a prerequisite, you can choose that invocation only if you’re a warlock and only if you meet the prerequisite.
Whenever you gain a level, you can replace the invocation with another one from the warlock class.
Devil’s Sight PHB, pg. 110
You can see normally in darkness, both magical and nonmagical, to a distance of 120 ft.
Attacks
Weapon
To Hit
Damage
Type/(Range)
Rapier
Javelin
Unarmed Strike
+5
+5
+5
1d8+3
1d6+3
4
Piercing
Piercing (30/120)
Bludgeoning
Money
Copper: 6 Silver: 12 Gold: 5 Platinum: 0 (23 Coins * .02 lbs. = 0.46 lbs. Total Weight)
Encumbrance
Weight: 89.96 lbs / 240 lbs. max.
Status: Unencumbered
Penalty: None
Push, Drag, or Lift: 480 lbs.
Equipment Readied
Equipped Items: (31.0 lbs.)
Armor (10 lbs.)
Weapons (10 lbs.)
Readied Items (11 lbs.)
Traveler's Clothes (4 lbs.)
Shield (6 lbs.)
Rapier (2 lbs.)
4 x Javelin (8 lbs.)
Small Knife (- lbs.)
Pouch #1: (1 lbs.)
- Bell (- lbs.)
- Caltrops, Bag of 20 (2 lbs.)
- 5 x Chalk (1 Piece) (- lbs.)
- Dice set (- lbs.)
- Signal Whistle (- lbs.)
- String, 10 ft. (- lbs.)
- Whetstone (1 lbs.)
Pouch #2: (1 lbs.)
- 2 x Flask (2 lbs.)
- 3 x Oil (flask) (3 lbs.)
- Tinderbox (1 lbs.)
Equipment Stored
Stored Items: (58.5 lbs.)
In Backpack (31.5 lbs.) * Includes 5 lbs. for backpack
Strapped To Backpack (27 lbs.)
Hammer (3 lbs.)
Mess Kit (1 lbs.)
10 x Piton (2.5 lbs.)
10 x Rations (1 day) (20 lbs.)
2 x Soap
Bedroll (7 lbs.)
Crowbar (5 lbs.)
Rope, Hempen (10 lbs.)
Waterskin (5 lbs.)
Magic Items
Magic Items: (0.0 lbs.)
Non-Attuned (0.0 lbs.)
Attuned 0/3 (0.0 lbs.)
Character Overview
Appearance
Age: 24
Height: 5' 9"
Weight: 143 lbs.
Hair: Raven black
Eyes: Black iris, cloudy gray pupil
Complexion: Rich sepia, reddish-brown with warm undertones; patches of light tawny
The smell of soap and leather fill the air as she paces about the room, her clothes laid out in order on the bed. They were all just recently cleaned, the linen washed in the now empty basin, the leather scraped and oiled, the burnished brass fittings polished. It had been a while since she could afford to put up in such a nice inn and take the time to thoroughly scrub out the grime of the road. She ran her fingers through her hair, roughly combing out the knots and gathering it up in to easily manipulated bundles; her hands worked with a practiced speed and deftness, twisting and spinning and wrapping her raven hair first in to braids and then in to a bun secured with a length of ash wood through the center. It was all part of her regular routine, but it took time and concentration to get it just right; the silver mirror on the wall reflected back a job well done. It also reflected the numerous scars that marred her body, countless off-color marks across her otherwise deep sepia skin, the light from the lanterns playing off the rich red-brown tones and warm fiery undertones, flickering across a scattered patchwork of lighter tawny. They were the tapestry of a hard life, a map of every scrap she'd gotten herself in to and every cutter she'd crossed.
She caught herself humming as she dressed, each new article of clothing punctuated by a new verse or a change in the tune. Simple woolen hose laced tight and comfortable knee length linen riding breeches secured with brass clasps, cinched up tight with a well oiled and well worn leather belt. The plain linen tunic disappeared beneath her jacket as she folded the overlapping flaps closed over her chest, securing the toggles and smoothing out any wrinkles. She sniffed at the leather and ran her fingers over the rich red surface, admiring the dye work and the supple feel, the doeskin like velvet under her fingers. With a click and a clack she secured the pads in place, another layer of protection not just for her but also for the jacket; pleated and parti-colored checkerboard sections cut from gambesons, and a rougher steerhide leather layer fastened to the jacket that held up well to the movement and abuse of her daily work. And with a creak she pulled on her boots, made from more well oiled leather, thick and sturdy and trustworthy, secured with buckled straps and tipped in steel, a necessary consideration. A pair of doeskin gloves completed her ensemble, a matched set that came with the jacket and bore the same rich red dye, and there was no material better for her work, supple yet not a rip or tear to be found despite long hours of wear.
"Come and dance now, firecracker..."
She laughed as she stepped to the rhythm in her head, the metal tips of her boots clicking as she turned and whirled about the room, punctuating the movement with a sudden clap of her hands above her head. She was almost ready for the night, her eyes passing over the last of her outfit laid bare on the bed. Her mother's sword in its scabbard, wrapped in her swordbelt, with buckler sitting next to it. She took a moment to run her fingers along the hilt, the wire wrapped grip, the elaborate twisted basket guard and heavy ball pommel. She grabbed it and flicked it free of the scabbard, a quick flourish to present the blade to the light. It had been with her many years now and still she lost herself in the whetted steel. She spun and jumped in time to the song that played on in her imagination, careful to keep the weapon close and always in control. With a sigh she came back to the moment and sheathed the sword, snapping up the belt in the same motion and securing both around her waist. The buckler snapped in to place over the scabbard and she continued on with her preparations, securing pouches to her belt and settling the contents, packing away her things in to her pack. With a parting glance in the mirror and a second to meet her own eye, the warrior slipped out the door and in to the night. She had work to do.
Personality Quirks:
Drunkard: Always ready for a drink, and never sleeps willingly without one.
Suspicious: Looking over her shoulder, and always keeping her back to the wall.
Forward: When she knows what she wants, she isn't afraid to say it.
Quick Temper: But she doesn't get loud when angry, she gets quiet and seethes.
Oral Fixation: Constantly chewing on something, usually a twig or bit of wood.
Clean: Always tries to keep soap with her, and insists on bathing regularly.
Dancer: Loves to dance, even if she doesn't get to do it often.
Background
PHB: Urchin
Urchin Background: City SecretsYou know the secret patterns and flow to cities and can find passages through the urban sprawl that others would miss. When you are not in combat, you (and companions you lead) can travel between any two locations in the city twice as fast as your speed would normally allow.
Personality Traits: I sleep with my back to a wall or tree, with everything I own wrapped in a bundle in my arms.
I hide scraps of food and trinkets away in my pockets.
Ideal: People. I help the people who help me - that's what keeps us alive. (Neutral)
Bond: No one else should have to endure the hardships I've been through.
Flaw: I'd rather kill someone in their sleep than fight fair.
Backstory, the short version.
Her family ran afoul of an unknown group of 'men in red robes' when she was still a young girl, resulting in the violent deaths of her mother and father, and the burning of her home. Most of the family's belongings are destroyed or missing, but she finds a stash of her mother's things among the rubble: a sword and shield, used by her mother during her adventuring days. She takes them and promises to keep the fight going as long as she is alive. She scars one of the men in red during her escape from the home, forever marking him in her memory.
Four months later, as she awaits word of family at an orphanage in Baldur's Gate, she encounters the man in red with the scar on his hand looking for her and others among the orphans. She flees the orphanage, and spends the rest of her life on the streets of the city, keeping a low profile, learning to live by any means necessary. She doesn't see the man in red again for quite some time, but she hears disturbing things about events surrounding men like him; whispers of dragons and raiders in the night.
She takes any job she can get to survive, even stealing and fencing little valuables as needed; she spends a lot of time working as a dockhand and valet, loading carriages and caravans with supplies headed for distant places. She dreams of leaving the city behind and living a better life, knowing that coin could buy her way. She learns her way around a sword and a knife to stay safe in an ever changing city, and steals when she can't earn enough coin to get by; she learns that knowing her way around a sword is a good skill, one that can be parleyed in to steady work.
Six years after the death of her parents, she has another encounter with the man in red in a cruel twist of fate. He permanently blinds her during the ensuing fight, but is chased off by other caravan guards and friends she had made. She spends the next few months trying to adjust to the sudden loss of sight. She is despondent, and withdraws from her friends and companions.
A chance encounter with an unknown person presents her with an opportunity: the gift of sight restored in exchange for a little dirty work. She takes the deal and regains her sight, with a major change in the appearance of her eyes. A few bodies more to add to the weight on her mind was a small price to pay; she had plans to add many more in good time, and the darkness grew a little more inside her. She dreams of torture for the man in red, and all those like him. She dreams of many things now, strange visions she'd never experienced before; she dismisses them as a side effect of whatever gave her back her sight.
She spends the next couple years just living as well as she can, working as a valet or guard for any company that needs the extra hands. She starts to experience strange dreams from time to time, visions of destruction and death that disturb her to the core, and in all them are the men in red robes. It's when she starts to see these visions during her waking hours that she decides she can't simply live her life and ignore what was happening. And she learns she isn't the only one experiencing these dreams. It's time to find out what is going on.
Her last dream showed the town of Greenest, a little hamlet to the southeast of Baldur's Gate, and a stopping point for one of the next caravans heading out. She immediately signs on as an extra guard, and readies her equipment. She is eager to get on the road, and find out what is happening.
Backstory, but much longer.
Thwack!
The knife stood out from the log, quivering, the blade buried in the wood. Rough, calloused hands, hands that had known nothing but hard work for many years, reached out and clasped the handle. Almost without effort, a swift twist of the wrist, a flex of the fingers, and the knife was wrenched free of the wood. Scars big and small, old and new, dotted the hands that caressed the knife, a tale told in her skin of the work she had done over the years. The line of callouses around the rim made by forefinger and thumb, and the thick, strong wrists on the woman told more to the right eye. She turned the knife over in her hands, the wood grip worn smooth and polished by years of handling. It was a perfect fit, made for her hands, but a bit small.
"I met him three times."
Her voice was soft, but not hushed. It was clear, heard above the snap and crackle of the fire. The knife turned in the air, tossed up with a flick of her wrist, end over end and glinting in the flickering firelight. She caught it as it fell, a quick snap, her actions carrying the effortless ease of endless practice. With another, hard Thwack! the knife hit the log, humming with a quiet menace; not quite the buzzing wasp of an arrow narrowly missing, but something to be noticed of the strength behind the toss. She sniffed and looked up from the fire, the light disappearing in to the shifting inky darkness of her eyes, but in an instant it was back and reflected in her cloudy white pupils, like a roiling fog rolling in on dark streets.
"I see his face every night. Every time I close my eyes. But I have only met him three times."
Before she continued on, she took one long, deep breath, as if to steady her nerves or... more like she was preparing to take the first step out the door on to the road, and it was going to be a long journey.
"I was a child the first time I met him, the man in the red robe. He didn't have the scar yet. I was just fourteen, if even that, and it was a late night..."
As she talked on and trailed off in to her story, the firelight cast long shadows on her face and took shape, dancing figures reflected in her eyes. It was clear that she was no longer sitting there at the campfire, surrounded by companions and friends, but back in her home in Baldur's Gate, a child sitting up at night when she should be sleeping.
Baldur's Gate
10 Years Ago
She remembers the smell of wood. Fresh cut and carved, shavings piled up on the floor of her father's workshop out back; the smell of linseed oil and beeswax, the mark of a tradesman who had been hard at work only recently. The smell of woodsmoke in a fireplace, crackling away downstairs, the pure scent of warmth and comfort. The night outside was cold and she could just make out the flickering light of torches through the fog. And echoing up the stairs, muffled by wood and weather and distance, she can just make out voices; her parents among them. She can't make out the words or what the conversation is about, but the tone and volume carry just well enough to understand. Her mother is loud, her voice a force, a hammer hitting home with every sentence; filled with anger unlike any she had heard before. But then there is her father, his voice a welcome change in tone, strong and all encompassing, like a much needed embrace after a long day, but there was something strange and unfamiliar within that familiar voice, something she hadn't heard from her father before. She didn't recognize it then, but she did now. It was fear.
And there were other voices, ones she didn't recognize. They all had been speaking at length for a while now, and her mother's voice was growing colder with every passing minute, her tone a thing of venom. Her father spoke then, his voice hesitant and halting. He was trying to find the right words for the situation, she knew, trying to sound calm and make an attempt at soothing. But what followed then were the longest moments of her life: a pause, a pregnant silence that dragged out in to eternity, barely a breath; even the fire seemed to hush itself. Crash! And the quiet was broken, replaced with the sound of breaking glass, shouting from a dozen different voices, and a ragged scream that was cut off an instant later. There was a pop and where there had been empty space in her bedroom now stood her mother. Rivulets of sweat cut channels through the mask of blood on her face, the same blood that fell in thick drops from her arm and the sword in her hand. There was a strange and wild look in her mother's eyes as she tore back the sheets and ushered Ari to her feet.
Her mother was clutching something in her other hand and a moment later the question she wanted to ask was answered, as it was thrust in to her hands. It was her knife, the one her father had made for her and had been teaching her how to use. And there beneath it was her mother's ring, a simple silver band decorated with runes and delicate knotwork engravings. She looked up from her hands and met her mother's eyes, filled with tears, and something strange and terrifying, something she recognized as wild desperation. And when her mother spoke, her voice was different; gone were the soft and soothing tones of her mother's loving voice, replaced now with hoarse rage and unendurable sadness, dripping with fear and that same mad desperation that filled her eyes. She only said one word, but it was all that was needed for her to understand just what had happened.
"Run."
Her mother didn't shout, didn't scream. But the word rang in her ears and echoed in her head until it was the only thing that she could think of, the only thing that mattered. It was then that the door exploded inward, a shower of splinters and sparks, followed by two men in red robes. Up until that moment, her memories of that night were clear as crystal, coming to her easily, but now they flash by in a blur of sights and sounds and overwhelming emotion. She remembers the face of the man in red, the terrible visage of pure hate and anger. She remembers the white flash of pain as he grabs her arm, the bones straining under his grip. She remembers the flash of red as she lashes out with her knife, and then the almost musical crash of shattering glass as she runs in the only direction she can. She remembers her chest burning with every ragged breath, the frantic thumping beat of her heart, and the streets flashing by as she listened to the last command her mother ever gave her. She ran.
Four Months Later...
Ari sat alone. She often sat in the quiet by herself these days, but it was not because she had been rejected by the others or even because she sought to push anyone away, but because she wanted the time to think. She was waiting there and had been for the past four months, ever since the death of her parents and the burning of her home left her with nowhere else to go. It had been a hard few months and sometimes she struggled to process just what happened or why. But this time alone gave her the opportunity to reflect on it all, and consider what the future had in store. She knew she had other family out there, outside the city. It was just a matter of time until they received word of what transpired, and the situation she found herself in.
Just a few more days. A week at most. They must have heard by now, right?
But she had been repeating that ever since she arrived at the group home. And she knew she wasn't the only one. When she sat alone like this she took the time to see things for how they were, and she knew her story was not unique. She hadn't spoken with many of the other children staying there, but she had spoken to a few, and found that hers wasn't even the only story that featured the men in red robes. They all varied in the details; homes broken into, families killed, some had whole villages attacked and raided by men or orcs or other beings. Stories that seemed to become all too common lately, tragedy becoming a surplus commodity in uncertain times. But for now she tried to push those stories from her mind, forget the tragedies around her that she couldn't do anything about, and even tried to push away the memories of terror and fear that haunted her. She tried to replace it all with the little glimmer of hope that she clung to. Just a few more days.
There were voices coming from the other room. This wasn't strange, people came and went in this place, and the kindly woman who cared for them all was always meeting with somebody. But as Ari sat in the quiet and absent-mindedly listened in, something caught her attention. It sprang out at her suddenly, something she had heard in passing from the snippets of conversation drifting in. It was her own name being spoken aloud. She didn't know the voice of the woman speaking, but in that instant her heart skipped a beat. It had to be her family. She sprang from the bed with the exuberance of youth and quickly grabbed her things, throwing her bag with her clothes over one shoulder and the bundle of recovered items from her home under her arm, her mother's sword and shield among them. It had been so long since she had seen or heard from any of her extended family. Was it her aunt, the one with the horde of children always clinging at her heels? Or her father's cousin down from Luskan, the beastly woman with strange tattoos she remembered from so long ago. Whoever it was, they had finally received word and clearly they cared, because they had come to take her home.
But when she entered the room the faces she was met with were not ones that she recognized. They were foreign to her, people she had never met or seen before: a woman with an empty kind smile and cold eyes, looking like any other townswoman from the markets; and a man who was only notable in just how plain he looked, made up to look the part of a woodsman but lacking the workman's hands. In their hands were her letters and confusion washed over her, quickly replaced with cold chills that made the hair at the nape of her neck stand on end. A glance around and she locked in on a face that she did recognize, not standing in the room but seen through the window standing amongst a group of grooms and valets. A man who only a few months earlier had nearly broken her arm. The same man she had fled from, leaving him with the fresh scar that stood out on the back of his hand.
Campfire
Present Day
"And so I ran. I already had everything I owned in hand, so I turned and ran out the back."
Ari turned the knife over in her hands as she spoke, her eyes unfocused and looking beyond the fire. Without taking her gaze from that distant spot she cut free another slice of hard jerky, gathering her thoughts as she worried at meat that had roughly the same flavor and texture as leather from an old saddle. It had been a while since she talked this much and she had to consider just what she wanted to share with these people gathered around her. These were her travel companions, people she would have to grow to trust with more than just stories. She had to trust them with her life. So, it stood to reason that she should share it with them. She spat in to the fire and reached for the flask at her hip, sniffing at the contents before taking a swig just to be certain that she had grabbed the right one. Brandy, and the good stuff at that. She would have to go slow with this one.
"I never went back to that home, or any of the other group homes in the city. It wasn't safe, not if they were out there looking for me. But I don't know why they would be. Get rid of the witnesses, maybe? I still don't know."
Baldur's Gate
Six Years Ago
"Cheap shot."
Ari climbed back to her feet, spitting out the blood that was filling her mouth from where she'd split her lip on her teeth. That last hit had sent her sprawling to the ground, her vision still spinning as she levered herself upright again. Clenched fists and bloody knuckles were all she had, but her opponent stood with a stone in hand, still marked with her sweat and blood where he had struck her across the face. She had her sword at her hip and her knife at her belt but she hadn't drawn them; this had started as a stand up fight and she didn't risk killing someone over an argument gone south. She swayed where she stood but stood she did, beaten and bloody but still ready to give him a fight. With a grunt and a wince she lunged at him, her teeth bared. She wasn't about to go down that easy, and he still owed her money.
It had all started over money. Most things came down to money in those days. It was the only thing that still kept her going. She had been living the last few years on her own, making coin where she could to support herself; she knew her way around the docks and the loading yards quite well by now, and had spent many an hour cleaning up stinking stables for paltry pay. It was hard at first, trying to make a living. Not many people would give work to such a young teenager, let alone a girl like her, but she proved that her back was just as strong as any other. It was painful work and left her with more bruises and blisters than coins in her pocket, but it was enough for food and sometimes a clean bed. But it wasn't as steady as she'd like and there were plenty of days she went hungry or cold and wet. Those were the worst days, the days she felt the fear creeping in, and she did everything she could to avoid them. She stole when she needed to and there were many times when she needed to; first it was food, then the occasional purse or loose coins, until she learned to slip free jewelry and trinkets and sell those.
It was when she learned just how valuable her sword was that she really began to earn coin. The sword itself wasn't valuable, just sentimental; a relic of a life gone by, an old and sturdy but well used bit of steel that used to belong to her mother. Rather, a skilled hand to wield it was the valuable part. She'd kept it with her all this time, even through the worst days where the hunger in her stomach begged her to sell it off for bread and meat, and it meant everything to her. But she didn't really know how to use it, not in those early days. It wasn't until someone spotted her holding it, searching the docks for work, that she realized how valuable it could be. She'd been approached to serve as escort and guard to a new arrival off a ship from Amn, and had a stack of coins thrust in to her hands before she could even ask the man's name. He'd told her to show him the city and keep the riff-raff away, and she did just that, though more through experience on the street than strength of arms. But that was the reality of the world that she saw then: a good sword was worth more than just the steel used to make it.
Sword, knife, shield. She learned her way around each, practicing in the long hours she had at her disposal. Her technique was raw and rough around the edges, but it kept her fed and kept her alive in the worst scraps. She wasn't nearly as graceful as her mother had once been when wielding the rapier, but she promised herself that she would learn and she took every opportunity that came up to do so. Spying on the city guard, or buying her way in to watch the dancers. She even met a pirate once, a red-skinned golden-eyed horned Teifling out of Athkatla in an extravagant blue coat, and he taught her a few tricks and techniques in exchange for word on a good tavern. Every lesson that came to her, whether earned through coin or blood, she took to heart. And she used it all to carve out a place in the city.
Outside Baldur's Gate
Four Years Ago
This is what it meant to truly hate. To feel nothing but the searing cold of anger toward another person, with nothing but the dark thoughts of harming them swirling around inside your head. That is what struck her as she saw his face among the crowd gathered in this little hamlet. She was there on a job that was like any other, something that was supposed to be simple and boring. A cart of goods needed to be delivered to some local merchant. Easy work. But now the job and the coin were the farthest things from her mind as she glared at the man with the scar on the back of his hand. In an instant her sword was in her hand, her knuckles gone white as she tightened her grip until she could feel the rush of her heart under the pain in her palm. She didn't scream or shout. The only sound that came from her was the steady step of her boots on the gravel road. It was the scream of some other woman that alerted the man to her presence.
It was a short and bloody fight. She remembered the taste of the dust off the road, the feeling of the grit in her teeth, the sweat streaming down her back and matting her hair to her face. She remembered the heat of the sun above and the splash of something wet and salty across her face as she swung and thrust her sword. Every step, every swing of her sword, every new wound opened up in another opponent, it was all drawing her closer to the confrontation she sought. It was clear that the man in red with the scar on his hand was someone important now, having so many people around him to do his bidding. But she didn't care. They were obstacles, just something getting in her way, and it was her intention to cut them all down just the same. She was just a few steps away, just another couple feet, when something hit her hard and took her off her feet. And everything went white, and then darkness slipped in to replace it.
She could feel hands grabbing her, dragging her away. She kicked and fought and found herself being restrained, but she couldn't see by what. She couldn't see anything, in fact. It had all gone dark and no matter how she rubbed and scrubbed at her eyes, her vision wouldn't clear. And her heart was pounding in her chest now, all the fury and hatred that had been fueling her draining away and leaving raw panic in its stead. She couldn't see. Why couldn't she see? What was wrong with her eyes? Why did it hurt so much? That was the only thing that flooded her mind. Why.
Campfire
Present Day
"That was the last time I saw him, the man in red. The last time I was supposed to see anything, I suppose. I killed two men that day, probably just trying to do their job just like me. But I walked in to that crowd and stuck them for doing nothing more than get in my way."
Ari's grip had tightened on the knife as she spoke on and told her story. She glanced behind her and saw nothing but the long shadows that the fire was casting, staring long and hard in to the dark before turning back to face the campfire and the rest of the group. Another deep breath in, and she steadied herself. It had been a long time since she had told this story and it played at her nerves to tell others about the incident that left her blind. Even looking back on it now, she doesn't know what really happened. It was something he had done, she knew, but what? Some spell he had cast? Something he had thrown? She shook her head and looked down at her hands, relaxing her grip on the knife and running her fingers across the well worn steel. She used it to cut herself another chunk of cheese, laying it out on a stale hardtack cracker, and chased the whole mouthful down with another swig from her flask.
"I was still learning to fend for myself again when he found me."
Baldur's Gate
Three Years Ago
"You can give me back my eyes?"
The only place that Ari felt like herself was at the bottom of a bottle in those days. That is where she often found herself, living off the last of the coin she had saved up and drinking away more and more of it each morning, noon, and night. Since losing her sight and her ability to work and earn a living, she saw no point in doing anything else. The man with the scar had gotten away from her and now she couldn't fight even if she wanted. What else did she have other than the drink? But as she sat alone at the table in this little hole in the wall tavern, someone had approached her. She could hear his voice, deep and rough like the road, and could make out a vague accent that she couldn't quite place. Athkatla? No, the other direction. Neverwinter? Waterdeep? Surely, she thought, he couldn't be all the way from Luskan. She shook her head and brought the mug back up to her lips, scoffing before taking another long drink.
"And how do you propose to do that?"
She hadn't invited the man to join her, but she could hear him drag a chair over to sit at her table. It had been a long year since she had lost the fight and her eyes, and she'd learned there was a lot she could tell about other people from sound alone. And smell. She caught his scent as he sat, salt and dust and a faint hint of ash. He was a traveler fresh in off the road, or perhaps off one of the newest ships to arrive in the harbor. And as she listened to his proposition, she found herself reaching for her drink less and less. At first she thought he was joking, just another stray looking to make fun of the blind woman. But as he talked on and explained his offer, she found herself seriously considering it. Kill a few men, and she can have her eyes back? Just like that? But how? She shook her head. The how didn't matter. He was serious. This could be her chance.
"Call me crazy, but you sound like you're serious. Okay, then. I'll do it. Why not."
That was all it took. She gave her word and he gave her five names. They were all men that she knew of, as well. The first was a foreman down at the docks, someone she had actually worked for in the past. He was easy to get close to; a few words in the right channel, a request for work or pity, and she had him alone. The next was a member of the city watch. He wasn't so easy to get to, but she found a way; a few coins to the right people could buy her way in anywhere she needed to go. Two of the others were merchants, a pair of grifters selling fake tonics. She admired the dedication to the con, but she had a job to do. The last was a bartender, and he was tricky one, always at work or keeping to himself. She had to get some help for that one, someone to fall for his charms and his doctored drinks. But she got the opportunity she needed and that was body number five left in the gutter.
The deal was done, and she had her eyes again. Or rather, she had new eyes.
Campfire
Present Day
"Life got a bit more boring after that. I could see again, so I started working again. And I just... lived, I guess. It wasn't quite the same as it had been, but life went on."
That should be all the essentials, outside my rambling prose of exposition that is the backstory. The basics are there in the short version, I just like going all in on something no one is going to read for the long version.