Oh wait heck yeah I can post backstory stuff now. Young Char as her boss's exotic threat.
*
Chaunter was not the first guest of the day. When he entered Fade’s private meeting room, the lamplight already showed a faint haze of smoke. Fortunately, the sweet smell wasn’t overpowering. Fade seemed to treasure class above excess. He diluted whatever he smoked, so that nothing too unpleasant would settle into all his fine upholstery. And possibly so that he would remain clear-headed. Certainly the elf’s green eyes were keen and unclouded now, despite how casually he reclined. The door clicked shut behind Chaunter, muffling the noise of the gambling den.
“Thank you for coming,” Fade said in his low, dry voice. He didn’t stir from his lounge.
“Always an honor,” Chaunter replied. And it could be, sometimes, but mostly it was an annoyance. Fade was as overdressed as usual in his perfectly fitted trousers and a silk shirt with embroidered cuffs. Chaunter was very well to do these days, and dressed like it, and he didn’t appreciate being made to feel like a ragamuffin every time he came in. "I hope there’s no trouble? Business seems to be going well.”
Fade tapped his lips with the stem of the pipe and smiled faintly. “It’s going very well. For both of us.”
“All thanks to you,” Chaunter put in. Damn, he’d said it too fast. He quashed the urge to fling out more flattery. Only when he felt he could sound reasonable did he continue, “The shipping business isn’t what it used to be. Dealing with you, it’s a lot easier for a halfling to make a living.”
“That’s so good to hear,” Fade replied without any particular inflection. The pipe glowed as he inhaled. He leaned his head back to blow an elegant stream of smoke into the air. Still looking at the ceiling, he said just as easily, “There were rumors you were looking into other arrangements.”
If Nethari Fade suspected something, then surely Chaunter wouldn’t be alone in a room with him, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the secondhand smoke. Chaunter scanned the dim, hazy room while Fade was looking away. Surely if there was danger, those hulking guards would be around somewhere.
Or a pair of eyes would shine from the shadowy corner.
Chaunter wrenched his gaze back with difficulty, only to find Fade already watching him sideways. The elf smiled with the pipe between his teeth. “Come out,” he said coaxingly, the way one might to a wild animal. “You’re scaring our guest.”
Fade’s Demon slid into the lamplight. The shine of the eyes disappeared into pure black depths. The rest of the face was obscured by a veil. Curling ram horns framed the head. The tail lashed in silent agitation, emphasizing the tightly coiled posture of a snake ready to strike.
“Don’t be shy,” Fade laughed.
“Hello,” Chaunter said obediently, if very, very faintly.
The Demon—the Demon, Fade’s personal half-fiendish killer—of course said nothing. It was Fade who corrected him. “Not you, Chaunter.” He held out his pipe without looking, and the Demon stepped closer to take it. For a moment, the lithe fingers held it like a weapon, testing its heft and balance. “She isn’t very friendly to outsiders,” Fade continued. He reclined again with a sigh. “Doesn’t trust them. But I’ve assured her that you’re someone to trust.”
Chaunter bobbed his head. “Of course. Thank you.”
“So these rumors…”
“All nonsense. Just gossip. Why would I need more than I have? With business going so well.”
Fade smiled benevolently. “That’s what I thought. But I wanted to be sure.” When Chaunter’s insistent nodding ceased to amuse him, Fade waved him subtly toward the door. Chaunter tried not to be obvious about sidling so that he didn’t fully turn his back. He was fumbling for the knob when Fade spoke again, as if in meaningless afterthought. “I know you’ll be completely honest with me, Chaunter.”
Fade wasn’t looking at him. But the Demon was—predatory, unblinking. “Yes, sir, of course,” Chaunter gasped out, and escaped as quickly as he could with his life. He had certain negotiations to cut short.
Love love love that Char is so insistent that she doesn't want anything to do with the mob anymore, but organized crime is the setting in which she is most comfortable and competent. She knows the rules, she knows how to talk. That's a lot of the skill set she has to fall back on when faced with a problem. Yeah, you've gone straight (ish), but aren't you still that hitman, really? Because what else do you have to bring to the table?
Many thanks, friend! I love my gender equality ttrpg character.
35. filthy
When Celeste caught her grumbling, the older tiefling said delicately, "I believe that's what you get for traipsing around the world barefoot."
"Yeah, yeah." Char sat with one ankle propped on the opposite knee. The pick in her hand was meant for horses. She hadn't used one in ages. She worked it behind her hoof and scraped out, somehow, yet more caked mud. "I didn't miss this part."
"Would you like your boots back, dear?" Celeste asked. Her tone communicated that she knew the answer and wouldn't have asked otherwise.
Char gave her a wry look. "Nah, you need them more." She shook dirt off the pick, sighed, and got back to it. "Anyway," she allowed, "it's worth the trouble."
47. crave
Alyona could take the vitriol. She deserved it, for one thing. And Julian's stubborn, rash temper had the strange effect of making her more staunchly determined to go through with this.
But his grief was so much harder. He had nightmares, sometimes, and woke up crying out. He was just a little kid. Alyona would come in to turn a lamp on and tell him he was safe. Once (later, when they almost had a routine), she put an arm around his heaving little shoulders.
Julian batted her arm away with all his might and shoved at her. "I don't want you!" he shouted. "I want Faryn." He began to cry, pressing his fists and tangled bedcovers into his face. "I want Faryn back."
Alyona sat on the edge of the bed without reaching out again. She wasn't Faryn; not even close. She left him to his tears, but she left the lamp on.
Char IS entirely without rizz, but I still think in a campaign not run by my brother she would be making some questionable friends with benefits arrangements. Aquaintances with benefits.
I feel like I'm really winning by having a female character who a) has a Lone Wolf and Cub thing going on and b) is a skilled fighter but otherwise a loser. This is gender equality
6. No grave can hold my body down.
Caught in a net | medical restraints | pinned to the wall
@zacksfairest asked for Char, and you know what? I think she got off veeeery lucky with the purgatory crime lord.
*
Char’s hands were long since numb. All she felt from the elbows up was the occasional jolt of phantom pain, her body’s attempt to tell her something was wrong. She already knew that much. Her throat was achingly dry. Her gut—it was impossible to tell what was hunger and what was cracked ribs. It all mingled together into one big agonizing throb. It would have been easier if she could have fallen unconscious. Hell, if she died, she would at least get a break before Topar brought her back.
She had no doubt that no matter how she briefly escaped, she would wake up back in Topar’s dungeon. His freezer or whatever. Char had told her colleagues to forget about her if anyone recognized her. None of them were about to turn down a guilt-free excuse to stay out of danger.
A door opened at the top of the stairs. Topar’s voice asked a question so low it was a rumble.
“The usual,” Barnes replied. His voice was higher, clipped. “Still being stoic for now.”
Char didn’t think she had been stoic at all. She’d done a lot of growling and cursing. She’d bitten one man, not that it had done much good.
“I can speed things up,” Barnes offered.
“There’s no rush.” Topar’s voice became clear just as he arrived at the bottom of the stairs. His gaze found Char immediately and remained here as he strolled over, just as unhurried as he claimed. Char stared back blankly, putting all her will into avoiding a glare—especially when she saw they each had a glass of wine.
They stopped several paces from the wall where she was chained up. Both dwarf and human examined her silently like she was a curiosity, a stopover after dinner. Finally, Topar asked, “Thirsty, Alyona?”
Char unstuck her mouth. “Yeah,” she croaked resentfully.
Topar considered her. “I see what you mean,” he told Barnes. He handed the man his wine and stepped closer. “Have a little water brought tomorrow. Half a glass.”
“Yes, sir.”
Topar was nimble for being stout as he was. Char didn’t even see his weight shift before he was putting his fist into her stomach, digging knuckles into fracturing bone. She wheezed out one of the few strings of infernal she knew by heart. He hit her again, harder, and she lost her breath. Topar made a thoughtful noise and didn’t look impressed. He took his wine glass back. “Have it your way, Barnes.”
Barnes didn’t smile. Instead, his eyes gleamed mirthlessly. He left to continue further into the underground, out of sight.
Topar stood and sipped his wine. After a few moments, he said, “Do you know why you’re here, Alyona?”
Char tried to inhale around a shooting pain up and down her side. “Because I inconvenienced you,” she answered.
He shook his head once. “I’m not petty the way Fade was. This is business.” Barnes’ quick, even footsteps returned. “You have a questionable history. I simply need to make sure that my organization makes a certain impression.”
Barnes reappeared with bright eyes and a metal club. Char gritted her teeth. “What If I told you I got the message?”
Topar subtly made way for Barnes without taking his eyes off Char. He swirled his glass. “I don’t believe you,” he replied, “yet.”
Unlike all the other goons and even Topar, when Barnes swung, he went straight for the side of her ankle. It snapped, black and red dazzling her vision. Char howled. He moved on to her knee, no matter that she tried to jerk out of the way. It didn’t break on the first try. She couldn’t lash out or shift her weight. She certainly couldn’t avoid the club. She shrieked when she felt her knee splinter at last.
“That’s better,” Topar noted. He turned to leave. “Barnes. Leave her alive.”
Barnes’ hair was out of place, and there was sweat at his hairline, but his expression remained precisely neutral. “Yes, sir.”
Perhaps the greatest benefit of playing Char in a tabletop game is that bad rolls make just as much character sense and play just as easily as good ones. Yes, she generally considers herself good at her job. But when she falls on her ass, it's just as well. Lots of things worked together to leave her utterly indifferent to dignity:
Her youthful need to be taken seriously and respected as skilled and cool was part of what led her to organized crime and ruining her life
She's fully aware that she became a terrible person and does not deserve consideration or grace
She raised a boy into his teens and he refused to be impressed by anything she did
Put all that together, and you get a woman who just sighs and moves on when I roll a natural 1.
