---

Born of a harlot in the Scarlet Quarter, Valrel never gained the satisfaction of knowing his father, though his mother would always claim the begetter to be an esteemed Juggernaut officer – whether such a claim was for the boy’s own regard or his mother’s regret, Adnos could never tell, though he developed a distrust of the law all the same. Often subject to his own care, Valrel developed a habit of making himself the head of coteries of street urchins, getting his band of misfits into trouble by picking the pockets of fattened dwarves or swiping biscuits from the window stalls of bakeries. Mostly, he did this to occupy his time away from the bordello, but he soon developed a knack for larceny and talking the other children into taking what he knew he couldn’t.
By his twelfth year, Valrel’s sly practice had assembled him a fairly substantial gang of brats and juveniles, an unfortunate number of them the children of hookers who worked in the same brothel as his own mother. A particularly fateful prowl in the Quarter one afternoon resulted in a substantially-sized stone-purse catching the boy's eye – a prize he couldn’t ignore. After careful deliberation, he and his posse were able to outwit the owner into aiding one of the younger members, while Valrel swiftly snatched the purse, replacing it with a bag of sand. However, just as his team was to make their exit, a gloved hand seized the boy's arm, throwing him off-guard as the man he believed to have fooled leaned down to inspect his catch. Expecting a fierce beating, Valrel was further surprised when the character laughed pleasantly, taking the stone-purse back and asking of the boy his name. The man called himself Lorick Vahn, and after bringing the child to his mother, observing the squalor they lived in, made a startling proposition – take the boy under his care, in exchange for supporting the woman, as she was obviously getting too old to continue her prostitution. Though initially hesitant, Valrel’s mother was fully aware of her imminent lack of income, and accepted the proposal believing her son to finally be receiving a more proper home.
Vahn’s custody proved to be a profitable, albeit profane tutelage, moving the boy into the slums of the Gray District where he could act more accordingly to his talents with significantly less penalty. The man was himself the leader of a fairly furtive company, and took the boy under his wing to show him the ropes of managing a true crew of criminals. Valrel’s fascination was piqued, and in only a few years he began conscripting full-blown heists across the district, all with the gift of Vahn’s guidance. By age twenty, Adnos Valrel was designated Second-in-Command of Lorick Vahn’s Dusthawks, a growing criminal enterprise that was beginning to truly make a name for itself in the bottom-most precinct of Lower Shenul.
Just as Valrel approached his mid-twenties, tragedy struck the organization. In 2E523, the city’s elite police force, the Juggernaut Castigates, successfully assaulted the Nest, the base of operations for the Dusthawks, at the same time the crew had organized for a meeting. The casualties were immensely one-sided, and Lorick Vahn was among the many who fell in the ensuing conflict. After the Castigates finished their onslaught, those who hadn’t been captured or killed believed a defector was among their ranks, and many members simply walked away without another word. Adnos was overwrought with grief, but the disaster didn’t end there – only a few days later, a more personal agony enveloped the young man as his mother passed away, falling ill in her middle-age. For the first time, Adnos felt the sting of loneliness, and though he was now the de facto leader of the Dusthawks, there was hardly anything that remained of the organization, and he spent the next two years looking over his shoulder, wallowing in anguish and avoiding all contact from those that wanted to rebuild the organization.
At twenty-seven, Valrel was discovered badly beaten and unconcious in an alleyway by ex-Dusthawk members, who brought him to one of their homes to help him recover from wounds that would eventually cause him to acquire a slight limp in his left leg. Though the perpetrator was unknown, Valrel recognized his necessity for companions in the crime-ridden cesspool resting in the bowels of the city. In respect of Vahn's memory and response to the calls for leadership, Valrel decided to finally head the Dusthawks and restore them to their former ill-gained glory.
While a fair amount of the old crew had made its way into other gangs, a handful of the previous membership was ready and willing to wear the hawk’s talon, and in 2E525 the Dusthawks were officially restored in a new Nest with a new chain of command. The reinvigorated enterprise saw a boom in business, as old associates of the gang had amassed countless marks for the crew to complete, and many new members were added to the ranks to keep up with demand. After only a few years, the Dusthawks seemed to be back to the same fervor they had experienced half a decade prior, and Adnos began to see the group of convicts as if they were his family.
When he received a mark from an anonymous source calling for the pilfering of a Councilman’s estate, Valrel truly recognized the scope of the Dusthawk’s influence at large. At first troubled by the mark's enigmatic origin, Valrel quickly began plotting its operation, concerned that they were not the only gang contacted by this mysterious bidder. The plan and its execution were flawlessly successful – thousands of stones-worth of regalia were pinched, plucked, and purloined from the manor, delivered expediently to the drop-off and the monumental payment was received in full. However, when news began spreading the next day of collaboration between the Dusthawks and the Lexian Resistance, Valrel immediately sought out a meeting with Rikoris Lex, the Resistance's leader, disturbed that his crew had received such publicity for their heist – the last thing that Valrel wanted was for another engagement with the Castigates.
Lex promptly accepted, and met Valrel with a proposition – aid in the overtaking of a regional Juggernaut department, and the Resistance would pay the Dusthawks thrice the amount received from the heist, as well as renounce any collusion between the two parties. Backed into a corner, Valrel had little choice but to accept – a decision that would cost him the respect of his crew and the resignation of some of his most prolific members. Regardless, the Dusthawks carried out the operation; and with the aid of the armed rioters of the Resistance, were able to infiltrate the facility and execute the Juggernaut Sergeants that were stationed there. The payment was delivered, and the leaders of the Resistance denied all connections, yet rumors still circulated of the Dusthawks’ assistance with both undertakings. Lex had gotten what he wanted, and Valrel was played the fool.
It's been five years since the gang first met the face of celebrity, and Adnos Valrel has seen countless Dusthawks come and go. Though he holds no judgement toward those that leave, Adnos still feels guilt for acting on the mark that ultimately brought about the substantial attention the Dusthawks continue to receive, putting the crew in significantly more danger than they would have otherwise. Perhaps, though, he could put such status to good use – if only Valrel knew what would be in store for them all when he does.

---

Tanulia is the oldest of two children, born to a moderately noble family in the Pale District of Glimhollow. Her brother, Tolthe, was born a year after her, and because of their ages they grew up very close. They did everything together: talked, played, and often slept in the same room. As two pure-blooded elven children, they received special attention from other noble families of pure-blood, even though their family was not the wealthiest among the nobility.
It should be noted that the family owned a small portion of the Gardens in Wid. Their home was set on the edge of the Gardens, and though it wasn't an estate, was still filled with the riches and jewels of old elven ancestry, passed down from generation to generation, collected from Eir and from time spent in Glimhollow. The home had a mere three bedrooms, one for each child and for their parents. The arches of the home were tall, elegant, and beautiful, carved by the skilled hands of elven carpenters to represent the lineage that was their family.
Tanulia and Tolthe grew up given the highest education they could receive for their nobility. They learned the languages of Peylor, as well as the history and culture of the races that occupied it. They spent long nights attempting to master the ways of elven culture, so that when the time came they could each in-turn share that knowledge with the next generation.
Tanulia learned many things from her mother; the ways of the elven woman, the ways of an elven wife, and the ways of the elven nobility. She was often pulled away to practice her handwriting, to remember important information quickly, and how to address those of all races in the most honorable and respectful of ways. Her mother used to say, “We are not the richest, we are not the most beautiful, we are not the most intelligent; but we are not peasants, we are not slaves, we are not ignorant, and only we have the power to change the way others perceive us. We have the power to command respect, to command beauty, to command intelligence and with that power we must be ever-respectful and humble.”
Over the years, Tanulia learned and grew along with her brother, who would be taken by their father to learn the business of the family. Everything seemed well, everyone was happy; the portion of the Gardens that they commanded was thriving, and business was doing well. At this time Tanulia had just celebrated her 30th birthday.
When all seemed too good to be true, it was at this point that the dreadful Pale Plague struck the family; starting with their father and then infecting their mother. They were among the first to develop the Plague, but were also among those that helped to discover and develop the abilities of the cinder tonic. Using some of the plants within their garden, they were able to create a specific variety of the tonic that worked exceptionally well at staving off the effects of the disease. They, along with many others, believed at the time that it was a cure, only realizing too late that it wasn't and that the addiction of the tonic would bind them forever. With that discovery, there was a drop in production and a loss in profit coming from the tonic's sales. The sudden losses and the now-negative connotation the family's name bore upon the Gardens caused a drop in the value of the property they owned. In a haste and panic, and perhaps due to sickness clouding their thoughts and judgement, the family sold 80% of the value of their property to gain back some financial stability, realizing too late that they had made a critical error -- the new owner of the property would begin to develop the tonic at a higher rate and sell it quickly, replacing them within the Widish nobility hierarchy.
At this time, Tanulia's parents began to suffer the withdrawals of the tonic as well as the sickness of the Plague. With just enough of the plant extract left in stock, they could provide themselves with enough tonic to keep them sustained for their own brewing. However, though it was an excellent fix, it wasn't a permanent one. The parents decided it would be best for them to leave with the kevol caravan at its next departure and make their way back to their homeland, hoping to spend the rest of their days among their ancestry, seeing if they could discover a way to bring life and a home back for their elvenkind.
On the morning of their departure, Tanulia, now 37 years of age, inherited the jewels, gowns, heirlooms and the beautiful headdress that had always been passed on among women in the family, while Tolthe inherited the family business from his father, along with the savings, precious metals and access to the finances within the family. They said their goodbyes, though no tears were shed, and the family separated ways forever.
Tanulia and Tolthe soon began to split apart, with Tolthe having a very different idea of how he wanted to run their property than Tanulia. He claimed superiority, being the child that owned the inheritance and that had worked with their father for so many years. Tanulia was left to the books and to continue studying the history of their culture and more notably, she began to read up on horticulture and more effective ways of growing food and herbs for tonics, medicines, teas and spices. However, even with her growing knowledge, her brother would not listen to her, completely removing her from anything that had to do with the business and dubbing her as only a female brought up to breed pure-blooded children. She began to hear rumors of the decline of the family, of the power-hungry heir and of the tragedy that was befalling the two pure-bred elves.
Tanulia, being of a soft soul and a calm mind, once again tried to approach her brother as his sister, as the one that he grew up with and was supposedly close to. Tolthe would not hear it; instead he made propositions of her selling the heirlooms she received to buy more land for him to run. Enraged, she outright refused and an argument was had. The two hardly spoke a word to each other afterwards. It was not until the final notices came in for steep payments past due that Tolthe finally told Tanulia that he had to sell the land. The morning after the sale, Tolthe was gone, having disappeared and leaving Tanulia with nothing but an empty house and the heirlooms and gowns left behind by her mother.
Tanulia, now 42, fell into financial ruin. She sold one heirloom for what she knew was too little, for she had nothing left of value but those left to her. She had not heard from her brother in a whole year and did not know where to find him. It was at this time that she began to study the old files of her father's business, to see what went wrong and to understand what happened. She learned much about the Gardens, much about the tonic, and much about the Plague, often thinking of her parents, whether they were still alive, whether they had had any success, and, warily, whether she should follow in their steps.
Another year set in, another few heirlooms sold. She began to work in the Gardens, making just enough to only go to bed hungry a few nights of the week. Between the cost of maintaining the house, feeding herself, and every once in a while sending out notices to reach out to her brother, she had no money left. With unfortunate reluctance, she decided to sell the home, moving into a humble cottage set within the Gardens.
The owner of the Gardens where she worked would eventually develop the Plague and shut down all operation, leaving her and many other elves without a job and without income. She sold yet another heirloom, leaving her with very few left and making it harder and harder to part with those that remained. When she received any amount of stones, she looked at them long and hard, trying to decide what best way to make it last. It was then that she decided it was time for a trip to the Red District, in an attempt to gamble her money and regain some of her riches in the passionately boasted-about gambling arenas of the district.
With her hand still gently stained with dirt from working the Gardens, she made her way to Upper Shenul, past the gazing and peering faces and into a gambling den. She spent what she had on the tables, playing her hand at cards, being played herself for the beginner she was and falling for every trick, losing every single stone and leaving with a head clouded by the alcohol given to her and the grief that her pockets were now empty.
As she made her way through the streets, tired, drunk and with no understanding of how she was going to get home, she sat down at the edge of an alley illuminated by the light that peeped out through the windows on the second floor of the buildings around her. Tanulia's head felt heavy, her lips were numb, and she had no way of refusing the man who approached her, who pushed her down into the alleyway and had his way with her, leaving her nothing but a torn dress and some stones thrown in her face for her “services.” Slowly, she collected the stones, pulling her knees in closer to her, hiding her ragged hair and tear-stained face. This is where she stayed until morning, barely blinking, barely understanding.
The next morning, she used the few stones she received to purchase some food from a local tavern where she sat near the corner, her legs still pulled in close and her food going cold in front of her as each sound of the patrons within the tavern made her shake and tremble. She sat there for hours, her mind spinning, her hair askew and the food being eaten ever-so slowly.
The next morning came, and with no money left the owner of the tavern told her that they didn't like her kind there, and that she should go back to the brothel where she was missing. It was then that a woman approached her in a luxurious, yet raunchy get-up, claiming to have a business proposition for her. Tanulia, being delirious from hunger and heartache, took the hand that was reached out for her when food was offered and followed her through the streets of the Scarlet Quarter and into the back door of a brothel, where women were preparing themselves for their day with loud voices and lots of laughter, with makeup being shared, bustiers being tide and shoes being laced. Into the kitchen they went, where women were coming in, picking up a bite and continuing on, everything a hustle and everything in excitement. The woman, named Isabel, who Tanulia found out was the headmistress of the brothel, sat her down and gave her some food, taking a damp cloth from the sink to gently wash the dirt and tears off of her face. Isabel then took an elegant brush and began gently combing Tanulia’s hair, singing softly as she did. Tanulia ate slowly, almost in a daze not knowing where she was, who she was, just that the hands of Isabel were the most soothing she had ever remembered feeling.
Isabel sat down next to her when she was done, and waited patiently. She brought them both some tea and continued to wait in silence, patient for what seemed like hours, until Tanulia began to talk, telling Isabel her story. She didn't know why she did it, she didn't know what purpose it would have; she only knew that it lifted her heartache, if only just a little. Isabel listened, she sympathized, and she explained how every one of her girls would understand her, treat her as a sister and would be there for her for anything. She told Tanulia that she could stay there for a few days until she could gather the financial means of getting back home. And so Tanulia, with no other obvious options, stayed, working as a secretary to Isabel and noticing how each Patron that walked in lingered as they looked at her. They did not all look at her ravenously, but more curiously and almost in admiration. After a week, feeling like she had a purpose, a home and a family, she didn't want to leave the Red District just yet. She talked to Isabel, and decided to try it for one night. All of the girls got together for her debut night, dressing her up, making her look stunning and even helped her select the patron whom they all new to be gentle and kind; a half-breed dwarf and human by the name of Lucas.
That was when it began: Tanulia stayed and worked in the brothel. She went back to the Pale District for a few days to collect her things and sell her home, then purchased a small apartment in the Red District near the brothel and began to go by the alias Kela.
This is how she spent the next few years, gaining regular clients, making an income, and being part of a huge family that cared about each other, each having their own story of how they came to be in each other's company. Through this trade she learned many secrets: secrets from lonely bachelors, secrets from distraught housewives; secrets from the lonely, from the damned, from the rich and from the poor. It was through all these secrets that she learned of a strange elf that lived in Deepwell. This elf seemingly looked a little bit like her, though as to not sound too inquisitive, she simply listened and tried to learn if it was her brother Tolthe, hoping in the back of her mind that she would see him again. When no further details came her way, she decided to pull some stones together and make her way down to the Deepwell herself. So she wandered, searching Cranelift Marina, looking for a sign, until when she was sitting in a Tavern having supper she overheard two sailors talking about the elf and his strange home on the docks.
With haste, Tanulia made her way to the location described, and indeed found what to others would seem to be a strange home. Mixed among the shacks and cabins, was a home made of the same rocks and bricks as the others but with the same carvings around the archway to the door as was in her home growing up. There were vines creeping up the side of the beautiful flowers that usually lived within the confines of what their family used to own in the Gardens, and to her surprise, embedded within the lintel above the doorway was one of the heirlooms she was forced to sell to make her living.
She knocked on the door timidly, the chance still being that it was not actually her brother's home, but with the hope that whoever did live there could lead her in the right direction. With a hood drawn up over her face, the door was opened and a silhouette appeared before her, one obviously of an elf which was accompanied by the smell of fresh-brewed tea wafting from inside. In a hushed, tired voice she heard her name whispered from within the doorway, and in an instant she pulled back her hood and revealed her face, the two of them sharing a tight embrace and a sigh of explicit relief. So was how the two siblings were reunited.
The inside of his home was modest and gently decorated in an elven style, mostly with hand-carved decorations, slightly used and battered tapestries that seemed refurbished, and beautiful stonework utensils for cooking and eating. The two siblings talked all throughout the night of their care for each other, of the forgiveness they sought from each other and of how overwhelmingly happy they were to be in contact once again. She did not mention the things that she did for income or how she ended up finding him, and he did not ask. From this point, they began to see each other regularly, though not everyday, and sometimes not every week.
Tanulia, now 49 years old, has been visiting her brother for the last year-and-a-half. On one evening when she was in his home, he left for a moment to stop by the marketplace and pick up some things for them to eat for dinner. She waited and sat down on the chair that peered out the window over Deepwell. She heard the clink of glass hitting the ground and looked down to see what had fallen, seeing an empty bottle of cinder tonic. Her sigh was long, deep and sad as she carefully picked up the bottle and placed it back where it had fallen from as if she had never seen it. Her mind swarmed with thoughts of grief, thoughts of respect, and a hope for a way to help her brother. From then on she began to work not only for her, but for her brother as well, saving all the stones she could to purchase tonics and have them anonymously delivered to him as well as once again revisit the study on how to cure the disease.

---

Tolthe grew up with his one-year-older sister, Tanulia, in the Pale District and was part of a moderately noble family that owned a section of the Gardens in Wid. He was brought up well-educated and was given lessons from his father, beginning at a young age, on how to take over and understand the business he was to one day inherit. In addition, he and his sister were very close, often spending every spare moment together, and even sharing a room on occasion. After some years, the discovery was made of his parents contracting the Plague, then deciding to leave Glimhollow and travel back to Eir, leaving the 36 year-old with the ownership of the business and land.

Though he was happy to inherit the business, Tolthe began to feel a deep resentment towards his sister, who he felt had gotten the better end of the deal with the inheritance. He mourned the departure of his parents, knowing that he may never see them again, and then began to sit to work with what he thought would be the ideal for how the company should have been run to begin with. Immediately he began completely restructuring and changing around the way management and employees were run and handled, reducing the benefits to the employees such as free housing costs on the land for services rendered then attempting to increase productivity in the same amount of time allocated as before. It was these changes and similar changes that caused the immediate deterioration of the moral and financial income provided by the business. This was when Tolthe started to become strict and angry, and in his anger drove off several of the highest and most loyal employees under his command. When the financial burden began to be too much, he approached his sister and asked for a loan of a part of her inheritance, though her refusal caused a rift between them. Not long afterwards the business was liquidated, and Tolthe set off; moving away from his sister, moving away from the Pale District.

In his wandering, he first landed in the Scarlet Quarter, bedding prostitutes and gambling for just enough money to eat and continue. He slept in the streets of the Red District, having lost most of what money and items he kept on his person quickly, until the day came when he chanced upon overhearing a conversation about needing extra dock workers in the Deepwell for a captain. Tolthe, hungry, homeless, and desperate, approached the gentleman feebly and requested to work for minimal pay and food. The captain, sly as he was, accepted the terms and brought Tolthe down to the Deepwell to work for him for nearly nothing. Tolthe worked on the docks, then eventually on the ship itself, sailing out to the Deepwell and hearing tales from his crew mates about adventures across the water, about treasures found, and about secrets they've discovered. The captain of the ship was a tall, handsome, well-built human with an almost rugged thug like appearance. The captain grew up in the Deepwell, sailing from a young age and traveling very little into the rest of Glimhollow, but heard of its troubles and saw the survivors of its turmoil make their way to the Deep in hopes of seperating themselves from the city's toxicity.

Over the first few months on board, Tolthe’s education became evident and was quickly advanced to work directly with the captain, helping with book-keeping, finances, secrets, travel arrangements and general management of whatever the captain requested at the time. After a few years of Tolthe sailing with him and his crew, the captain was arrested by the Juggernauts for embezzling money to the Resistance. At this point, Tolthe understood all too well that the evidence was substantial against the captain.

With a captain arrested and the ship being claimed for debts owed, Tolthe and his crew mates were now without a vessel and without a home. Tolthe, gathering his crew mates as one who was close to the captain with his position on board, made the suggestion to join the Dustawks and the Resistance, to make a difference and bring justice back to what happened to their captain. Some of the crew was on board, having great loyalty towards the captain and a great resentment towards the procedures of Glimhollow; some looked for other vessels to sail aboard, happy to stay uninvolved; and some slid away and were never heard from again. Tolthe on the other hand joined the Dusthawks as a scholar of sorts, a bookkeeper and a translator, choosing to join the Dusthawks over the Resistance with the prospect of earning a higher wage and income. It was there he learned how to protect himself, how to be vigilant and how to be mindful of his money.

After a few years of living among the Dusthawks, he finally purchased a small cabin in the Deepwell. On the return of each of his endeavors, he worked long and tirelessly carving the stone around the archway to the door to resemble the archway in the home where he spent his adolescence. He polished the floors, refurbished the furniture and did everything he could to make it feel comfortable. This was when he discovered the sickness that began to set in within him. Tolthe had the Pale Plague. Fury enraged him; fury with himself, fury with his situation, and fury knowing that he did not have much longer to live.

Though in his fury, it did not take long for him to come to grips with his situation. Only his closest friends among the Dusthawks he told about his sickness, and they provided him with his first taste of the cinder tonic which drove him into an unfortunate addictive servitude towards the medicine. He continued to work, staving off the symptoms with all the knowledge he had on the tonic and on herbal remedies, but he was never the same. He now kept more to himself, was less boastful of his achievements and accomplishments and thought generally less of himself or more equal to his peers than he did before.

Nearly six months after contracting the Plague, on a quiet night, a knock came to his door. With hesitation and resistance he opened it, until seeing the distinct shape of his sister, whom he had become estranged to. He embraced her quickly, holding her tightly, and the two of them reconciled and talked long into the night. Over the next year they met in secret, neither one of them discussing what they did for employment, and neither one wishing to. It was a happy, unspoken rule between them.

On one afternoon, following a visit from Tanulia, he set to work with the Dusthawks and overheard them whispering and talking of the enchanting Kela of the Scarlet Quarter. She was told to be a beautiful and mystical elven prostitute. The burley men blushed as they spoke, some admitting they would hier her services just to be in her presence; to enjoy a cup of her fine-crafted tea and indulge in just speaking to her. One man among the Dusthawks cried that if any of them harmed her, he would have their heads. Tolthe, was intrigued; so intrigued in fact that he decided to make the journey to the Scarlet Quarter and see this elven maiden for himself. He traveled, he searched and he found to his grief that the elven maiden, spoken so highly of, was none other then his sister. Rather than approach her, he watched her from a distance, watched her expression, her delight in the company of those she was surrounded by and decided in that moment that he would not interfere; that he, instead, would work even harder to increase his wealth so that, come the day of his passing from the Plague, she would no longer have to work the way she did.

Hector sat at a table all alone in a dingy Grey District bar and flop house. He'd gotten there yesterday. He didn't even remember the name of the damned place. He had fled from the Red District after he overheard some Dwarven fancy type talking about a back room deal while he was in his cups, and, well, with his hand most of the way down some bawdy bitch's gown. That damned drunk had seen him, even sicked his guards on him. Hector had managed to lose them in the twisting alleys and tightly packed buildings. Now here he was, stuck in this flea ridden shit pile. Hector hoped the dwarf's guards hadn't gotten a good look at him or hadn't been smart enough to ask the sheet girls about him. He had been a cook in the Red for most of his life, known around that area. He cursed under his breath. If he could make it to someone who would pay for the information he would be set for life, for now, he just needed to keep his head down.

The harried man's eyes shot wide and up as he heard the scrape of a chair. He nearly jumped out of his damned skin as a man sat down across from him with a bottle of wine and two cups. Hector's heart hammered as his looked at the half elf with the scarred face who had just invited himself to his table. He didn't feel like talking, but, the man had brought a bottle of wine and Hector was low on stones and in need of a stiff drink. The man smiled at him. Hector had to suppress a shiver. The damned half breed seemed to smile only with the bottom half of his face, eyes still staring fixedly on his own. Not just the eyes though. People who lived in the Grey didn't have teeth that white, and, Hells, they didn't have that many, did they?

"You look like you could use a cup o'reds, eh?" Hector's guest said, ending his awful grin much to Hector's silent gratitude.

"Do you often wander up to strangers and offer to give them free drinks?" he asked, naturally suspicious.

"I fancy a good story and have jaw with people who look like they need a listen," the stranger replied without hesitation. He poured the two cups to the brim. He passed one of the cups to to Hector with a deft slide. The cup stopped right in front of him. The move made Hector think of some of the barkeeps he had known.

He picked up the offered cup and raised it, the man mirrored his wordless toast. In a single gulp, Hector had drained the cup. He set down his wine and let out a long breath, "That's not swill," he said with a chuckle.

The stranger laughed, giving Hector a look at those seemingly glittering teeth of his, "Not a bit, m'friend, not a bit. When I come to offer a drink I make sure it something good and maybe even something they haven't tried."

Hector looked down at his empty cup, "It had something earthy and woody to it, yeah?"

The man gave him a thankfully closed mouthed smile and nodded. Hector passed the cup back and it was refilled and returned, along with the bottle. Hector shrugged and looked at the bottle. The glass was a deep blue turning the fine red inside a strange purple that cast little ghostlights on the table around them. He took another sip of his refilled cup and looked up at the scarred half elf. The man was just watching him an odd kind of appreciation on his narrow face. The half breed stayed silent for a moment before he finally raised a brow at him in question.

"Apologies," Hector said with a shake of his head, "I just had a bit of trouble, yeah?" he chuckled, "I was wonderin' if you were Two Cloak or some kind of crawler come to drag me a'hell for my crimes."

The man's eyes seemed to glitter with excitement, but, he did not laugh. Instead he spoke. His voice betrayed a queer excitement and had pitched lower, "I knew Two Cloak. Met him ages ago back in The Pits when he was still a Grey Rat serving time chained a'pick f'stealin' or killin', don't recall which."

Hector scoffed, "Oh, I've had it with that scrap. Everyone an'their dog's known Two Cloak it seems, at least down here and in Reds. I bet he isn't even real. He's just some kind of spook people can blame things on."

"He's real," the half breed said with a shake of his head, "I knew him, knew him well, yeah? I was chained right next t'him for his whole stent in The Pits. We talked an'swung pick at rock all day long. He was chained t'me and t'an old apothecary who started drippin' herbcraft in his ears. That's 'ow he learned his poisons. We both got out ten years ago, well, 'cept that herb mixer. He died down with t'rocks." his raised one gloved hand and swore, "I swear it truth, I wager my life if'n I'm a liar, eh?"

Hector drank from his cup again, he really hadn't tasted anything like this wine before, "You tellin' me he's real? Not only he's real but he was a rock buster before he started killin' folk?" he said skeptically. He didn't like to think he was the type to believe in ghost stories and mummery, but, this man didn't seem like he was spinning a yarn.

"Aye, true," his generous companion said, "A'fore that Two Cloaks was the son of a whore who grew up in a gang. Not an important one, mind, some small Grey Rats that ended up as dead as you or I will be one day." That was queer comparison. Hector had never heard that expression before, but, he did his best to stay out of Grey and maybe it was something they said down here. There was a sort of morbid fascination down where the only lights came from weak spark lamps and glints of steel in the dark.

Hector took another drink. The stuff was potent. He could already feel the tingle all over his body, warm and soothing. The stranger leaned a bit closer, reaching across the table and grasping his wine bottle. "Need a refresh y'self?" Hector asked, his words slurring far more than he figured they should. The half elf pulled out the cork and poured his still full cup back into the bottle deftly, not spilling a drop. Hector's eyes widened, "What? Y'didn't 'ave a sip?" he didn't understand. His mind was so foggy. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the little drum in his chest seeming to pump fuzzy thick blood through his veins.

The half breed grinned that devil fanged smile of his and shook his head, "Not a drop. One cup is enough to drop someone your size in about an hour. With how much you drank I'm surprised you are still conscious," he snickered, "I'll be honest with you, I wasn't chained with Two Cloaks. I don't even know who the man chained behind me was. They came and went year after year. The rest is true though." he corked the bottle and rested his thin hand on top, "twenty long years breaking rocks and when they tossed me out I had a head full of herbalism and a good memory for all those stout lil' whip jocks who thought they were som'thin' special," he laughed, the sound hit Hector like a blackjack. There was no way it was as loud as he thought it was. It sounded like standing on the inside of damned tower bell.

Hector tried to speak but his words were nothing but unintelligible slurps and gurgles. His whole face seemed to tingle and he couldn't even list his arms. The man before him split into three, fading in and out of focus.

"Oh, I see we are about done here," the army of murderers before him whispered from every direction, "You were worth far more than the effort and I thank you for that. Don't worry, Hector, I'll take care of that fat piss guzzler who hired me. I didn't like the way he looked and talked. I'll do him for free, just for the practice and laughs,"

There was a sudden snap as a stone was placed heavily down on the table. For a second, Hector was alert. He saw Two Cloaks standing with the bottle of poisoned wine in his right hand. His left was holding down a stone as if it were about to jump away. He'd slapped it down on the table to get his attention. Hector's rolling eyes caught sight of the inside of his killer's cloak, a patchy mottled grey and black checker that seemed to hold every hue of shadow ever cast on the darkest nights in the Gray District.

"I took care of your tab," Two Cloaks said calmly as he started to fade into innumerable shades, "You won't die a debter. Tell whoever comes to collect you that I'll be expecting you when my time finally comes." with that, the many figures turned to leave, taking the bottle and Hector's life with them.

His eyes closed, head spinning, heart pounding ever so slowly in his thrumming chest. He was vaguely aware of his head hitting the table as he fell from the seat. He thought the table might have tipped over as well. He hoped Two Cloaks had left enough to pay for any damage that might have caused. He didn't want to inconvenience anyone. Hector tried to think back on his life. His mind was so misty and ethereal. He grasped at memories but they slid through the gaps in his fingers like the air of a smokey parlor. Weren't you supposed to see all your life before you died? Wasn't there supposed to-

Hector didn't see or hear the people who came to laugh and prod at him. They thought him another drunkard, passed out from too much drink. After he had been jeered at in his last moments of life he was carried to his room by the flop house guard and laid on his bed of straw. By then he was dead but would not be discovered for two more days. He had overstayed his welcome and was stinking up the place when he was dragged out into the gutter. Riker had only paid for the one night. Hector died a debter after all.

Born and raised with her twin sister Sabina Valla Calista, Arelia lived the life one would expect a highborn female to live. She had the best education Stones could buy, learned more languages than she thought really worth it in the beginning, though she picked up on them quickly, and learned so much math it would make anyone’s brain bleed. She learned what fork to use during which course, where to place the copious amounts of plates, knives, forks, spoons and glasses at a table and which were used for whatever one would be eating at the time. You thought books on the head to teach proper posture was a lie? She would attest otherwise and could tell you that a switch across the knuckles for slurping one’s soup was something you got used to over time, though you did learn not to slurp.

That’s enough about some useless learnings though; while etiquette is a big thing with nobility, Arelia never much cared for it and found that the tittering, gossipy nature of other female’s her age was not to her liking. Instead, she found that she liked playing pranks on people by disguising how she looked, which became harder as she got older and her figure began to fill out more, but she always did her best to adapt to such things. More often than not, she and her twin would get into trouble for sneaking into the kitchens to snag the treats the cooks were making for dinner, or for tricking the servants into thinking she was someone she was not. While her parents tried to dissuade her from such unwomanly activities, it never stopped her from doing it in secret just to go out with her sister.

By the time that Arelia turned 15, she was married off to a man named Volux Alan Bastian VII who was (and still is) a very successful engineer who specializes in Automatons, after his wife died in childbirth. Volux, age 24 at the time, was a bit hesitant to take Arelia as his bride as the wound of losing his first love was still fresh. What ultimately swayed his choice was how quickly she seemed to take to the business he ran like a fish to water. Everything about the automatons seemed to fascinate her, and thanks to her years studying the human anatomy rather vigorously, she was able to use her keen eye to point out some flaws in the skeletal structuring of his projects.

At the age of 17, she had their first child, a baby girl whom she named Lianna and doted on nearly as much as her own mother had doted on her and her twin. It was during the first year of her daughter’s life that she began to find that the empty void she had felt ever since her sister had left was still there. During the nights following her 18th birthday she began to slide back into her old ways of disguising herself so her family would not learn that she was looking for her sister. Every night for six months Arelia scoured not only the Grey District, but she even went so far as to delve into the Deepwell despite her better judgement.

During the six months of her searching, she did not go unnoticed. She would have hoped that the fact she had chose the appearance of a man would have thrown them off her trail. In fact, in her attempt to hide, she only brought more attention to herself. The eyes of the criminal underworld turned to her. There was something about her ability to sweet talk information from people to meet her own needs that drew them to her, as well as the way she carried herself. It was her ability to alter her posture, attitude, and attire to the area that she happened to be in that night that drew them to her.

Finally, Arelia’s searching paid off when she stumbled across a boat captained by a dwarf by the name of Bundrod. As she spoke to the man, describing her sister to him though never mentioning she was looking for a sister, but rather a lost lover of sorts, the male dwarf excused himself to go talk to Sabina. As she waited, she hoped that the captain would be able to talk her sister into at least coming to see her without knowing who she actually was. When Sabina finally agreed to see the one asking about her, Bundrod brought Arelia onto the deck of the boat and left to go take care of a few things as the two spoke. Upon seeing her, Arelia’s eyes lit up and she immediately began speaking to her, having forgotten that her twin very well may not recognize her. It took nearly ten minutes and the mention of an old teddy bear to get Sabina to finally both recognize and speak to the sister she had not seen in two years. Then the pranks began once more, starting with removing her disguise enough for there to appear that Sabina had somehow managed to duplicate herself, confusing Bundrod and making Sabina’s lover think he was now gifted with two.

That ‘night’ they spent hours talking, catching up on things missed and loves met while laughing about the past they had shared before Sabina had mysteriously disappeared. As the two girls spoke, someone continued to watch Arelia from a distance, amazed to find out that the ‘he’ they had been tracking was, in fact, a ‘she’. The person stalking her for the last six months? The infamous Duskhawk Assassin Riker Fretson, and he had every intention of bringing her existence to the attention of those within the organization that would be best fit to recruit her. Leaving the twins to their time together, Riker went back to report to the leader of the Dusthawks on what he had found.

After speaking with her Sister for hours and reapplying her disguise, Arelia finally left the Deepwell to return to her home thinking she would have time to rest before the day’s work began. Sadly, the beginning of daylight had begun to filter down the Drop-Ferry’s course dissuaded her thinking of a long and much needed rest after the excitement she had experienced. During her trip back, and her daily running of the business she and her husband ran together, the leader of the Dusthawks sent a messenger to speak with Sabina, informing her that they wanted to bring Arelia into the fold. While it would undoubtedly be challenging, Sabina was up to the task and during Arelia’s next visit to the Deepwell a week later, she used her sister’s desire to readjust the power and wealth of the people to bring Arelia into the fold.

While she was a bit hesitant, Arelia eventually agreed to join the Organization under the agreement that she would still be able to live her life as she pleased under the sun. When the agreement was made, she began her job as a Recon Specialist, collecting the information that they wanted on their targets through her ability to disguise herself as well as sweet talk those whom she needed to gather information from. In between her recon, she also kept tally on the funds they had coming in as well as the funds they distributed, keeping a far better ledger than any other tasked with the job of taking care of the Dusthawks’ finances. When she reached the age of 19, she was only able to work recon for a short amount of time before her second pregnancy became too obvious to hide and she was only able to work the books. Once her second child was born, a son, she went back to recon, though now she was not only gathering information for potential targets, but she was feeding a steady stream of information about how the nobles felt about the organization as well as any plans they may have in dealing with them. There had been a couple times when she had passed on information that helped prevent a member from getting caught or potentially killed. With these successes, she found herself enjoying the jobs she was given more and more, throwing her lot in with them as often as she could to help them as long as they didn’t interfere too much with her day life.

---

Galinai was fathered into a society against him. His mother's relationship with his father wrought a tide of scorn from the elfenkind of the Pale District, most especially from her own prominent clan, Agoras. Her child had formerly born Agoras, meaning 'blessed,' as his middle name due to family tradition, but upon her dismissal, Galinai's mother was forced to erase Agoras from her and her child's name and took on the name Cerad, meaning 'ash.' Rejected by their respective families, his mother and his father vacated their homes in their shame and settled in a shabby dwelling in Lower Shenul. From there, Galinai Cerad Fineog lived in the Gray District for most of his early life, the son of two people whose spark would later die. In fact, when the boy was merely two years of age, Gal's mother grew to abhor the life of her child and her husband. Soon, cradling that boy only drew his mother's hatred and ire. His father only resented what occurred to them, but in his mother rested some vengeance much darker, festering and eating at her inside. One odd night, it culminated; the woman would make an attempt on her son and husband's lives with a knife. His father shot her first, and Galinai lived on.
The half-elf lived on indeed, reared entirely by his father from that moment. Gal had the potential to become a very learned scholar in his youth, but without proper education, he would have no way of accessing his affinity for the books. Instead, he would learn the kind of cunning which would befit someone as low in society as himself, and he grew into a talented pickpocket and thief, able to outsmart those he crossed paths with and slip through their fingers. In Gal's early life, his father worked tirelessly, sometimes for dirt-level pay, to keep the boy fed. For his inability to teach the boy anything meaningful except for the way of crime, Galinai's father would bring the youth curios run on spark capsules to tinker with, keeping Galinai entertained and planting a seed in the hopes that one day it would make the boy a valuable asset. Even a life spent hiding in closets when debt collectors came around was not entirely devoid of its pleasures. In his spare time, Galinai made a decent inventor and repairman, provided the right scraps and parts.
As expected, adolescence brought Gal his own unique troubles. Galinai's lack of purity yielded unavoidable turmoil at the hands of pure-breeds. While having come to love the boy, Galinai's father was a pure human who came from higher society, and thus he was incredibly ignorant of the plight of the half-bred such as Gal himself. He demanded Galinai's respect and obedience as repayment for saving the boy's life all those years ago, and he quickly put Gal to work at the age of 15. Though Gal detested his father's cluelessness and the harping on about his mother, he would bite his tongue and accept it all, including the abuse and hatred which came from society. Eventually, his father moved himself and his son to a house in Upper Shenul to separate Galinai from the dangerous streets of Lower Shenul. There, his father would eventually start lusting after the harlots and prostitutes who populated the alleyways and the brothels, and he became lecherous and sloppy, traits which earned Gal's disgust and prompted his desire to stay clean and well-kempt.
Galinai's temper subsided in the middle of his teenage years, and he quickly adjusted to the tune of back-breaking work for unfair wages in Upper Shenul. As his parents once did, Galinai lost his spark and zest for life. The time marched ever forward and he found himself slipping through the cracks into a consuming depression. In his spare time, he would comb through his mother's writings and mess with the trinkets which fell into his lap. While trying to make sense of text and getting a decent ability to read, Gal began to offer his services as a repairman and an inventor, selling fixed gadgets out of the backdoor and making his keep. He paid a portion of rent to his father, and his father taught him to use basic weapons and self-defense techniques. Gal later used these to defend himself in backalley confrontations. One morning, without any explanation, his father went out to run errands and never came back. Galinai would not discover the reason for his father's abandonment; the Fineog family's matriarch and Gal's grandmother, missing her son, had offered Gal's father a deal to disown his sown and return to finer society. Gal's father, consumed by greed, accepted, and Galinai was orphaned.
Galinai became a drifter, caught between Upper Shenul and Lower Shenul as a ghost. He rarely slept, had no company, and spent a lot of time fighting off robbers. Without his father around to pay a large chunk of the rent, Gal ended up on the streets, begging and accepting a pitiful meal here and there from strangers or from waste. He became desperate for work, for food, and for shelter, and Galinai let his appearance deteriorate beyond recognition, so disheveled he could hardly be recognized by anyone who knew him before. Gal felt lost and passed over by Glimhollow society, coming to hate it more than he ever had before. Stronger than his hatred was his fear of the Pale Plague, which claimed a multitude of the half-bred and left them to suffer the most tragic, degrading deaths as bodies piled on the streets. Galinai subsisted at the bottom rungs of the city just short of imprisonment and held onto some glint of a dream, hoping it would one day save him.
As luck would have it, the universe did not finish him there and throw him to the wayside. A ragtag group of half-elves would collect him and became the family he never had. They and Galinai called themselves the Half-Wits, for reasons obvious; they were a group of outcasts, products of taboo miscegenation with no formal tutelage. They had their share of mischief in the Gray District, settling in their own lowly shack and getting involved in petty disputes with other small gangs. Gal's cunning and wit showed more in those times, and his penchant for theft and mischief shined in their ranks. Their meals were snatched off other people's plates, their money from mugging in the dark corners of the district. It was then when he truly honed his ability to shoot and hold a weapon, and he became the Half-Wits' resident weapons expert. Normally a shell of a boy, he became beloved by his comrades, and he even found love with their leader, a young man by the name of Halan Coshaugh. He was positively smitten and felt unstoppable, shedding his mental armor for at least several months.
Life has a way of doing people dirty, and all good things come to an end. The Pale Plague swept over Halan overnight and numbered his days; unable to kiss or even brush fingers with his lover, Galinai cared for Halan until the other youth's final moments. Later, Halan would die, forcing Gal and the other Half-Wits to abandon Halan as another corpse on the roadside. The group disbanded, and Gal would not see the other members for a long time. When the grief passed, the young half-elf placed the blame on the city of Glimhallow, and he turned to the Resistance's promise of hope and justice. Several months in his work, he made his way to the Nest and would begin working with the Dusthawks often, drawn by their camaraderie and less militaristic structure. Though he would come to prefer the Dusthawks, he also stayed with the Lexian Resistance, helping whenever he could.

Luca was born into an unassuming family of traders in one of Hulstead’s bustling cities, just another face in the crowds. As he grew older, his good looks began to blossom, and he soon became a well-known name amongst his neighbors, most noticeably, his neighbors daughters. Despite enjoying this new found popularity, Luca was still a nobody, destined to take over from his father as a trader, and then pass the same position on to his son when the time came.

The young Luca caught glimpses of the great nobles and lords that roamed the city, and he dreamed of walking among them, praying for even a taste of the power that they possessed. He soon had his wishes answered, when he was still a young man of 17, but the taste that he got still is still bitter in his mouth.

Luca’s younger sister, Isabella, had inherited the same looks as he had, and she was stunningly beautiful, sharing the same pale hair, and deep eyes as her brother. Her beauty is what drew Valeriano D’Ascanio to her. An ugly, lecherous young lord, filled with his own pompous pride, and preparing to leave the city with a caravan of silk and hides. Valeriano caught sight of Isabella at the market, and decided he must have her. Despite his status, Isabella rebuked his advances, but the young lord was not a man accustomed to refusal. Following her home, he overpowered her and forced himself upon her, ignoring her pleas and cries.

When Luca came home, he found Valeriano still enthralled in the act, grinning sadistically as he raped Isabella. Without even hesitating, Luca took up the finely-crafted rapier from where it had been tossed on the floor in the young lord’s haste, and ran Valeriano through with it, plunging the blade through the man’s heart. The lord staggered back, shock crossing his face for a moment as blood began to spill from his mouth, before he collapsed to the ground and lay still.

Staggering back himself, Luca was pale-faced, staring at the blood on his hand, and that was beginning to pool on the floor. Isabella was still, the only sound she made a quiet sobbing. The two siblings stayed for a moment, before Luca finally shook himself from his trance. Looking down at the corpse of Valeriano, he was gripped by a grim reality. His life here was over, but a fire lit itself within his heart, a dogged determination that he would not allow this act to damn him.

Quickly taking the clothes from Valeriano’s body and donning them himself, throwing the red cloak over his shoulders to hide the blood that stained the shirt, Luca strapped the rapier to his hip and tied the heavy purse to his belt. The young man turned and rested his forehead against his sister’s for a moment. Neither of them spoke a word, but the two understood each other, and as her sobbing subsided, Isabella watched silently as Luca dragged the body from the room.

Tossing the naked, lifeless corpse into the narrow, muck-filled canal that oozed past the family home, winding through the city, Luca watched for a moment as it sunk beneath the surface, before turning and striding through the city. He barely noticed the nods of respect that his new appearance garnered from the figures he passed, his mind racing ahead of itself as he moved towards the bustling market.

For a few moments, he watched his parents as they laughed and traded with the crowds that moved through the city, drinking it in and searing their faces into his memory, before he turned away. The stones in Valeriano’s purse were more than enough to purchase transport far away from the city. He had new clothes made, in the same fine style as the old ones which he discarded. He always kept the red cloak however, it’s very presence acting as a reminder of his driving ambition. He had seen how the mighty abuse their power, and he would see them all burn in eternal damnation...

Weathered sell-swords were happy to train the young man in exchange for the stones he offered them, and Luca found himself soon becoming a well-trained swordsman as he moved from town to town, slowly losing his driving urge for justice. He left nothing behind him but angry fathers, and husbands, and the reputation of Lord Valeriano D’Ascanio. The lie that he was living began to wash over him, his voice changed, his stance, his mannerisms, all shifted to reflect the arrogant young lord that everyone believed he was. He eventually found out from old merchants that the D’Ascanio family was a wealthy, and proud clan, and that Valeriano had been the estranged son, years away from the family, before his father died and Valeriano found himself with a vast fortune. By chance, there were very few that knew the young lord’s real face, and they were more than willing to accept the one that stood before them.

Years passed, and his reputation only continued to grow. He continued to train, becoming a fine swordsman, but he found that the fortune he had taken from Valeriano was beginning to dwindle, and soon turned to a life as a mercenary. If anything, this only further grew his legend, as he became almost a caricature of himself, his accomplishments embellished and exaggerated. Luca was only too happy to embrace these tales.

Almost ten years went by, Luca roaming to nearly every corner of Peylor, but eventually the thrill of the life of a travelling sellsword faded, and Luca sought a new challenge. The rumors he heard of the great city of Glimhollow intrigued him, and when he finally arrived through the Gateway of the great Glimhollow, he found that his name had preceded him.

Initially making his home in Brenson, Luca grew weary of the strict politics and powerful families that ruled the Gold District and soon found himself drawn towards Shenul. For the thugs that initially saw his fine clothes and fat purse as an invitation, the flash of Luca’s rapier in the dim light was the last thing they ever saw. From then, the legend of his name only continued to grow within the city. He became renowned, not just for his quick sword, but for his charm, and his mysterious past. Nobility barely paid any attention to Shenul, but here was a supposed lord that walked the streets. His reputation soon reached the gangs of the Gray District, and Luca found himself a sought after sell-sword. He was all too happy to oblige, sating a thirst for adventure and action.

All this reputation brought with it more negative attention. The Juggernauts took particular interest in the young lord from outside the city, who had arrived and left a string of dead men, and smiling women, in his wake. But the Juggernauts that patrol the lower levels of the city were all too susceptible to the wealth that Luca promised, despite his dwindling wealth, and he continued his life of revelry and debauchery.

With the Lexian Resistance underway, Luca remembered the promise he had made himself to seek justice, and eventually joined the cause, finding himself working alongside the Dusthawks. Despite the Resistance faltering, Luca found himself drawn to the now famous band of cutthroats and bandits, and began to more and more frequently lend them his services, relishing the thrill of the tasks that the gang carried out.

As the political feud continues to rage within the city, Luca keeps his sword sharp, his dark eyes watching every corner, and though he laughs and smiles, his heart has hardened.

---

Growing up in Hallivarr provided Sabina every advantage one could ask for as she received the best education money could buy, learning more languages than she thought really worth it in the beginning. Her education included the classic Hallivarr noble skills like the arrangements of utensils, how to walk, how to talk, when to talk, all of it drilled in to her by a father who placed his own personal image, and that of his families noble lineage above their actual wellbeing. Getting smacked for disobeying rules or failing to live up to his ideal vision of their family was not an uncommon occurrence.

Like many other youth across the city, Sabina and her sister, Arelia, managed to find ways to defy their fathers wishes, notably by slipping out of the house to run the roof tops of Hallivarr. They were certainly not alone and more than a few of the other Noble youth often joined them to explore the district. Even the local Juggernauts tolerated the shenanigans as long as the children didn't commit any criminal offences, after all, it was unlikely any parent would forgive them for causing the death of a child by pursuing them across the rooves.

The girls soon learned how to use the other drop ferries in the city, shabbily constructed or not, accessing them to reach deeper into Glimhollow as they explored more and more. Their father of course could not fail to hear of their escapades and tried to put a stop to them by placing bars on the girls windows and even going so far as to hire extra staff to keep the two contained. For Arelia it was enough but Sabina was not to be held back. One evening, without breathing a word to anyone, not even her sister, she slipped out the front door of the house and in to the lower city. She was sixteen years old and she would never return to Hallivarr.

Highly educated by her parents, and sharing her fathers silver tongue, she was able to make her way through much the city without much issue. Her noble bearing and Hallivarr pass assured her protection from the Juggernauts when she came in to trouble, each time slipping away from them when they started to realize she had no intention of returning home under their care.

She came to the Deepwell quite by accident, never having even considered the place in her travels, while running quick foot from a stall keeper who took exception to her "liberation" of a hot roll or three. She had slipped on to the Drop-Ferry down to the Cranelift Marina and was sitting comfortably in a corner munching on the rolls when the Drop-Ferry came to a halt. The vast emptiness of the space she found herself was like nothing she could have ever imagined and it drew her down into the Marina like a moth a black flame. The docks, so different than the upper levels of the city, were a hive of activity like nothing she had ever seen. Nor had she ever seen so much water in her life, nor even thought it possible.

A Dwarf Sparkboat Captain by the name of Bundrod Steelbrand, his boat bearing the same name, was the first of the Deepwell residents to encounter her. Like many of his kin he held a deep distrust of humans but even so, he was taken in by the young and beautiful woman who began to ask him a thousand questions about his boat and his work. At first he indulged her curiosity out of amusement but he quickly came to realize that she was not planning on leaving any time soon. He found himself warming to her, and admiring how she teased bits of information out of him and his crew with her quick smile, and a manner of speaking to you that always made one feel as though they were the most important thing in the world at that very moment. Even so, he was stunned when she asked him for a job.

On the surface world it has always been considered bad luck to bring a woman on board a boat, in the Deepwell it was quite the opposite. Women are few and far enough between in the Deep that having one with you is thought to bring good fortune. Bundrod agreed to take her on, paying her in food and accommodation, until she could prove herself a useful member of the crew. That crew, completely Dwarvish save for a single human, welcomed her heartily when they discovered she could sing, and sing well, for Dwarves love a good song nearly as much they good a pint.

The only other human on board was an unattractive man of twenty with the similarly unattractive name of Tyaerig. As it turned out however, he was a skilled knife fighter, and did much of the vessels navigating to boot. Sabina's first sail on the Deepwell lasted four weeks, during which time she absorbed every bit of information that she could, proving an able hand with anything she touched on the boat. Needless to say, the Dwarven crew and Tyaerig were suitably impressed. When they returned to the Cranelift Marina with their load of Spark Crystals Bundrod asked Sabina is she would like to remain with the crew. She did not refuse him.

Two years would pass as the Steelbrand crew traversed the dark waters of the Deepwell. Sabina's knowledge grew as she proved as adapt at sailing as she did at knife fighting. So to did the relationship between her and Tyaerig improve, though he was always painfully aware of his flat nose, slightly to tall forhead, and mismatched coloured eyes. He, as much as the Dwarves, wondered what the stunning daughter of Hallivarr saw in him, but there was no denying that she came to love him fully and without question.

After three years on the waters of the Deepwell she could not help but notice that a portion of the vessels profits were being kept back and regularly carried away by Tyaerig to the upper levels of the city. She herself had rarely back above ground in all that time as she found it to be to bright and to hot now that she lived below ground. She confronted Bundrod about Tyaerig's missions and he admitted to her that they were part of the Dusthawks and helped contribute to the groups treasury.

Shortly after the confrontation with Bundrod, Sabina was approached by a very unusual man who had begged a moment of her time. To Sabina's everlasting joy, that man turned out to be her sister in disguise. It was if the two had never left each others side, the question of why Sabina had left home was never asked, though she did admit she did not intend to return. The two could not resist playing a prank on Bundrod who was absolutely floored when he found out that there was a pair of Sabina's, stating that "one is quite enough, thank you." Tyaerig thought he had won some sort of prize when he returned home to find the two but was quickly disabused of any such twin sharing notion.

The two sisters have stayed in firm touch and Sabina has become Bundrod's primary contact with the Dusthawks. She very recently discovered she is pregnant, much to the amusement of Bundrod and his Dwarves who loudly proclaimed that the she and Tyaerig had "done quite enough practicing for a hundred offspring!"

---

She had thought to be a hero, once, but life rarely allows for the dreams of children to flourish the way they’d like. The cruel, steady progress of time has a habit of stealing from the idealistic the heart of their aspirations, leaving little but dust and wistful nostalgia in its wake.

On the scale of the short-lived races who drive the world into which she was born, Kieriel was sired when ancient history was still the news of the day; even to her own people it was in many ways a different era, predating even the hopeful and – in the words of her father – vainly foolish Eildi Society’s foundation.

Her home was a kind one, all things considered, though despite her father’s reputation as a magnificent trader and pillar of the elven community-in-exile, his quick temper and pride saw his family uprooted and replanted with regularity within the borders of Berevin. Her mother and her sisters served as a positive and nurturing counterbalance, and all of them encouraged in the family’s youngest daughter the idea that she could do anything with her life, unbound by any expectations save those she placed upon herself.

It was this spirit of freedom which led her to roam the halls of whichever home the family inhabited, dodging tutors and engaging invisible foes in armed combat, usually to the death. No trees or trimmed shrubberies were safe from her terrorizing and terrible fury, at least not until her father grew tired of her waywardness and decided to try pushing her back to her studies by enlisting the services of an irascible, alcoholic, and unapologetically brutal weaponmaster to beat the spirit of adventure out of her.

But the best laid plans often go awry – she took to the curmudgeonly instructor’s lessons as a fish to water, gaining skill with almost preternatural speed. As she outgrew her first teacher she took on others, younger and more able to keep up with her across the years. Her sisters grew as well, each more beautiful and graceful than Kieriel and easy enough for her parents to pair off, and who in turn seemed to embrace their civil and cultural duties as elfen wombs with gusto.

Desperate to make similar use of her youngest daughter to expand the elfen race, her mother eventually discovered another elf of the same cloth as Kieriel, a dashing rogue who flitted through human society as though he’d been born to it, earning a reputation not only as a talented warrior but as something of a philosopher as well; arranging for her daughter and this promising candidate to meet (quite by accident) proved challenging, but rewarding.

Kieriel and Daeryn became acquainted in the gardens across crossed blades, and soon shared far more than just a love of combat.

Their attempt to undo the damage of the Burning Egress between matrimonial sheets proved futile, however, for as the years passed it became clear that Kieriel was barren, unable to serve her race in the capacity required of her. This, coupled with her father’s refusal to support the burgeoning Eildi Society – a vanity project he considered a ruinous endeavor at best – threw her family quickly from grace amongst their racial peers, and in a desperate bid for self-preservation Kieriel’s sisters and mother distanced themselves from daughter and father both.

One exception remained, however, as Ilaya – eldest of Kieriel’s sisters – bucked the family’s disdain and remained loyal and a constant companion to the unluckiest Valcora daughter.

With the passage of time came another disaster, however; a betrayal of another sort soon radically altered the course of Kieriel’s life and the lives of her family. Seeking the comfort and honor of doing his due diligence for the elfen race, Daeryn managed to sire a child of his own with Ilaya, a grave mistake which destroyed both Daeryn’s reputation and his lover’s life.

Mother and daughter perished in the throes of childbirth while the culprit fled. Broken by the betrayals, horrified by the carnage wrought, and now possessed of a terrible wrath, Kieriel took up what remained of her household and gave chase, seeking retribution.

Long years passed, and long miles wore past underfoot. Many jobs of dubious morality came and went, and what stones she garnered on the path often came from those enlisting her skills with the blade and pistol. Money became increasingly important, though always fleeting -- it would be a long time before Kieriel would find the one she sought, and though much occupied her in the intervening years nothing was ever enough to dissuade her from the hunt. Finally, only a short time prior to the beginning of the story, she caught up to him at last.

What began so very long ago as a sparring match between would-be lovers ended in a battle in the pitch-black darkness of the desert night, filled only with the light of gunfire and the sound of an approaching storm. It lasted mere minutes but felt like forever, neither combatant able to definitively finish the job of vengeance or self-preservation before the dust storm caught them, guns abandoned and blades crossed as the wind threw them from their feet and ripped the world apart around them.

Beaten, bloody, and burnt out to her core, Kieriel staggered from that unholy night towards the only civilization she might conceivably reach before dying. And it was there, half buried in the dust, that a Kevol caravan found her and brought her – for a price – to the bastion of Glimhollow. No sign of her once-paramour remained, and he never surfaced in the city or in the talk of traders.

Unsure of herself and of what remained of her solemn vows of revenge, exhausted from half a lifetime of pursuit and from a battle which very probably should have stolen her life, she found herself in search of something to do, of something to occupy her hands and mind so that they could not be turned back to the road and the yawning abyssal question of whether her quarry yet lived, for she knew in her heart of hearts that he did not.

And so it was thus that the Dusthawks found her, gathering dust and drink in the dim emerald light of Lower Shenul. It took little effort to persuade the self-named “Kestrel” to their service, though perhaps not their causes; the immediacy of their desires serves as a sort of pleasant, numbing balm for Kieriel now, and provides her with a way to pay back those who saved her life and to stay in her cups. It also provides her the fringe benefit of keeping her out of the eye of the Wid and its masters, for whom she’s inherited her father’s distaste.

The child who would become Caradoc Hoekstra was born in Upper Shenul to a well off mining family with interests in the lower deeps Glimhallow. His story wouldn’t truly start until he was a young boy and a series of minor setbacks snowballed into disaster to the Hoekstra family fortunes, culminating in the death of his father. While the loss was considered a tragic accident, it was the nail in the coffin heralding the final end of the widow Tegwen Hoekstra’s life of comfort. By the time Caradoc was in his adolescence, he and his mothers downward spiral had ended them in the Grey District with the young dwarf doing his best to get by and look after his mother.

Having little advantage other then strength and will, Caradoc fought and scrapped and stole as well as any of the poor sods in Lower Shenul. Running with one gang or another was inevitable, and it was on those pale dusty streets and alleys that the young dwarf made his first connections. The trick was getting involved, but not too involved. Living rough a man gains scars, and Caradoc gained his fair share until his face fit that of the most hardened street thug.

Feeling his star was on the rise, young Hoekstra became bold and stretched his means too far. When those he owed came to collect, they found neither hand entirely full and not worth chopping off, so decided to be creative. They pulverising the mans left foot with hammers so thoroughly that a chirurgeon could do nothing but amputate.

After a long recovery, Caradoc walked the dark streets of Lower Shenul again. He’d long been ambitious, but now he had to use new means to make his way and found he was actually quite good at acting as a middle man - a neutral party that could broker deals, facilitate the fencing of goods and launder stone through otherwise legitimate businesses. No longer Creep-Eyed Caradoc, the businessman known as Hoekstra had made his way back to Upper Shenul, clunking conspicuously as he walks. Now, his misshapen fingers were in many pockets and his one eye was on many prizes.

Money flows upwards, however and Hoekstra has those he owes stone to as well. Due to a long history of working alongside the Dusthawks in their territories, he sets aside a percentage of his monthly income as tribute to their coffers. It’s merely a cost of doing business.

“I want to be so high and mighty that the little people can’t even see who’s spitting on them.”