A thin waif of a girl with a dirty stained leather Curiass and short tangled brown hair. She’d almost be mistaken for a boy were it not for the curve of her breasts and strip of lace on the edge of her short tattered silk dress.
Though she may look run down and ragged, a deadly glint in her ice blue eyes and eerily graceful step bely her true skill and capability.
Revenge, death, betrayal, the capital city is the breeding ground for such simplicities, and the place I call home. But no, you don’t want to know about the capital, it’s my past that has your curiosity, what led me down the road of an assassin. I use my abilities to take the lives of others without hesitation, often striking before they know I’m present, and gone before their dying gasp has time to escape between bloodied lips.
That is a story that spans many years and goes back to when I was but a child still clinging to my mothers skirts and staring at the dirty streets in wide eyed wonder.
My mother, Rachel, gave me blades instead of dolls to play with, and showed me the paths of the street were not places to be feared, but opportunities for excitement, and a chance to make things better for my family.
My family, she carefully explained, were all of those that made a living in the trash strewn alleys and filth ridden gutters, those whom the upper class had cast down and trod upon. Those that had no where else to go, those like us. Those that refused to give in to our environment and live like mindless animals, or become cruel and vile gang members.
Over time she trained me to master the blades until they were as much part of me as my fingers, to strike without hesitation or remorse against my enemies or those that preyed on the weak and helpless. "An assassin is one who kills from the shadow and without mercy," She used to remind me when I sharpened my blades, dulled form cutting through the rusted chain links and sinewy muscle of the many enemies I had faced. "One who strives kill as quickly and cleanly as possible leaving no trace of their passage except a trail of bodies."
Her firm but loving guidance is what shaped my beliefs, and gave me the courage to hone my skills to a razor edge as sharp as my weapons, and temper my anger. Over time I grew to be called Rage, but not for any hot bloodedness, but for the cold icy anger that grips my soul and drives me to seek quarry that test the limit of my skills.
You wish to know more? Well there are a lot of things I could tell you, like about the time I took a stand against a group of twisted slavers seeking young children form among the street urchins for their brothels and bar menus. Or when I fought a group of the city watch in desperate attempt to buy time for my friends to escape an ambush. A lot of memories and a lot of time.
Love? Yes I’ve experienced love and had my heart frozen in the cold ice of the winters night by the one whom I cared for.
There is more traveler, much more, but my time is precious, and I hear the sounds of my next quarry in the distance. Tread lightly here stranger, if you harm any of my family we are will to meet again for a final time.
A pair of perfectly balanced and finely crafted daggers honed to a razor edge, the wooden handles long since stained a dark crimson by countless splashes of blood.
A set of soft supple leather boots with thick padded soles to muffle her footsteps.
A vial of skunk spray within a perfume bottle. She sprays this unexpectedly into the face of potential attackers she wishes to disable or humiliate rather than kill, and onto the ground behind her and the faces of pursing guard animals to prevent easy tracking.
Perhaps one of the pc’s is down on their luck or under attack by bandits only to be assisted by this strange woman, who then asks for their help with a problem that is beyond the capability of a lone person to handle.
A PC roughing up a street bum for some info, (or just for fun if they happen to be evil characters) find she is all too eager to teach them a bloody and painful lesson in "picking on someone their own size"
Having grown up in the gutters and Alleys Rage knows her way around the cities less travels pathways better than almost anyone. She could make a useful guide for PC’s hoping to enter/exit the city unnoticed, or find a hidden way into what would otherwise be an impossible to enter place.
Rage is very observant and paranoid. She never walks into a building she doesn’t already know at least two ways out of, and sleeps with her hands on her daggers.
She is also a thrill seeker, and sometimes pursues dangerous targets to test the limit of her ability, from a loud mouthed guard captain who takes pleasure in harassing the bums behind the tavern, to the arrogant wizard that thinks nothing of shoving a begger into the mud if they dare block his way.
A long time dweller of the street, she is fiercely protective of other downtrodden people, and will readily attack and probably kill anyone who tries to take advantage of the dregs of society.
Despite her considerable skill (or perhaps because of it)Rage always enters combat in a quick methodical manner, seeking to disable or kill an enemy in as effect a manner as possible. She ignores pleas for mercy or cries of surrender and rarely says a word during a fight.
Being one of the poorer members of society she has a deep dislike for the rich and snooty, taking pleasure in relieving them of their coin purses and other obvious valuables whenever the opportunity presents itself. However she is always careful only to injure, not to kill. After all, she’s heard plenty of stories about the power a grieving nobles family can bring to bear on a single member of a city.