Emila Valios

[*Midnight]

Basic Information
Name: Emila Valios
Aliases: None
Gender: Female
Race: Vampire, formerly human
Age: 433 appears in her early twenties
Profession: Factor of The Dustmen
Languages: Common, Draconic, Abyssal, Infernal
Accent: Emila speaks slowly and carefully every word is well pronounced. It is only rarely that a listener can detect the clipped tones that would place her as being from the north of Oerth.

Physical Information
Height: 5'5"
Weight: 129lbs
Body build: Trim and lithely muscled
Skin type: Smooth and lightly tanned
Hair style: Neat, just short of shoulder length.
Scars: On her upper left arm she has a bite mark that seems to have been left by a wolf or bear or some other large carnivore.
Tattoos: She has a ring of razorvine tattooed around her right ankle.
    Colouring:
Hair: Dark red.
Eyes: Bright green.
Skin: Slightly tanned
Mental Information
Alignment: She has little regard for anything but her own gain and nothing but contempt for the laws and strictures that "stand in her way:" Chaotic Evil.
Philosophy: Most things and people in life, are short lived and insignificant. They will never grasp the concept of true death, or the power of knowledge. They fall into one of three categories: tools, playthings or food. There are a few who pose a genuine threat to both learning and advancement, or at least as Emila sees these things. They must be destroyed utterly and without mercy. Finally there is a third rare group. Those souls who can be nurtured and shaped into something worth while. They need nurturing and guiding along the path to enlightenment.
Deity/Beliefs: A devout priest and blackguard of Vecna. She believes that whoever knows the multiverse's secrets can control it. The greatest secret of all is the complete mastery of mind that comes with the state of true death.
    Personality:
Emila's personality is layered. To many she plays the absent minded "kooky" creepy if dryly witty dustie. She is happy to allow others to laugh at her expense and even baits some into doing so. A few, usually those who deal with her in an official capacity see the ruthless calculating monster that dwells behind the mask. Even fewer see the patient careful teacher who will guide those she sees as worthy down the path of darkness.
Additional Information
Gear: During her time in Sigil Emila has a massed a lot of equipment. Mostly though she wears a dress or robes and an enchanted ring.
Jewelry: A ring worn on the third finger of her left hand and sometimes a necklace cut of pure black jet.
Habbits/hobbies: She is an avid player of the bet your life card game.
General Health: In life she was physically active and fit. In undeath health matters little to her.
Favorite Drink: Wine, she prefers slightly acidic reds laced with blood.
Weaknesses: As well as the weaknesses possessed by a vampire she is like most undead rigid and intractable in her thinking. She lacks the vitality and drive of her living counter parts to embrace change and learn new things. Her love of the hunt and her enjoyment of cruelty will prevent her from ever reaching true death try as she might, and her aforementioned inability to change means this will probably remain so.

[*Midnight]

In a house on Ragpicker's square Emila sits at a dresser. In the bed next to her Hasclaan sleeps occasionally snoring. Even if she were living she would not join him tonight, tonight she would not be able to sleep. She had hunted the cult of The Black Flower through The Cage, into undersigil and finally to Hades. She had been cold and ruthless in her pursuit of them. Everything her Faction would require of those who represent it.

Now things had taken another turn. The rest of them sheltered in Oerth. Blackmoor. Home. A landscape of tall pine forests deep snow and mist filled her mind. Memories of her childhood flood her mind. Hunting deer in the woods, skimming stones into one of the rivers, climbing trees and flirting with a baker's boy whose name was long lost to time. And for just a moment deep in her unbeating heart she is just a little girl again. Sigil, the planes undeath, The Dustman, Vecna. None of it seemed to matter. She cursed her own weakness for this sign of useless emotion. And unbidden came a second emotion following the melancholy. Anger. She stood up and stalked out into The Hive. She must clear her head, that required bloodshed. Someone or something in The Hive would die this evening.