Crushed Violet

[*UQT]

Name: Marie Wiley 
Aliases: Wioletta Olaundran 
Gender: female
Race: human 
Age: 29 
Profession: Rogue/thief 
Languages: No one has heard her speak anything but common... yet 
Accent: She mimics a thick accent of the moonshaes.  She's been perfecting it for years, so now it would take a native with a decent ear to think she was from anywhere else.  She will tell you straight that she is from Sembia however.  No one ever seems to question that bit.  
Height: 5'4" 
Weight: 100lbs if she's lucky 
Body build: Lithe, as you might expect from someone who has to regularly pull off the kind of acrobatics she does.  Just enough padding, though most of the time another character would be pressed to see it as she keeps pretty well covered. 
Skin type: Soft and pale. 
Hair style: Most of the time her hair is loosely restrained in a sloppy pony tail.  She has dark chestnut hair that falls past her shoulder blades when it is down. 
Scars: Whip lashes across the small of her back.  She won't wear any dress that dips below her shoulders and always wears a full bathing suit.  Otherwise there are a few knicks from the life of a thief, but you'd have to be looking for most of them and she doesn't have the same level of shame or desire to cover them. 
Tattoos: She has a tatoo on her left arm that reads, "To thine self be true"     
Colouring:

• Hair: Deep, rich chestnut
• Eyes: silver
• Skin: pale (she spends a lot of time in the dark)

Alignment: -discover in RP- 
Philosophy: Life is a cruel game.  I must like playing it though, because I'm still here.  
                      After all these years, I'm okay by myself. 
Deity/Beliefs: -is not open about her religious beliefs    

Gear: She does not appear to carry anything significant
Jewelry: A quartz necklace and she sometimes pulls out and rolls what looks like an absolutely worthless sapphire in her hands 
Habbits/hobbies: drinking, gambling, digging up gems, collecting gold so that she may one day lay it all out and roll on it naked. 
General Health: Perfect health 
Favorite Drink: Whiskey 
Weaknesses: Children.  She's a sucker for kids.

Potential Plot Hooks: The stone she carries could be as simple as a cursed alignment stone that casts finger of death on anyone evil aligned that touched it, or it could be a family relic.  I have some ideas if anyone from the DM team is interested in pursuing what the gem is, how to find out, and how the Olaundran family ended up with it in their possession. 

A wanted woman, with a large bounty on her head as Wioletta, and a much smaller bounty as Marie.  This could cause some shenanigans if such a thing could follow her to Sigil.

Marie was told her mother killed herself.  No one saw a body, and Marcus clearly thinks his father killed Madelina.  What really happened?

Of course, I am always open to suggestion.  Also, I try not to expose details about other characters in my stories unless I am given permission.  If you don't mind me writing about your character, please let me know.

[*UQT]

Sharon and Marie left that night for Neverwinter.  Upon arrival, Marie concentrated her thoughts on her brother and then hoped the stone would glow back his reply. Nothing came, so without much explanation she made arrangements with Sharon on where to meet at the end of the day long period they planned for.  Marie deflected every question, and headed to the nearest magic trinket shop in search of a full contact medallion. They had several, fully charged and unused, but at 9000 gold a pop.  She opted for one on its third charge with only 4 sendings left, paying a single platinum for the necklace that would likely explode on its next attempted charging.

She slipped out of the city a ways, using the shadows to conceal her and making sure no one saw or followed her. She made a small camp and used the Medallion.

"Marcus?" She wished her voice had not cracked, "Marcus, I'm alive, I am in a place where I can't use the stone.  It's safe... I'm safe, Marcus, but I don't think I will be able to contact you often."

A single charge expended.  No reply came.  Her voice echoed in her mind like it had bounced off of something... Marcus was somewhere warded.  She thought a moment and reached out to a person she'd not spoken to directly in years.

"Mrs. Wiley?" she started, "I'm sorry for how I left it, but I am safe and I am alive. I miss you, and I wanted to say just once that I was grateful to you for taking me in."

"I love you, lil'pepper-pot," The voice finally answered, "Don' y'cry now.  Mama Marie, loves ya. You stay safe, You stay far away from Sembia now.  Eryone's lookin' for ya... Don't come back never... I loves ya... Stay safe an strong my lil'pepper-pot. Mama loves ya."

How had Mrs. Wiley known before even the first tear fell that Marie would be crying?  She placed her face in her hands and let herself cry for the first time in years.  There was no one to see her after all, so she cried and cried.  When she stopped she thought on Marcus again, hoping he might move out of the warded area.  Still her stone did not glow.  She had a final thought. She pulled out a scroll and read it, protecting herself from scrying. 

"Raphael Olaundran," Her voice was a cruel whisper, "How do you sleep these days? As long as there is a price on my head remember that no shadow is safe.  I'll be there, one of these days, waiting to cut out your black heart. . . Or maybe, I can take care of the son that so cruelly ended my days in your good graces."

"You even sound like her," His voice grated in Marie's head, "Like my Madelina.  Good luck reaching Marcus.  He sups in the Hulron's ward with the Hulron's daughter.  He, at least, is not a complete blight upon our name.  I will extend your sentiments to the Hulron.  You attempted to assassinate a member of the nobility within his favorite city.  The bounty is already sizable, it will likely double with your threat.  There will be no where on Toril for you to hide, shy violet."

"Good thing I don't live on Toril anymore," she thought, as the magic faded. It was probably not wise to poke the bear, but word would definitely reach Marcus now that she was alive.  She watched the fire and waited, sure runners were already en route to Marcus.  She watched the fire dim and the sun begin to rise when the stone around her neck began to glow.  She closed her hand over it and poured her love back through it, then she lifted the medallion for the final charge.

"Don't worry," She started, "I'm safe. I am somewhere they'll never find me.  My chance's to contact you after this will be slim and none.  And the stone you gave me doesn't work where I am normally.  Just know I am safe, baby brother.  I love you."

"I love you, sister," He echoed, "And I understand... Just stay safe, stay out of his reach. At this rate I will be the Hulron, and when I am I can lift your bounty and pardon you... You can finally come home."

She was never coming to Sembia.  Sembia was a deep wound in her soul.  It festered every time she looked at it too hard, but that didn't matter now.  Marcus knew her threat was a farce.  They were both alive and well.  That was what mattered. 

"Bye, brother," She dropped the medallion into the embers and left it.  Her stoned glowed and warmed her skin for the rest of the day, then she tucked it into her shirt so it would not be seen and met Sharon at the arranged place.  She smiled at "Kegstand" as Marie had taken to calling Sharon and reported that her business was, indeed, concluded.  The gate was opened, and they stepped through.

[*UQT]

She would never admit the dreams she had at night.  It was a common side affect of post traumatic stress.  She was a still sleeper, luckily, so no one had ever asked.  She would just suddenly be awake, staring into the darkness, and resisting the urge to reach for a kukri.  She told him about the scars.  She showed him.  Maybe that was why that particular memory woke her. 

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Her ruined dress was brutally ripped off her.  She wouldn't be needing anything so fine in a cell.  In her small clothes and breast bindings she begged Raphael with tears rolling out of her eyes to forgive her.  She only meant to protect her honor from a man that meant to take it.  She had not meant to disgrace Raphael in any way.  Raphael only sneered and looked to a large man in a heavy back suit and mask.  

"Ten," He said, "For every scratch, and then ten more for bringing her filth back to my home."

Ten? Ten what? She was holding her arms over her, trying to protect her modesty before both men, but it was a fruitless effort.  Raphael looked at her, hate blazing in his cold, loveless eyes. Raphael added, "Stay beneath the shoulder blades, and above the hips.  All in the small of her back.  Someone -might- still want to take her off my hands so she needs to be presentable if anyone expresses interest."

"That many lashes over such a small space," The man in black grunted, "Her skin might not mend. It's likely such a wound will fester and fail to close up."

Her mind swam. Lashes?

"If she dies so be it," Raphael said casually, "All of them, in one round, across the small of her back."

Her legs gave out and she gaped up at the shining man in his golden shimmerweave. He had been her god for so much of her young life.  Her heart crumbled inside her, and Raphael left.  He wouldn't even stay to watch the torture he'd ordered.  He couldn't have blood flicked across his very fine clothes.  When the man in black roughly gripped her arm she just hung from it limply.  Moments later she was tied over a saw horse so she wouldn't pre-emptively flinch and a lash fall in the wrong place. . . 

Ten, for every scratch. . . and ten more for daring to survive and come home.  It should have been 50, but truth be told, she lost count.


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Without so much as a reaction, she would rise, get dressed, and disappear into the night.  The shadows she danced through swallowed her tears. 

[*UQT]

"Heh," She breathed out, "Yeah... Don' make a person 'xactly normal, do it?"

She was talking to James about people who live with a price on their head. Their understandable paranoia and desire to return to normal lives.

"You keep saying normal," He reflected, "I think what you really mean is free."

Yes, that exactly what she meant.  Exactly.  That's why seeing that wyvern in that tiny glass cage had made her want to slam a chair into the enclosure and free a creature that would likely love to eat her for breakfast.  It's why she'd climbed up onto a stage in the city of brass and danced like like there weren't two other dancing girls, a band and other patrons looking at her like she was nuts.  She was proving she was free to try it.  

Let them try to put me in a glass cage. . . 



But it was an illusion.  It was a temporary reprieve.  She kept telling herself she wasn't scared any more.  She kept telling herself she could dream here. Just be.  The truth is it only needed one smart bounty hunter to figure out how she fell into a chasm and disappeared.  One to figure out where she ended up.  The price on her head was huge.  Enough for a person to pretend reasonably at nobility. 

She rolled that stupid milky sapphire over her fingers again.  Another of her false father's lies.  It should kill her, he'd told her.  There it was, touching each finger in turn.  Over and over she repeated the exercise.  The symbol of her family's honor in her very dirty hands.  

I'm not going to be free... Not as long as he lives. 

[*UQT]

Multiple drafts of a letter were strewn about her.  She wrote and rewrote it trying to make clear her intent and plead her case.  After two days of throwing unworthy drafts into the fire she finally had something passable.  She delivered the paper to a prior employer and the bartering began. 

A month and change later she was many platinum cogs poorer, but someone got what they deserved in this life.  It made her feel like her suffering had some purpose.  She had the ability to make these grand anonymous gestures of kindness for those whom good fortune had failed to properly recognize.  She tilted the balance of the good and the horrible things that happen in life a little more in the right direction. 



If she were found and drug to Sembia tomorrow, she could at least say that Raphael Olaundran had not ultimately stopped her from leaving something good behind her in this life.  Many used the shadows to hide their dark intent.  She used them to hide her tender heart.  It was true that people might never know what she had done in secret for those she cared for, but she didn't need that.  

[*UQT]

Early in the morning she rose.  He still somehow seemed to beat her to being up and productive.  She used to think that she never slept.  Guess there's always someone better than you... Even at being the worst. 

She stretched and moved to the pantry.  She rooted through for baking powder, flour, and butter.  She then moved to the kitchen and went to work.  It would be about three candle marks before she opened the oven on the last batch.  By then the smell of lightly toasted pastries and cinnamon was heavy in the air.  She poured thick glaze over the warm pastries which melted in a satisfying way over her masterpiece.  She'd learned to cook and bake from her namesake.  It was one of the first useful skills she ever acquired. 

She bundled up a few packages.  Then she dawned her kit and made her way upstairs.  She set down the packages in his office as she quickly saw her chores sweeping up the place.  Not once since he had taken her in had she missed the chores she insisted she do in return.  With all of that sorted, she collected the packages leaving one behind on his desk.  In flowing script she scrawled across the top of the package;

"Something Nice..."

Hopefully the package would at least keep them warm until the hard-working man finally noticed them. 

Then she was off.  She made a wide circuit, dropping off three smaller packages.  One to an apartment building, one outside a home, and one to a room at Chirpers.  Each time she knocked on the door and quickly moved away to watch from the shadows only long enough to see they were delivered.  Her final stop was the one large package, which she delivered to the orphans at the gatehouse.  For this delivery she stayed, rolling, doing hand stands, and otherwise entertaining the children as they shoved sticky cinnamon rolls into happy, laughing faces.  She went crawling after that, thinking on her life and her decisions.

"That's probably how they keep finding me," She decided, "I can't help myself but to do for children.  I just see him in every one of them; My sweet Marcus.  I'm an idiot... It's a wonder no one has tried hurting one of the small ones to get to me before now..."

Her blades bit deeper as her own self loathing settled in.  

"Idiot... Idiot, idiot, idiot.  You bring danger to them. All of them, just like you thoughtlessly put Marie in danger by taking her name.  You are stupid, thoughtless, idiot, and a danger to anyone who you were ever kind to and larger danger to them that are kind to you."

She tried one of his tricks, she saw the opening in the armor of her foe.  Now she had to open it.  She stepped into his stand, opened his guard and her kukri's found home in his flesh.  With a surprised gurgle, his eyes went wide and then vacant.  He fell in a heap at her feet.  She stood over him a moment, his kind were raiders, and he had attacked first.  There was still just the smallest spark of something fragile and fighting for life within her.  Something the mourned him, and mourned that her hands ended him.  

She normally would have admonished herself for the feeling. Instead she curled herself around it.  She'd been changing since she got to Sigil. Normally she would have continued her self-deprecating inner dialog, but instead...

"That's not right... That's not fair and you know it. You were a girl... A little girl in a world much bigger than you.  A world that tried over and over to stamp you out.  You ran, you fought, and you made decisions... Some good, some bad.  Some with your heart and some with your head.  Like any living breathing soul there ever was.  They won't find you here... Especially if you keep popping back to Toril and making your sendings. Most people on Toril don't know Sigil exists.  As long as you keep showing up on Toril, they've no reason to suspect you are anywhere else."

It was what she wanted to believe, even as she trained her arse off trying to be ready.  She memorized every escape route and all the best places to hide, but she wanted to believe.  She wanted to believe she had a home here.  A place she never had to run from.  A place no one could touch her. Still the words echoed in her mind.

"Most people on Toril don't know Sigil exists."  "Most people"  "-Most-. . ."

[*UQT]

She was perfecting her techniques, and feeling strong.  She was starting to feel like she had friends, and like she might be able to tell more of them who she really was.  Then there was him... Then there was him...

She sat in the secret valley.  No one was there making out this time.  She had the peaceful place to herself and her thoughts.  The thought that he might someday feel inspired to bring her someplace like this and that they might reach more comfort and less tension over whatever was between them crossed her mind.  She stamped it down.  She was happy as things were.  Wait... She was happy?

She smiled.

And then. . . She frowned.

This is where the wolves always closed in.  If she started to feel safe, wanted, or comfortable, that is when they got her.  That is when they remind her she has always been prey.  She rested her forehead against her knees.  She never cried in front of anyone, least of all him.   She'd come close once, but she'd managed to blink them back.  Truth be told she wasn't given to crying in general.  It didn't solve anything and she didn't have the time to wallow and lick her many wounds.  Here it was different.  She found herself newly given to the release of crying when she was alone. 

Gods please, if there truly are any gods to hear me... Please, I don't want to run any more.  I want to stay here.  I want to be able to relax enough to... Enough to...

And then it was time to train again.  To make herself strong enough to stand and not run when the wolves came to call. 

[*UQT]

The last strap was buckled.  She was now strapped to a Erinyes.  Good gods above.  What was she doing? 



They stood over the waterfall and Klo asked, "Are you ready?"

On Toril she would have run or fought an Erinyes, not put her life in its hands.  Klo attempted to wake her again, "Marie?"

Marie grinned.  I know what I am doing... I'm living. 

She opened her arms and fell forward.  Klo squeaked, "Woah! Wait it doesn't work that WAAaaaaayyy!"

And they were falling.  With a grunt Klo opened her wings and tried to catch the air of their descent.  The bottom rushed toward them and Marie gave an excited howl, "Come oooooon!"

One mighty beat just as they would have hit bottom and they were airborne.  Marie gave another crazed hoot. 

"Good grief, Marie," Klo grumbled, "Anyone ever tell you that you're scary sometimes?"

A baatezu devil was chuckling and calling her scary.  Marie might have also used the word "reckless" but living with a price on your head, with the thought that it might all suddenly and violently end, makes a person a little reckless.  She opened her arms and soared with another cry of victory.  She had set foot where some never tread.  She had a thousand little places on a hundred planes that might not have seen any footprint but hers in a millennia and now she was flying with a devil. All of this was hers.  All of this would always be hers, no matter what Raphael did in the future.  

"Marie?" Klo asked concerned, "Marie, you okay.  You went silent.  Did that last dive knock you out?"

She grinned and growled out, "We gotta hit Sigil."

"What?" Klo laughed

"We gotta hit Sigil," Marie gave a toothy grin, "I need to steal a bandanna."

And so the most peculiar sight was seen in the Lower Ward.  As an unpirate was on his way to the shop a great gust of wind swooped down upon him and collected his prized head cover before he could react.  An Erinyes and a theif took off into the false sky with their prize.  Lance was left raking his hand back through his hair.  Marie would not have heard anything he shouted as the wind whistled past her ears. 

[*UQT]

She had been happy.  Why had she let it blow up like that?

She stared at the words on the page, but none of it was going in.  Her whole life the people she trusted had sold her out or flat tried to kill her.  Somewhere beneath that damage she always suspected she was to blame in some way.  If she ever met anyone who wouldn't do that, she'd find a way to wreck it all on her own. 

What was she trying to read again? 

"Addiction and Self-Destruction" 

It was a healer's text on why people become drunks and engage in behaviors that destroy their lives.  This chapter was alcoholism as a form of medication, and it rang true to her.  Her smile turned dark.  She did it to appear as broken from a distance as she actually was.  It was a warning flag she waved proudly to run people off.  That, however was only half the reason.  She drank to quiet the nightmares.  She didn't so much fall asleep as pass out every night.  

A warning, a medication, a crutch she leaned on heavily because people would always abandon her.  Then she found something else that made her sleep at night.  She drank less and less. Then she got scared, and got stupid.  And why not? She knew she wasn't worth it.  For people to put up with damage there has to be something under it worth holding on to.  The layers were peeling off, and she was no treasure beneath it. 

Panic.  People, particularly broken ones, will panic.  They do stupid things and act out of their normal character. 

She rubbed her eyes wearily.  Sleep, she desperately needed to sleep.  She'd gone to her room at Chirper's to sleep, but she looked at that bed and tensed. 

Every time she closed her eyes she saw everything, all over again.  She saw Raphael's cold stares, his cutting tone.  She saw the slimy bastard Raphael tried to marry her off to.  She felt his hands on her throat, she choked on the wine he tried to force down it.  Her back burned anew with the lashes, and her stomach would twist at the hunger of years in a cell being fed only what the dogs didn't finish.  She would wake startled, with her feet feeling raw from walking barefoot on rocks through the woods, her hands would find her thigh to stop the bleeding that happened years ago.  She'd lay in silence, getting her bearings and remembering where she actually was and that all those things were in the past. It wouldn't be restful and she knew it. 

Booze was a staircase away. . . 

But she wanted to be worth it. 

She laughed at herself.  Two things made her sleep.  She quit one, and the other quit her.  She crawled into the bed, and biology forced her to submit.  She closed her eyes and relived everything.  It was always in perfect order and clarity.  Uncommonly perfect recollection ensured the sleep she took would leave her more tired than ever. 

[*UQT]

Violets.

People just think of purple and dainty flowers.  Violet is a tertiary color that is mixed of one part red and two parts blue.  The result is a deep, royal purple that looks blue much of the time, revealing it's true depth only in certain tricks of light and with careful attention.  The plant itself was its own story.

The wild form of violet had slick, delicate leafs to belie it's hardy nature.  It was not the thick, fuzzed and frail, potted monstrosity you could buy from a careful gardener. It rarely bloomed, but even without it's flowers it was a nutritious treat so prized that wars had be fought over stretches of forest where they grew. 



When they did bloom... Oh the sight of it. 

Plucking the blossoms and serving them to anyone less than nobility was illegal in some places.  The light flavor brightened with a light dusting of sugar without being pungently floral and tasting of perfume.  It was believed that consuming the flowers kept noble women young-looking and beautiful.  There was a mysticism to them, because even when they were complete cut back, the plants would return again and again from bare roots. 

Hardy, yet delicate and beautiful; They grew from even bare cracks with only hopes of sunlight to sustain them.  Crushed, again and again, they returned stronger.