[Kipi]

Twaynith

Alignment - Chaotic Good
1st Level Tiefling Ranger

HP - 9

Str - 14 +2
Dex - 19 +4
Con - 12 +1
Int - 12 +1
Wis - 13 +1
Cha - 11 -

Initiative - 4 (+4 Dex)
BAB - 1
Attack - +3 Melee, +5 Ranged, +3 grapple

AC - 16 (+4 Dex + 2 Leather Armour)
Touch - 14
Flat-footed - 13

Fort - +3 (+1Con +2 Class)
Ref - +6 (+4 Dex +2 Class)
Will - +1 (+1 Wis)

Skills - 7 (6+1) x4 at 1st level
Hide - +10 (+4 Dex +4 Ranks +4 Racial)
Listen - +5 (+1 Wis +4 Ranks)
Move Silently - +8 (+4 Dex +4 Ranks)
Search - +5 (+1 Int +4 Ranks)
Spot - +5(+1 Wis +4 Ranks)
Survival - +5(+1 Wis +4 Ranks)

Feats - Point-Blank Shot, Track

Spells Known -

0: -
1: -
2: Lesser Darkness

Equipment -7 gold pieces, Longbow (+5 attack bonus, 1d8 damage), Longsword (+3 attack bonus, 1d8+2 damage), Leather Armour (+2 AC, 10% Arcane Spell Faliure), Backpack, Bedroll, Flint and Steel, Small Mirror, a week's Trail Rations, Silk Rope, three Torches, three waterskins, a Whetstone.

Class Abilities - Favoured Enemy (Humans) +2, Wild Empathy, Simple and Martial Weapon Proficiencies, Light Armour and Shield proficiencies

Description
Twaynith is of a thin build, a mear 97 lbs and reaching only 5'4'' of height, she is short and light, even for a woman. Despite her physical size there is something about her, something that parts a crowd, that can stop bar bullies in their tracks something... disconcerting. She is nicely curved, without being buxom, enough to draw eyes, but not to hold them.

Her face is fine-featured and angularly boned, giving her a sharp, hostile appearance most of the time. Smiles are rare on her face, but when one does grace her features, it is a fine sight indeed. Her skin is an unnatural palor, beyond even that of a cloistered scholar, and unbelievable considering the time she spends outside. Her ebony hair falls in perfect tresses, halfway to her back, she never ties is back or braids it, but it never seems to fly in her face. As opposed to the blueish or brownish sheen normal black hair can get when light plays on it, Tway's highlights a dark red, alluring yet disconcerting at the same time. Her eyes are dark, mesmerising pools, their colour indeterminable, they seem to smolder with an inner fire, though most naïve mortals throw it off as a trick of the light. Then, of course, there are the horns. Small protrusions of bone, at only two or three inches, they are the colour of polished bone, and even starker white than her skin. They spiral upwards like a unicorn's horn, coming to a bluntened tip. Usually she hides them, but when in the mood to cause some mischeif, she throws back her hood abd lets the world see her for what she is...


Twaynith was not born, she was bred. Her mother, a second generation Tiefling, was no small operator in the lower plains, commanding more respect than one of her… tainted, blood would normally garner. Her daughter was not supposed to be one to follow her footsteps, merely a bartering tool to increase her power. Twaynith was to be a sacrifice, to bring forth one of the Lord of the Abyss to the Material Plane. Mere hours after her birth, she was on the sacrificial alter, and the ceremony began.

Unbeknownst to the Cult, a group of good-aligned adventurers was planning to stage a raid in the middle of their ceremony. The party, a Paladin, Cleric and Fighter, called forth a Celestial to aid them in their struggle, lest the Cult succeed in summoning their demon. So the trio, plus a Ghaele Eladrin, began their assault on the cult.

As the battle raged outside the ritual reached it’s end. As the sacrificial dagger began it’s decent to Twaynith’s infant heart, the attackers burst in. On an impulse the Ghaele’s first spell was aimed at Twaynith’s mother, even though she was in no position to attack them. It was the impulse of a Celestial being that saved Twaynith’s life. The battle raged fiercly, and though the fighter lost his life, the adventurers were victorious in the end.

The bedraggled pair approached the altar, only noticing the crying of a babe when the roar of battle had died down. On the bare-headed babe, the tiny horns were clearly visible. The Paladin, filled with fury at the death of his friend, leapt for his sword, planning to destroy the unholy child, but the Ghaele held him in check. She could see the goodness in the child, only a few hours old. She was not ruled by her demonic blood, she had a good heart beneath that tainted flesh. So the babe was spared, and named by the Ghaele, Twaynith, meaning lost-child in the Celestial tongue. The Cleric took the babe to a convent, to be raised with good values and a good environment.

Despite the Cleric’s good intentions, Twaynith’s early life was not an easy one. Despite the good intentions of the clergy, they could not help but looked down upon Tway’s demonic blood. The other children teased her because of her horns, and these often lead to fights. Being the winner, Tway was the one prosecuted. Eventually, sick of her second-class position at the convent, Twaynith fled, at the tender age of 16, to Luskan.

Luskan was not renowned for being an accepting, or even neutral environ. Downright hostile, and proud of it, Tway did not find the easy life she had been hoping for in the city. Cold, hungry and desperate for somewhere to sleep at night, she took residence in the only place she could, a… “House of Ill Repute.”

Tway spent two years of her relatively short life in this insufferable existence. Selling her body to provide for her next meal, her hope was shattered. One fateful night, she was “servicing” an especially rough client, he got violent, and she was forced to stab a broken piece of wood into his neck. Awkward questions the next morning. Awkward questions in Luskan lead to the gallows.

But Twaynith got luck (sort of) the guards were always in need of underworld contacts, so Tway was blackmailed into risking her life for the guard. She served as a spy for another year before she fled. She had slipped a few times and the guard were considering “letting her go.” And she knew what that meant. So she fled the city, and headed to a place of practical myth, somewhere where she might be accepted for her personality, not her blood; Silverymoon.

Months of traveling, and a lot of getting lost, later, she arrived at the silver gates. Despite some trepidation the guards let her enter the city, where she walked with her cowl thrown back. She drew many looks, but shrugged them off. They were looks of curiosity, on outrage or fury. For the first time in her life, Tway felt accepted.

She had only been in Silverymoon two weeks when she had the most important meeting of her life. Strolling the beautiful streets of the city, she caught a glimpse of something she couldn’t believe. Ebony skin, stark white hair and an elven frame. A drow walking the streets of Silverymoon, apparently unimpeded.

She tailed him for the rest of the day, and finally plucked up the courage to talk to him. He was, of course, none other than Drizzt Do’Urden, famed drow ranger. In the following half-hour, Tway learnt more about herself and… everything than 16 years in the convent had scratched upon. The following week she left Silverymoon, her hope reaffirmed. She was convinced that her meeting with Drizzt was fate, and she was not about to discard the hard fate had dealt her.

She journeyed south, taking a wilderness route, and over the next few years, she taught herself the Ranger’s arts. Now, a self-taught ranger, she is prepared for anything fates sends her way. She has come to terms with her blood and feels no shame for her parentage. She wants to meet life head on, no bars held…