Mrena Mattea, Peddler of Vengeance

[Anaxarete]

So. Here is Mrena's backstory! It's a little rough, because I really wanted a better idea of how to play her, and so I threw together her history just to get the ideas typed out... the wording and all that may not be so hot. And the story may jump around. And such. Oh well!

[Anaxarete]

Deverell was a half-elf. It was a fact which was difficult to hide, especially given his rather long lifespan, pointed ears, and exquisitely beautiful features. There was also the matter of his insatiable wanderlust. Itchy feet led him to wander throughout much of Faerun – or, at least, wherever he could venture securely. Along the way he picked up stories and tales by the dozen, and became somewhat of a Bard; in every city he passed through, he left tales of his travels, of epic adventures, and great heroes… he also tended to leave a trail of single mothers, given his outstanding charisma and striking handsomeness.

Near his eightieth turning, when he was still handsome and full of plenty of energy to fuel his roaming, he ventured into the land of Chessenta; Chessenta, he knew, was one of those lands that was looked down upon for its crude ways. It was regarded with disdain by the majority of Faerun, but he was not quite sure why – so why not venture there?

This little detour proved rather unpleasant. Nearly every city in the “alliance” of Chessenta was at war with another – and that made the traveling and sightseeing rather unpleasant. It wasn’t even that noble and heroic sort of war. It was just bloodshed and murder and deceit. Not his cup of tea, no.

As such, Deverell endeavored to leave the land as quickly as possible… however, he could not bring himself to turn back and miss all of the sights along the way, so he cut through the country along the Sea of Fallen Stars in hopes of gleaning nightmarish tales of Chessenta’s backwards ways to spread upon reaching more hospitable territories.

But then he came upon the city of Luthcheq. It was unbearable; it was revolting. Slavery was commonplace, and its citizens were widely unsophisticated and uneducated – they toiled idiotically away under the rule of a corrupt and twisted governing family. Perhaps worst of all, the “Cult of Entropy” had quite a bit of influence here – swearing to eradicate all users of magic and whatnot. Quite ugly, indeed.

A day was quite enough in the city for him – but, in the course of that day, he happened upon Morela. She was a fairly average woman, working at a fruit stand in the grimy marketplace. Perhaps it was the revolting, unpleasant backdrop which made her dandelion-like prettiness seem more like that of an exquisite rose. Yes; there was something about her simplistic, wholesome beauty which called to Deverell stronger than any road had ever…

Naturally, it was a matter of hours before he was in bed with her.

He had never held a woman more… imperfectly perfect in his arms. And he could not leave her, for some confounding reason. He could not. It was if that one passionate encounter had simply knotted him to her – she was strong, but helpless; beautiful, but plain. She was fascinating, and he soon feared that he was experiencing that pesky love syndrome which he had so often sung about.

Despite the general disgust he felt toward the city of Luthcheq, Deverell could not bring himself to leave Morela – months later, he begged and pleaded with her to just… come away with him, perhaps to the land of Cormyr, or Tethyr. Nicer, friendlier places. Where they could just… be together. Always.

Morela was tempted; she shed tears of frustration, wanting to go away as badly as Deverell did – but there was the matter of her father. He was old and ill (losing his mind steadily with each turning day), and she was the only one who would tend to him… without her, what would happen to him?

Morela and Deverell never wed, as her father refused his blessing, in this union with a half-elf. Her father was weak and incoherent, but he still managed to curse her choice of mate – using slanderous words to describe her suitor. “Elven bastard… stealing my daughter…”

And then, she was pregnant.

[Anaxarete]

It soon became clear that Deverell would have to make a living somehow were he to support his little family – the fruit stand Morela worked was not enough. As such, he attempted to perform for the townspeople… but there was a rottenness in their core, and their lure toward music and story was limited, particularly when produced by a half-elf.

Deverell began work as a gem crafter instead; it was a pleasant line of work, and he made good money – that is, as long as he kept hidden or flat-out denied his bloodline. Of course, certain things are obvious, and certain people could not be deceived...

When the baby was born, Deverell was at Morela’s side. The girl, however, was not as perfect as they had hoped – she was adorable, and healthy, save her eyes… they were not baby blue, but rather, distressingly pale lavender; they almost appeared shiny and polished, like one of Deverell’s moonstones.

As Mrena, named for her whitish eyes, grew, it became quite obvious that her eyesight was poor – not so poor that she ran into things, per se… but she could never read, and she could never write. She could make out the faces of her mother and father… and her grandfather, who blamed her sight upon the taint of Elven blood within her arteries.

Mrena had a very normal upbringing – her parents attempted to shield her from the ridiculous small-minded notions that festered in the people of Luthcheq, and endeavored to leave the city as soon as… well, as soon as Morela’s father passed on.

The only thing – Deverell was not around much; the city scared him, as did their prejudice against elves. He was tentatively liked by some, but he was well aware the combination of his blood heritage and his growing wealth as a gem crafter were rubbing the Cult of Entropy the wrong way. He had been bullied in the streets several times before, but his quick wits and movements saved him from a beating on every occasion.

But he knew it was just a matter of time – as such, he spent quite a bit of time away from the town, touring the realm in search of gems and materials for months at a time – and all the while spreading tales and song, of course. Morela accepted this lifestyle sadly – she knew it was best for her mate’s safety, and despite all of his pleading, she still could not leave her father alone in this town… nor would, or could, he travel with them.

Unhappily, this arrangement carried on for ten years. In the meanwhile, Mrena’s eyesight continuously deteriorated, until the world was all but dark; as well, Morela’s father’s madness compounded – he became absolutely unpleasant and mean; he was especially cruel to Mrena, cursing her as one with tainted blood. He even became unnaturally obsessed with his hatred for Deverell – cursing him for impregnating and leaving his daughter a whore; for their out-of-wedlock union; for their dirty child; for everything wrong…

It scared Morela. It did.

Mrena was not unaware of the troubles facing her city and her family; her mother tried to shield her as best she could, but there was no keeping that stinking foulness out. She interacted with very few children her age, given her eyesight… or lack thereof. By the age of ten, she could make out little to nothing of the world surrounding – vague shapes, hints of color, and movement occasionally surfaced in the curtain of inky darkness that met her eyes. But it wasn’t all bad… she had her mother, and her mother had a few friends (though a number had carefully distanced themselves from the unwed mate of a half-elf) with children nearly her age…

While Deverell was away, Morela tended to the fruit stand, the gem shop, her father, and to Mrena. She read Mrena every book that she could get her hands on, in hopes of educating her daughter to the best of her ability…

But it could only go on like this for so long.

[Anaxarete]

Deverell returned from a particularly long time away.

He had had enough. He had been chained to this hellish city for ten years – his love for Morela and Mrena was great, however, so he would not leave them here forever. No. He had to take matters into his own hands… they deserved so much more…

One evening, when he was closing up shop, a darkly-clad young woman stepped up to him. “You have been wronged; you are seeking my services. Explain yourself, and your circumstances, and your target, and I shall assess if your case is worthy of my attention.”

There was something eerie, yet unnaturally friendly, about this assassin. She mentioned the name Hoar several times, but Deverell knew little about the deity… he gave her gold and gems. She went on her way.

Within a week, Morela’s father was dead. Murdered in his bed.

Morela was distraught, of course – but her distress was about to double. A day passed after the murder… and representative members of the Cult of Entropy, the guard, and the ruling house showed up at their door step. They shoved Morela aside and marched straight past ten-year-old Mrena, who was playing with a doll on the floor… she could not see the men, but she heard their heavy breathing, and could somehow feel the anxiety, excitement, and anger that radiated from them…

They waited until Deverell came home from work.

They accused him of the murder of Morela’s father.

Morela cried and cried. She cradled her child, and attempted to shelter her sightless eyes – but there was no way to shield her acute ears from picking up what occurred next. Deverell was attempting to politely deny the charges… which only seemed to aggravate them further.

“We have dealt with your presence in our sacred city for long enough, you half-blooded scum.” Deverell sneered. He ridiculed their use of “sacred city” – a city of corruption and foolishness, run by idiots and closed-minded fools, wrapped up in their own greed and power.

It was a mistake, and he knew it – but both parties, the Half-Elf and the Authorities, had been waiting for years to do what they did. He mocked them. They struck him down, right there. It didn’t end there, however. Despite all of Morela’s shrieking, he was beaten brutally by the six men, and then dragged out… “We found one of your gems at the scene, you lying half-elf bastard! There’s no denying that!” The offending moonstone was held out, then thrown across the room in disdain…

…what seemed like hours later, Mrena pried herself free from her mother, and crawled across the floor… she took hold of the moonstone, and clutched to it.

The next day, in the fire pits reserved for elves and wizards, Deverell was tied up and burned alive. Morela and Mrena were in attendance – Morela had to be there. She had to be there for him. And Mrena…

…the cracking and snapping, the dull angry roar of the fire; the laughter and jeering of the many onlookers; the dry sobbing of her mother… Mrena could not see what was going on, beyond the reddish glow of flame… but her ears told a story so brutal she could not keep it out; it filled her mind and her consciousness.

Her sightless white eyes, wide and horrified, did not shed a tear. They simply stared, empty…

A dark-clad onlooker, horrified among a crowd of celebrating townsfolk, stood across the blazing fire; her entire body froze, as her eyes locked with Mrena’s own.

[Anaxarete]

Morela was the traitorous human who had wed a murderous and dirty individual with Elven blood. And Mrena was their dirty child… the two were separated, and both made slaves the next day. Their house was ravaged, everything stolen…

…Mrena had managed to hold only onto her clothing and that moonstone of her father’s.

She never saw her mother again; she was sold into slavery, to a member of the Cult of Entropy, whereas Mrena went to the royal house, where she served the ruling family.

She was enslaved with relative hope of release; as a known quarter-elf (though few people would consider this a significant amount of Elven blood), she was looked down upon as lower than even the other human slaves. As well, she was treated with considerable trepidation, given her rebellious and conniving father – and her purely white eyes, which gave many onlookers chills.

There was laundry, dish washing, sweeping, mopping, dusting; tending to the animals, keeping the snobby children company (though all they did was tease and abuse her for her creepy eyes and blindness); any forms of disgraceful drudgery, right down to cleaning out chamber pots. Despite the fact that she was blind, they were quick to punish her for any accidents based upon just that. Missing a spot, leaving a dirty mark on laundry or china or the floor, knocking anything over or making any sort of mess… she was punished harshly for all of the above. Perhaps too harshly, even.

As such, due to the demand of her lifestyle, her other senses honed incredibly as she grew; her ears became keenly tuned to the presence of others, particularly based upon their breathing and footsteps. She developed a sense of echolocation, which she used to judge the distance and shape of objects around her, based upon the way the sound of her own voice or a staff upon stone would bounce and echo.

So as to better avoid the tortures of the “royal” brats, she was always on her toes, and very nimble. Unfortunately, loud places with lots of people made evasion and detection a bit troublesome.

She hated it. She hated the family. She hated the children, the city, the castle, the children. All of it. Mrena only knew the callous affection of several of the elder slave women.

As the years wore on, her hatred only kindled...

…and then, when she was sixteen, her soul as defiant as ever… she caught word of the fate of her mother. Perhaps intentionally, the Lord of the house was talking quite loudly about it; after years of servitude, which somehow implied to Mrena rape as well by the way he phrased it, Morela had simply given up the will to live – and work. She was unresponsive and listless. Despite whipping and beating, nothing roused her from this state – and she passed away, mumbling to her half-elf soulmate and daughter.

Mrena hit a breaking point. This city – this family, and the Cult of Entropy – had ruined everything good in her life. They had killed and broken everyone important to her. They…

…she became obsessed with learning the identity of the man who had enslaved her mother. It was not a trying task, per se – when she asked her master’s eldest teenage son (who she learned was friends with a son in the family Morela had served), he was all too happy to provide her with details of her mother’s uselessness and subsequent death.

He would die. This city would burn… there had to be justice in the world, somewhere!

[Anaxarete]

Out in the streets one evening, running errands for the House, Mrena endured her usual tortures – the townspeople were always certain to make life difficult for the blind girl. As she carefully navigated her way down the street, she heard a rush of footsteps… from what she could sense, it was a group of young men…

They stole her walking staff; she heard laughter, and a snap, as it was broken over a knee. This was not the first time.

The basket of bread and fruit she carried was snatched away; she heard them gorging themselves on it. “The family will not be happy to hear you stole their meal,” she intoned coolly. They simply laughed. “You can’t even see us, you stupid dirty bitch slave. How are you even gonna tell on us, huh?” She felt anger flaring up within her.

She crouched down, and scraped up a handful of pebbles, which she began whipping at the young men – her aim was shockingly good, aided by the sound of their breathing and laughter.

Of course, this did little damage, and only served to aggravate them… before she could figure out what was happening, she was been struck – then dragged somewhere darker, and stony. There was heavy breathing in her ear; they were kicking at her and laughing. Goading each other to “do it” – “she’s just a slave, and they’ll never find out” – her clothing was being jerked about roughly; she resisted, though her head was swimming; a slow rage was filling her, but all of her thrashing and clawing seemed to do little good.

Her blouse was ripped open, and her filthy skirt was being, despite all of her thrashing, tugged off as well… this could not be happening…!

Suddenly, one of young men howled in pain. She could not, for the life of her, figure out why – but the others were yelling angrily, and she sensed their fright… she heard someone crumple, and then several heavy footsteps fleeing. There was a whisper of the wind, and then… the young man who had been tearing off her garments was thrown backwards by something. She heard an unpleasant sound, and his agonized screaming…

She heard him slump over. Everything remained dark to her.

Her relief was quickly replaced by worry – she backed against a stone wall, clinging to what remained of her blouse; her sightless eyes swept frantically back and forth, but she could hear nothing… only a dripping sound.

Another whisper of the wind, and then… a warm cloth was draping over her almost entirely nude frame. She jumped, and reached out her arms… her hands came in contact with a warm body. She jumped again, and began panicking… where did it come from? When-?

“It’s all right, girl. Calm down. They’re gone…”

It was a female voice, low and husky. It was a comforting voice.

“You are blind?”

Mrena nodded dully. Her hand was then gently seized… and guided to the other woman’s face. She was young – maybe in her twenties. She was beautiful, as far as Mrena could tell. The woman touched Mrena’s fingers to her lips. “My name is Nafisah.”

“I’m Mrena,” she mumbled numbly.

“Mrena, huh? The gemcrafter’s daughter…” Mrena was surprised by the sadness and kindness in Nafisah’s voice. Most who spoke of Deverell did so with disgust and disdain.

“How… did you know-?”

“Let’s save that for later, hm? In the meanwhile, we should get out of here; someone will see this mess soon enough, and it wouldn’t do for us to be here.”

“…what did you do-?”

Mrena could hear the snide laughter in Nafisah’s voice. “I deprived him of what he was attempting to force upon you. Now that is justice.” Despite herself, Mrena smiled weakly. “Thank Hoar,” the woman whispered darkly.

Nafisah pulled Mrena from the ground, wrapped the cloak more tightly about her, and clasped it fast; she then led the blind girl away from the scene. Mrena was amazed at how soundlessly she moved… even her ears could scarcely pick up the sound.

…Nafisah really knew her way around the city. The moved soundlessly between buildings and alleyways, before slipping quietly into a sewer entrance. In this manner, they managed to exit the city without detection – Mrena did not question, she simply followed. This woman had known her father, and she had saved her. She saw no reason not to trust her.

At last, they stopped to set up a camp site for the night well outside the city. Nafisah left briefly, and returned with rabbit, which she roasted – and then offered to Mrena.

“Why… why did you take me here? Why did you save me?” Mrena heard Nafisah sigh.

“Firstly, it violates every code I have to allow a girl to be taken advantage of and beaten up by a group of no-good *bung-hole* men…” Mrena nodded. “…but then I saw your eyes. And I knew who you were.” She heard a touch of sadness descending into Nafisah’s voice once more.

“I saw you at your father’s… pyre. I attended to pay my respects… and I saw you there, with your big pearly-white eyes. Just staring. Not even a tear shed…”

There was a long silence, before the woman spoke up again:

“It was only right that I try to make it up to you.”

“Make what-?”

“Years ago, your father sought my service in freeing you, your mother and he from the city. He knew that the Cult of Entropy, whom your grandfather was a member of, was seeking to have him killed – and that your grandfather, mad as he was, was the one giving the go-ahead. Deverell had been followed, accosted, and nearly beaten on numerous occasions at the order of your own grandfather, previously. He knew you were in danger as well, but Morela would not believe him, and would not budge. The quickest and easiest way to convince your mother to leave the city was to have your grandfather… conveniently perish.”

Mrena was certainly startled to hear this.

“…unfortunately, at the time I was rather new to the whole assassination business, and I was a little clumsy. I should have suffocated him or poisoned him, but instead…” She sighed. “On top of that atrocious blunder, I dropped one of the gems your father had paid me in…”

The sixteen-year-old girl bowed her head, and fingered the moonstone she wore around her neck. She hardly knew what to think about all of this.

“…look. I really am sorry – for all of this, I know I have some blame. It’s only just that I make it up to you by granting you your freedom…”

“But, where am I supposed to go now? I’m blind and I have no clue how to live outside of bondage in Luthcheq…” She hesitated. There was a very long silence. A thought occurred to her. “You have made it up to me and my father, by saving and freeing me, but… I think you owe us one more favor.” Nafisah sounded surprised by the girl’s straightforward manner.

“Shoot.”

“The man who enslaved, raped, and beat my mother to the breaking point… I want him killed. I want him killed. I want to do it myself, but – if you do it…”

Another long, thoughtful silence – this time on behalf of Nafisah.

“I’ve a better idea. You come with me; I will find you a home in the church of Hoar, who guides my own footsteps; you will be my apprentice, and I will prove to you that justice can be carried out by anyone. Even you…” At this, Nafisah laughed. “Justice is blind, right? And so are you, so something is bound to work out. In order to become a full-fledged member of the temple… you successfully kill – no, assassinate that man.”

Mrena was startled, to say the least; to go from a faithless slave… to a free girl… to a worshipper of some god she had never heard of… to an apprentice assassin… to a murderer? No, no. A just killer.

…it sounded good. “I accept; that will do.”

[Anaxarete]

Mrena spent the next four years training at a small temple devoted to Hoar; she learned all about the god, and discovered that he was… ideal. He was wonderful; she was fully content with her life. Every day, she would awake, and vigorously trained her body – she improved and honed her reflexes; Nafisah helped her to improve her hearing and perception, and assured her that it could make up for her blindness.

While she was at the church in Chessenta, she also made several friends among its monks, clerics, worshippers, and those who came seeking Hoar’s services. It was lovely to finally have a social life that extended beyond cruelty and mockery.

But, Nafisah was without a doubt her closest friend.

In the last two years of her apprenticeship, she began accompanying Nafisah as she roamed the lands, seeking out those that needed her aide in carrying out justice. She was in awe of Nafisah. She was kind, and she was cold; she was strong, but she was gentle. She was a lover, but a murderer as well. However, she was not a lawless murderer – she always killed only those who had wronged, and in such aided their victims.

Mrena was determined to do the same with her life.

And then, all to soon to Mrena, there came the day when Nafisah insisted she was ready for her first kill – the man who had enslaved her mother. The assassination that would mark her official induction into Hoar’s servitude.

In the four years that had passed, she had changed quite a bit – she was stronger, swifter, quieter; her hearing was much better, enough to make up for the amount that her eyesight had deteriorated and then some. She could move with ease, having perfected her own echolocation with Nafisah’s aide.

And she was determined.

She snuck into Luthcheq under nightfall, cloaked; she was wearing the torturer’s gloves Nafisah had given her, and carrying one of her mentor’s blades – a gift as well. She soundlessly broke into the manor of the guilty man, which proved surprisingly easy; she slunk into his bedroom, and pressed her copper-lined gloves to his ugly head. He was promptly jolted into stillness. She then proceeded to stab him three times. In his heart – and both his heads. Taking a page out of Nafisah’s book. (Go Sin City!)

She broke open his safe with a tool kit, and removed all of the gold and jewels containted therein; she kept some for herself; the remainder was for Hoar and Nafisah. Her mother’s torturer was dead…

Thank Hoar.

That evening, she and Nafisah prayed to Hoar, expressing their gratitude to him for vengeance and revenge; following, there was a ceremony, celebrating Mrena’s official status in Hoar’s clergy.

This ceremony also marked the beginning of her own roaming. She was to venture the lands, seeking out those in need of her very specialized services.

Mrena was incredibly sad to leave Nafisah – but she had to do it; they worked well in teams, but even more effectively alone. As such, the two embraced lovingly, and then parted ways… thanking Hoar for the time they had enjoyed, and requesting that he guide their pathways toward those that most needed their help.

And so, she departed from Chessenta, and made her way along the sea until she came to the land of Cormyr… a fledgling assassin, just finding her way in the world, with the guidance of the Doombringer.