Selci Zakadra's Backstory

I am fascinated by the common people I encounter in my travels, but they all hate me. Do I blame them? No. I chose the criminalistic life I lead for myself at a very young age, and I’ve never really abandoned it. It gets me what I want.

I was born and raised in Grimwell, a dreadfully exciting place to live if you have the background and connections I do. Because life is so unpredictable and untamed for so many living in Grimwell, my siblings and I were often left to our own devices when we were young. I hardly remember any of their names, I was never very close with them. The folk I surrounded myself with were few and elusive, hidden away in the shadows of the city. At night, they’d come out to play, and so did I, and it was through them that I began to learn the ways of burglary, deception, and mischief.

There were five of us: myself, Selci the notoriously devious tiefling; Geurin and Gelfi, twin Half-Orcs, brutish as they were merciless; Hykda, the cheerful little pick-pocketing halfling; and of course, Roric, another tiefling, and my charmingly vile partner in crime. We were quite the sight as we roamed about, everyone knew we were up to no good, but then again, so were they. Such was life, and we certainly made the most of ours.

What forced us to band together more than anything growing up in Grimwell was our fear of those who worshipped Bhaal, Lord of Murder. They were everywhere, cutthroat assassins and mercenaries hell bent on proving their worth through so-called “righteous” acts of evil. Even our leaders, King Elstan and Queen Mamora, tieflings themselves, didn’t bother squashing the ne’er-do-wells that kept the city under a perpetual cloud of dread. There was no point. For every rat eliminated, there were thousands more scurrying about somewhere in the darkness where none could see. My mates and I were never the killing type, nor were we interested in any real wrong-doing when you got right down to it. We were simply youngsters trying to survive, and we banded together and chose a stable life of crime in order to do so. There was one fateful night however that changed everything for us. And not for the better.

Roric had taken leave for about a week to see what he could find outside Grimwell’s borders. We had been taking turns robbing wagons and caravans that wandered too close to the city, and it was easier going one by one. It was easier to catch them by surprise, and easier to disappear once we had collected the spoils. Roric had had a particularly successful encounter with a supply wagon bound for the coast. Tired and weary from travel, the six human soldiers that lazily gripped the reins of their horses and whistled in the tail of the cart didn’t notice the lanky tiefling creeping up behind them.

They never saw him, or so he thought. Roric stole away from the wagon with an eagerness and triumph that consumed him, a sack of gold clutched to his chest that he feared would burst before he made it back within the walls of the city. Upon his return that night, we laughed ourselves silly. Our days of pick-pocketing and conning were over, there was enough for all of us to live comfortably the rest of our days. Relieved that our efforts had finally paid off, we agreed to gather up what few belongings we possessed and our newly found wealth and leave the city together at daybreak. But first, it was time to celebrate.

We hid our treasures away somewhere in the twisting alleyways of Grimwell for an evening of drinking and fun. With all of its ugliness and gloom, the city did have some of the liveliest pubs. Taking Roric’s hand in mine and keeping the twins and Hykda close, we entered the Crooked Cane, intent on getting bloody drunk.

The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and soon enough, things were getting very fuzzy. Hykda stood atop a stout table playing the fiddle, the twins bowed and ducked dancing with strangers amidst the turmoil and alcohol, and Roric and I looked on from the bar, drinks in hand, feeling content. The night was one to remember alright, but it took a turn for the worse. The music suddenly choked itself out, plunging the bar in silence as the front door burst open.

A dozen or so armed soldiers marched inside the pub, angry, and extremely human. It took a moment to connect the dots as I struggled to exact my gaze on them. It was Roric’s firm grip on my arm that told me everything I needed to know about the sight I now saw. It was obvious these were reinforcements, and my poor friend hadn’t snuck away as stealthily as he would’ve liked when he swiped that sack of gold from the soldier’s wagon.

“What now?” I whispered to him, rigid with fear. Normally I would’ve leapt over the bar counter by now and made a mad dash for the back door, but my senses were so warped from the drinking I couldn’t focus. Roric turned to me, his grip tightening.

“Nothing yet, there’s too many of them.”

I nodded, my eyes flicking to Hykda, who now clutched her fiddle tightly, tears running down her tiny cheeks. Geurin and Gelfi were in the far corner of the room, Geurin blocking his smaller brother slightly to keep him safe. The soldier at the front of the pack eyed the bar keeper, then turned his gaze to Roric.

“You have something of ours,” he hissed, “we’d like it back.”

Roric stared back at the man, looking him up and down.

“Fair enough, friend. And you shall have it back, there’s no need for bloodshed here,” Roric said, slurring his words slightly as he tried to steady himself. “I’ll cooperate.”

The soldier smirked, shaking his head.

“I’m no friend to you, demon,” he retorted, “and you’re in no position to speak to us with such ridicule. You know what you took, and if you do not return it to me right now, in about five seconds, the walls of this pub will be painted red with your blood.”

Roric shivered noticeably enough for me to see, but no one else. He let go of my arm, giving me a troubled look before he stepped down slowly from his seat at the bar to stand.

“I don’t have it here, but I can show you where it is,” he said calmly, putting his hands up just before his chest to keep from provoking them.

“Did you hear the man?” One of the burlier soldiers from the back shouted, “right here, right now. You think we’re stupid? Give us the gold now!”

Roric gulped, “we don’t have it.”

“I’ve heard about enough of this,” the soldier at the front huffed. He rolled his eyes, and then snapped his fingers. At the sound, a taller man with a silvery line running through his hair stepped forward. The leader turned to him, and pointed at Hykda, who still stood trembling on the table.

“Her,” he said, with something close to boredom echoing in his throat.

With that, the silver-haired soldier took up his sword, and in three long strides leapt up on the table to stand right in front of Hykda. It was all she could do to squeak before he wrapped a strong arm around her head and slit her throat with his sword, her blood staining the wood of the splintered oak surface of the table beneath them.

“No!” Roric shrieked, staggering backwards into me at the shock of what had just happened. “No!”

The man at the front of the group snickered. “Such a tiny little thing, it’s a shame she had to die.”