Prologue

"Impure, halfblood, monster,"
Words that marked Amaya's childhood as a half-drow in servitude to a presigious house in Menzoberranzan. She never learned who she was, or where she came from. A small child when she was handed to the house, Amaya never knew her parents, or even what the other half of her lineage was for certain. Simply forced to do what she was told, lest she be subject to beatings, she began to hear whispers of slaves who had escaped the Underdark altogether, and disappeared into the surface city of Baldur's Gate.
Shortly before her fifteenth Summer, she had a chance. She fled with nothing but the clothes on her back and a stolen kitchen knife, finally finding her way to the city. What she hadn't been prepared for after a life of being told her circumstances were on account of her not being a "real" Drow? All the surface-dwellers seemed to see when they looked at her was a Drow. A filthy, murderous, untrustworthy Drow. Nobody would care to offer the child help, or hear her story. She was lucky if they even looked at her for more than a few moments.
Resorting to begging, borrowing, and stealing, she cursed the Gods. She cursed her unknown parents for bringing her into the world. The only boon she had was the occasional ability to use her Drow-like appearance to intimidate the uninitiated into getting what she wanted.

The Pact

One fateful day, half-mad from exhaustion and hunger, a man introducing himself as an agent of Asmodeus approached her. He offered her a deal: warlock magicks and a life of relative comfort in exchange for being on Asmodeus' command - "errands" for the Archdevil, as he put it. Amaya was well aware pacts with devils were dangerous and unfair, but did it matter? The offer already gave her more than Menzoberranzan ever had. At least she'd have the power to punish those who crossed her, and a vague sense of security in her life.
She didn't know if it was the tattered fragments of her soul changing her, or the past catching up to her, but she began to realise the monster she'd become - and she couldn't care less. In a kill or be killed world, she may as well stay on top. She doubted she'd see even her fourtieth year, anyway.

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