The Changeling

Born to changeling parents tucked away in human society, Fee, like most of her kind, has no sense of what it means to be a changeling. There is no culture, no traditions. Just secrets and an understanding that most folk only care about changelings if they want to use them or blame them. Fee learned early to keep her true face hidden.

Though she has a dozen personas she can slide into at will, she favors the form of a human woman like she was raised, though the persona itself has shifted. Disgarding the name her family had used in her youth for another, she became Felicity Gallowyd. Like every lie, the name has some truth to it, not one simply fabricated for her use. Markys Gallowyd was a respectable merchant whose untimely death the changeling could make use of. Now posed as his daughter, she's made a reputation off the basis of the old man's business — may he rest in peace and all that.

Not that she's great at respecting the dead. Most of her business is built off the raiding of tombs she's found across Faerun. So many forgotten knights and princes and all their funerary gifts left untouched. There's a remarkable profit to be made from the dead and Fee is but a simple business woman.

The Ghost

Out in the Star Mounts on one of her usual excursions, Fee stumbled across a crumbling tower. Not a tomb, but intriguing enough, she carefully ventured inside. There wasn't much, most of the place being largely unsafe to dig around in, but she found a study. It was in full disaray, the elements and time having had its way with it, but there was something curious there. No gold or goods worth plundering, she instead found some aged scrolls and a dagger. The scrolls made no sense to her, and not even because they were in Elven, but the dagger seemed to call to her.

Just a lovely, crystaline dagger. So she took it, keeping it for herself. She's yet to figure out that something else came along with it.

Now she finds she's sometimes losing time, waking up when she doesn't remember falling asleep. It started with little gaps, but slowly she's finding lost days and weeks and she can't for the life of her figure out why. But something tells her to keep it secret. Maybe that something's not to be trusted, maybe its the result of a lifetime of secrets and paranoia.

And beyond a couple scrapes, no worse than the sort she's gotten on her own, she's never woken up in danger. In fact, despite being unable to recall some days, she's woken up with reminders in handwriting similar enough to hers that helps her get a sense of things she's missed. Parchment crumpled in her hand when she wakes, explaining where she is. Notes pinned to mirrors with reminders of who to trust.

And hells below, she's woken to thirty thousand gold on her dresser. Maybe, it's not so bad.

The Innkeep

After a recent trip to Waterdeep, intending to do some business with some old contacts — both the sort who know how she gets her merchandise and the sort who don't — Fee found herself involved in a new business venture when she was paid with a deed. Really, it felt a little like she was being played. The inn said deed belonged to was decrepit and falling apart, a real fixer upper, but she could see the potential in getting it back up and running. Even if its former proprietor still haunted the property a bit.

It took some work and a few unexplained threats on her life in the process, but the inn's come together nicely. With her wanderlust spirit unsuited for city life, Fee pulled in an old contact from Luskan, Immix, to help run the place. An alchemist by trade, she trusts the tiefling to not only run her bar, but keep her up to date on any sort of thieves network gossip that passes through her place on the promise he gets a decent cut.

A perfect set up. She just can't figure out why he keeps looking at her like she's possessed.

The Drow

Born to a drow mother and moon elf father, she was sent to live with her father on the surface rather than be raised among her mother's house. At the time, it seemed for the best with the drow's society what it was and a baby born male. Among the moon elves, she was raised freely, and despite her sunlight sensitivty, she did not make any attempt to embrace her drow heritage until her later years. Moon or drow elf made little difference in her pursuit of a particular sort of power: dunamancy.

That and the rest is foggy, however. She remembers years spent in her studies, flashes of memories of long nights in hallowed chambers practicing her art. Fights with creatures who would wish to kill her for it and alongside those persecuted for it. She recalls a tower, in the distant north, where she spent years devloping a technique she can't quite grasp now.

And then she remembers her death.

She remembers being cornered in her tower, alone, against enemies whose images turn to static in her eyes. And she remembers the hatred and desperation that drove her to binding her spirit and her mind to a dagger she kept. And then... nothing.

The Ghost

The nothing stretched for centuries, time blurring and her hatred festering. Until a living woman picked up her dagger, and the spirit saw her chance. The woman was not gifted in the dunamantic arts at all, but she was clever, and that would work. She wouldn't be challenged when she tried to take control then.

Trying to pick up where she left off, however, is proving difficult. With only a fraction of her memories and some terribly aged scrolls to go by, she's got her work cut out for her if she wants to take out her murderers and remaster the powers she devoted her life to. One thing's for sure: she will not be put in her grave again.