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[twstingtestingtesting]

Name’s Rev. Full name is Revelation, but I was younger and more optimistic when I chose that, so now? Just Rev. I have no family name to speak of.

I was born into a group of nomadic tieflings. There were a few families that all travelled together. Not all of Faerûn is welcoming to our kind, so there was safety in numbers. I was born somewhere on the road.

I can’t say that my parents were necessarily good people, but they were young and trying their best. My mother was a bard, and my father was a rouge. She would play her violin, and while her audience was distracted, he would pick their pockets. When I was old enough, I would help them. I can’t say it was the best childhood – there was never really enough food or money to go around, but our small community was close, and we all did what we could to contribute.

My appearance makes me stick out, even among other tieflings. I’m albino – I have stark white skin, white hair, and my eyes are fully red. My vision isn’t the best – I’m particularly sensitive to bright lights. I keep my hair long, usually tied back in a topknot. I don’t have any tattoos or notable birthmarks, but I do have faint freckles, and all the scars that come with living a less than comfortable life. I also have a long tail that twitches when I’m nervous. I’m tall and wiry, though not particularly bulky.

I don’t speak much – at least, not at first. Most of the time, I prefer to communicate in gestures and grunts. A few drinks can usually loosen me up, although I’m hesitant to drink much nowadays. When I do speak, my voice is gruff, and surprisingly deep.

For most of my life, I lived the way the rest of my family had. I stayed with the group of tieflings I had grown up with, and we survived by doing odd jobs where we could and committing petty crime where we couldn’t. I was part of a trio of best friends – Hadria, Zethyr, and I. I loved the two of them with all of my heart. The three of us had grown up together. We were closer than friends, closer than siblings.

The night I ruined that had started like many others – the three of us drinking in a small pub not far outside of Neverwinter. Zethyr and I had both had too much, and we were admittedly more rowdy than usual. We’d both been showing off for Hadria, and what had started out as drunken bravado turned into playfighting, and from there, a real fight. I loved Zethyr, but we’d grown up together. It’s impossible to know someone that long without having some resentments, some tensions that never really resolve themselves. Hadria left the pub early, annoyed by our behavior. Zethyr had an ego, and I had a temper. It was always Hadria that bridged the gaps between the two of us. Maybe if she had stayed, or if we hadn’t been drinking, things could’ve been different. He and I were kicked out of the pub, but we were both only too willing to take our fight to the empty street beyond.

Even though I was pissed, I never meant to seriously hurt him. The punch I threw shouldn’t have been deadly, but I didn’t account for the slickness of the cobblestone below our feet. The blow sent him reeling back. He must’ve lost his footing on the street. I can still see the flash of terror in his eyes as he fell, and I can still hear the horrible crack as his skull clipped the corner of a stone ledge.

I didn’t go back to our camp that night. I couldn’t face my family, my community, couldn’t face Hadria. I stayed with him, held his cooling hands in my own, but I couldn’t admit to the others what I had done. I left alone, with only the coinpurse on my belt.

It’s been almost ten years since that night. I never stay in one place for long now, especially if I know there are other tielfing communities nearby. I drift from place to place – though I prefer to stay on the outskirts. There’s always someone out there who could use a hired sword, especially one with discretion, and if there’s two things I’m good at, it’s keeping my mouth shut and my blade handy. Working in a group makes me nervous, but times are tough and I need to take what I can get.

I don’t know if I deserve a better life. The shame of what I did and how I left is always in the back of mind, even if it’s faded to a dull ache. Time may have passed, but deep down I know what I am and what I’ll always be: a coward.