Kitrae
Played by: Amber Hopper
Kitrae was born in a small village in England, daughter to a blacksmith and his wife. When she was very small, her father, who had once been a knight, left to fight in the crusades, leaving his wife and daughter alone. They survived by the craftiness of her mother, who had long been sought out by her neighbors for her knowledge of herbal remedies, charms and potions. Times were changing, however, and the Church was becoming a stronger presence. The other villagers would still come, but only in the darker hours, with quiet steps, and many looks over their shoulders. During the day, Kit's mother was looked down on, whispered about, called names behind her back. Kit was old enough to know something was different about her family, but she didn't understand what. Still, her mother taught her how to heal illnesses and wounds, and how to find her way by the stars, and even how to read the cards of fate. She taught her religion as well, for despite what the neighbors said, she considered herself a Christian. In her eyes, what she did was good, and it worked because God had given her a gift.
Still, she grew more and more unpopular, until one day, the Lord of the village came with the pope, accused her of witchcraft, and took her away. Kit was practically a child still, only twelve, and so the Lord seized her family's property, and told Kit to be gone by the next day's light. Gathering her strength, she packed what little money she had, and a few knives her father had made for her, and set out towards the city to find her way.
Life was hard for Kitrae; no one would take her in, and being a girl, no one would give her work. Her purse was quickly emptying, and she didn't see any options. One day, she went to the church to pray. As she was about to leave, she saw a fat noble with not one, but two moneybags on his belt. In desperation, she walked up to him, bumping into him as she passed. He spun around and she started apologizing immediately, but he smiled sweetly at her, asked if she was hungry, and handed her a few coins. She thanked him and ran off, one of his bags of gold behind her back.
After that first success, Kit found it was fairly easy to make money on the streets. Sometimes she would sing in the square; apparently her voice was pleasing, because she would almost always attract a small crowd. Other times she would pick pockets in the busy marketplace, but only from those she thought could afford to spare. Kitrae lived fairly comfortably for a few years like this, moving to a new city every so often.
As she grew into a woman, she found that the men considered her looks quite agreeable. She learned new tricks, like going into the tavern and talking her way into a few free pints, and maybe a coin for a kiss. She never sold her body, however; not to say she was a saint, but she never mixed business with pleasure.
As she got into the habit of getting close to people relatively easily, she began getting job offers of an unusual sort. She would be sitting alone in the tavern, and someone would come up to her, and offer her money for information, or certain objects, to be lifted from this gentleman or that. Much to her surprise, Kitrae found that not only did she have a knack for the task, but she quite enjoyed it. It was like a game to her, a challenge.
More time passed, and then one fateful night, a man in dark robes sat next to her at the bar. He was offering her a job, much as any other, except of a far darker nature. She was offered a very large sum of money to do in this man's enemy. Kitrae was shocked, and refused at first. But the man assured her that this enemy of his had done dreadful things, but because of his social status, the law would never punish him. After much consideration, Kitrae agreed.
Finding her mark was easy, and convincing him to take her to his room was even easier. And when the time came, Kit marveled at how vulnerable this man was making himself, trusting her completely. It was almost laughable how he lay there, exhausted, his throat completely exposed. And with a flick of the wrist, he was done. Kitrae was a bit nauseated, of course, but not nearly as much as she'd expected. She even had the brilliant idea of taking his dagger from his belt and placing it in his hand, smearing it with blood. She drew her shawl around herself and scurried from the inn, sure someone would catch her.
But she got away perfectly safe, and was paid handsomely for the task. Before long she got another such offer, and another. She was making quite an unspoken name for herself, and she felt a dangerous pride. She went to church often, but she thought of what her mother had once said. Surely this was a gift she'd been given, as a means of providing for herself.
Time passed, as it does, and one day in her twentieth year she was making her way through the square, when she saw a pair of armed guards making their way across the square. One of them carried a very large bag on his belt, and Kit's eyes gleamed. Much too large to hold simply money, there was something distinctively spherical inside, and Kit's curiosity was piqued. She carefully followed them, far enough to not be noticed, but close enough to hear them if they spoke. One of them said he was thirsty, and was going to the tavern for a pint; the other warned him not to take long. Kit watched him step into the tavern, the one she frequented most often, and followed him in.
He was standing at the bar, drinking ale; Kitrae's eyes fell on the bag, which he had set on the bar next to him. Kit's eyes flashed between the guard and the treasure, assessing the situation, calculating the difficulty, trying to guess whether the value outweighed the risk. Finally she decided to act. She wagered the guard was probably far too intelligent to be tricked; no, this would have to be a simple snatch and run, a test of speed and agility. She knew she'd have to make her approach very carefully so as not to arouse suspicion from the guard or the barkeep. Confidence was the key.
After a moment of mental preparation, Kitrae strode to the bar and took a seat near, but not directly next to, the guard, and ordered a mug of ale. The barkeep barely looked at her as he took the money and gave her the mug. The guard seemed to take little note of her presence as well. Kitrae sat casually for a while, drinking, and paying very close attention. The guard sighed, seeming to relax a bit more, and Kit took her moment. Leaping up, she grabbed the bag and ran for the door, climbing a chair and leaping a table, not looking back. She made it out the door, ignoring the guard's yells, and ran for the market, which would be busiest, that time of day. Weaving in and out of the crowd, Kit could hear the jingle of the guard's chain mail, close behind.
The noises behind her were falling back, and Kitrae thought she was home free, until another guard, in similar colors, stepped out suddenly from behind a stall. The guard from before yelled out "Hamish!” and he grabbed her before she could escape, lifted her, and threw her over his shoulder. She struggled, but it was no use. The other two guards caught up, and Kit instantly turned on the charm, weaving a sob story of starving children and a broken-down shack, but the one from the tavern, "Brandon", pointed to a poster on the wall of a shop. Kitrae's stomach turned when she recognized the face on the wanted poster; it was a poor likeness, but enough for the guards to recognize her. She swore, and the guards led her (still slung over Hamish's shoulder) towards the Great Hall.
Kitrae was stripped of her possessions and locked in the dungeon. She was alone there, except for a few scrawny rats. For hours she was left there, waiting to hear her fate. Night fell, and still she waited. Finally the door opened, and someone came down with a plate of rock-hard bread and a mug of pisswater ale, both of which Kit ignored. The night wore on, and Kitrae dozed off, exhausted and afraid for her life.
The next morning, Kit was woken up by the guard she had tried to steal from. He told her that Lord Jeffery wished to speak with her immediately, and unlocked her chains. Seeing no other choice, Kitrae followed him out of the dungeon and into the Hall, where a noble-looking man sat. Kit eyed him nervously; he was fairly young, maybe ten years her senior; he seemed completely at ease, and yet there was a subtle tension in his muscles, as if he were ready to spring into action any moment. He nodded his head to the guard, who left the hall, leaving Kitrae and the Lord alone.
He stood and walked over to Kit, circling her, looking her over; it made her feel uneasy, but she tried to look composed. He smiled coldly at her, before finally speaking.
Still, she grew more and more unpopular, until one day, the Lord of the village came with the pope, accused her of witchcraft, and took her away. Kit was practically a child still, only twelve, and so the Lord seized her family's property, and told Kit to be gone by the next day's light. Gathering her strength, she packed what little money she had, and a few knives her father had made for her, and set out towards the city to find her way.
Life was hard for Kitrae; no one would take her in, and being a girl, no one would give her work. Her purse was quickly emptying, and she didn't see any options. One day, she went to the church to pray. As she was about to leave, she saw a fat noble with not one, but two moneybags on his belt. In desperation, she walked up to him, bumping into him as she passed. He spun around and she started apologizing immediately, but he smiled sweetly at her, asked if she was hungry, and handed her a few coins. She thanked him and ran off, one of his bags of gold behind her back.
After that first success, Kit found it was fairly easy to make money on the streets. Sometimes she would sing in the square; apparently her voice was pleasing, because she would almost always attract a small crowd. Other times she would pick pockets in the busy marketplace, but only from those she thought could afford to spare. Kitrae lived fairly comfortably for a few years like this, moving to a new city every so often.
As she grew into a woman, she found that the men considered her looks quite agreeable. She learned new tricks, like going into the tavern and talking her way into a few free pints, and maybe a coin for a kiss. She never sold her body, however; not to say she was a saint, but she never mixed business with pleasure.
As she got into the habit of getting close to people relatively easily, she began getting job offers of an unusual sort. She would be sitting alone in the tavern, and someone would come up to her, and offer her money for information, or certain objects, to be lifted from this gentleman or that. Much to her surprise, Kitrae found that not only did she have a knack for the task, but she quite enjoyed it. It was like a game to her, a challenge.
More time passed, and then one fateful night, a man in dark robes sat next to her at the bar. He was offering her a job, much as any other, except of a far darker nature. She was offered a very large sum of money to do in this man's enemy. Kitrae was shocked, and refused at first. But the man assured her that this enemy of his had done dreadful things, but because of his social status, the law would never punish him. After much consideration, Kitrae agreed.
Finding her mark was easy, and convincing him to take her to his room was even easier. And when the time came, Kit marveled at how vulnerable this man was making himself, trusting her completely. It was almost laughable how he lay there, exhausted, his throat completely exposed. And with a flick of the wrist, he was done. Kitrae was a bit nauseated, of course, but not nearly as much as she'd expected. She even had the brilliant idea of taking his dagger from his belt and placing it in his hand, smearing it with blood. She drew her shawl around herself and scurried from the inn, sure someone would catch her.
But she got away perfectly safe, and was paid handsomely for the task. Before long she got another such offer, and another. She was making quite an unspoken name for herself, and she felt a dangerous pride. She went to church often, but she thought of what her mother had once said. Surely this was a gift she'd been given, as a means of providing for herself.
Time passed, as it does, and one day in her twentieth year she was making her way through the square, when she saw a pair of armed guards making their way across the square. One of them carried a very large bag on his belt, and Kit's eyes gleamed. Much too large to hold simply money, there was something distinctively spherical inside, and Kit's curiosity was piqued. She carefully followed them, far enough to not be noticed, but close enough to hear them if they spoke. One of them said he was thirsty, and was going to the tavern for a pint; the other warned him not to take long. Kit watched him step into the tavern, the one she frequented most often, and followed him in.
He was standing at the bar, drinking ale; Kitrae's eyes fell on the bag, which he had set on the bar next to him. Kit's eyes flashed between the guard and the treasure, assessing the situation, calculating the difficulty, trying to guess whether the value outweighed the risk. Finally she decided to act. She wagered the guard was probably far too intelligent to be tricked; no, this would have to be a simple snatch and run, a test of speed and agility. She knew she'd have to make her approach very carefully so as not to arouse suspicion from the guard or the barkeep. Confidence was the key.
After a moment of mental preparation, Kitrae strode to the bar and took a seat near, but not directly next to, the guard, and ordered a mug of ale. The barkeep barely looked at her as he took the money and gave her the mug. The guard seemed to take little note of her presence as well. Kitrae sat casually for a while, drinking, and paying very close attention. The guard sighed, seeming to relax a bit more, and Kit took her moment. Leaping up, she grabbed the bag and ran for the door, climbing a chair and leaping a table, not looking back. She made it out the door, ignoring the guard's yells, and ran for the market, which would be busiest, that time of day. Weaving in and out of the crowd, Kit could hear the jingle of the guard's chain mail, close behind.
The noises behind her were falling back, and Kitrae thought she was home free, until another guard, in similar colors, stepped out suddenly from behind a stall. The guard from before yelled out "Hamish!” and he grabbed her before she could escape, lifted her, and threw her over his shoulder. She struggled, but it was no use. The other two guards caught up, and Kit instantly turned on the charm, weaving a sob story of starving children and a broken-down shack, but the one from the tavern, "Brandon", pointed to a poster on the wall of a shop. Kitrae's stomach turned when she recognized the face on the wanted poster; it was a poor likeness, but enough for the guards to recognize her. She swore, and the guards led her (still slung over Hamish's shoulder) towards the Great Hall.
Kitrae was stripped of her possessions and locked in the dungeon. She was alone there, except for a few scrawny rats. For hours she was left there, waiting to hear her fate. Night fell, and still she waited. Finally the door opened, and someone came down with a plate of rock-hard bread and a mug of pisswater ale, both of which Kit ignored. The night wore on, and Kitrae dozed off, exhausted and afraid for her life.
The next morning, Kit was woken up by the guard she had tried to steal from. He told her that Lord Jeffery wished to speak with her immediately, and unlocked her chains. Seeing no other choice, Kitrae followed him out of the dungeon and into the Hall, where a noble-looking man sat. Kit eyed him nervously; he was fairly young, maybe ten years her senior; he seemed completely at ease, and yet there was a subtle tension in his muscles, as if he were ready to spring into action any moment. He nodded his head to the guard, who left the hall, leaving Kitrae and the Lord alone.
He stood and walked over to Kit, circling her, looking her over; it made her feel uneasy, but she tried to look composed. He smiled coldly at her, before finally speaking.
