Siana was born into a family of secrets and shadow, where silence and fear held even her unruly tongue still. She was not raised within an elven community or brought up with traditional values of The People, instead she grew on the road with tales and lessens of a far more grim nature. Home was the back alleyways and seedy undergrounds of the worst parts of any city, her parents dragging her along with their black-market deals and trades in blood money. The Caex family of elves had long been assassins, thieves, and cut throats, choosing exile from the traditions their race held so dear.
There is a Myth in the Caex family. A dark secret of consorting with Devils much like the Sun Elves enacted to create a superior bloodline among the Tel-quessir. Regardless of the truth in the fable, the idea fueled generations forward into underhanded affairs and acts of fiendishness. Such a tale is the most guarded secret Siana now keeps, in both fear and hope in its truth, a fact to blame for her misdoings and a treasure to know she is not as insignificant and worthless as she has so often been told.
The Dragon Coast was no stranger to the young elf and wanted posters no stranger to her. Her travels with her parents brought her from as far north as the mouth of Dragons Reach to the sandy shores of Westgate, and she seemed to find trouble in each settlement they passed. Her first crimes were but small transgressions, usually little more than the thefts of cakes and treats or trespassing into places she shouldn't. Though as they years passed her crimes turned to a delinquents pastime which she relished to partake.
She had been taught the Elven tongue as a child, as well the tongue of Devils by family tradition, but Trade Common was never a priority. Listening to the slur of street vendors, sailors, and thugs, Siana learned the language mostly on her own. Heavily accented, filled with local slang and vulgarity of the unrefined sort, she seemed to swiftly sass talk her way into the boon of many peoples affections. Though still in her childhood Sia was quite a cute street urchin with a charm few could ignore. She found herself in child street gangs, and looked at as a sort of mascot for seedy taverns, her unruly behavior and vile tongue encouraged by laughter and gifts from amused ruffians.
She enjoyed the praise and attention, the thrill of stealing and gaining gifts, her lust for trinkets and luxuries snatched by sneaky fingers ever growing. Her likeness touched posters across the coast; Vandal, Thief, Hooligan, Troublemaker. There was a pride in knowing her known list of deeds, and even more in knowing all the ones they missed. Sia was no thug however, despite what boasting and credit she gave herself. Without some burly strong armed protector she fell easily to intimidation and threats. Jail was a new experience for her, lonely and frightening. Her crimes were never serious enough to keep her in the darkest reaches of prison, and her charms brought about leniency where coin couldn't pay off the debt.
As the years turned and her form bloomed into that of a maiden, a new trick came her way which she instantly took to like a moth to flame. Flirting. Men and woman alike seemed to blush and warm up to her, lured with a playful complement and deviously charming grin. Sia had many willing to protect her, defend her, and City Guards who would look the other way after giving her a slap on the wrist and a boot to the rear. She wasn't always lucky though, there were those who seemed impervious to her charms, cold and offended at her playful banter, and wise to her manipulations. A stormcloud on her festival of life.
She found herself under a lash a time or two, and time was spent in the stocks or prison cells, shackled to the floor or weakly working in labor parties. Harsh punishments by some standards, but near pleasant to the punishment she gained for something she was innocent of.
The specifics of the crime were never specified, nor was there any true proof Sia was even involved save from a witch hunt of witnesses. A building was burned, a warehouse of goods mostly lost to the blaze. Sia found herself shackled tightly by iron bands and was lowered into a prison well, strung up by her wrists with cold seawater rising up to her throat at high tide. Surviving on bread thrown down to soak and swiftly sink in the frothy, foul tasting water which threatened to drown her daily, Sia served her punishment. Leaving with scared wrists and deeper wounds of the mind.
(More coming soon...)
