Here is fluff I wrote for my Assassin for my friend Rob's Pathfinder campaign.

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Throughout my career as an assassin, I have been good at one thing and one thing alone: making people disappear. The single caveat to my impeccable record is when anyone notices my choice in weaponry -- A tarnished, well-worn Battleaxe. The image of my silent, dour form attacking anyone with a weapon as inherently violent and bloody as my axe has always struck others as odd, and bit disconcerting. The story of my avocation to my line of business is a simple one and based in my childhood.

Like most non-human members of our Beloved Empire, I was thrust into the world destined to be someone's slave. A gift from the Drow to His Majesty's eldest son, I was originally told that I was to be his apprentice. Trained to be made partner in his plantation and eventually become his successor. Until the time when I was meant to be trained, I was to be the Son's personal house servant.

The young man was very particular about how things should be done. My first task was to give all of the floors of his mansion a thorough scrubbing, basement to attic, every day. If the work was not to his satisfaction (which was often) or a single spot missed, I was beaten and made to start the work over again.

My second burden was to ring the bell that would bring all of the laborers to the house. This meant at least four times a day for meals, with more depending on any new orders my master wished to submit to his slaves -- which was quite frequent. I soon discovered that in order to pull the ponderous chain I had to throw the entirety of my weight into it. If I was tired or did not pull the back-breaking apparatus hard enough, my master was soon there to give me a generous thrashing until the bell rang loud and clear.

My third burden was to dust every book and shelf in my master's great library. As old and deep as the shelves were, I had to do the dusting with a cloth on the end of a long and heavy rod. The only way I could see to manage the leviathan was to hold it at shoulder level and then swing it out in a sweeping motion. And again, if any dust was seen left on the shelves, or he didn't think I was working hard enough, the master would give me a beating.

After several years, I grew into a young man, but my responsibilities were not increased. Once I had mastered my servile responsibilities, it was promised to me that I would be taught the Son's trade. Divorced from any knowledge except from my own base engagement, I had no idea how far in debt or how poor the plantation's yields were.

When my sixteenth year came, I was called into the cellar by my benefactor. At first afraid for a thrashing because the floor was not scrubbed to his liking, I was surprised to find him packing all of his possessions into crates.

"I'm leaving the Empire." he explained "The profession has gone sour, and I think I'm going to try my luck running a caravan in the north lands. I understand there's ample money to be made trading fake Duergar weapons to the Barbarians there. I wish I could take you with me, lad, but there isn't going to be need for my scouring, bell-pulling, or dusting where I'm going."

"But master!" said I "I cannot read, I know nothing of the business you were to teach me. What will I do on my own?"

He shrugged. "I'm sure you can find some sort of work in a domestic capacity. I have done my best with you. Goodbye."

I had never stood up to my master before, and I felt no anger only a sort of coldness that gripped my heart. Among his possessions laid an old heavy axe, allegedly of Duergar manufacture. I lifted it in my hands and was surprised to find that it was not much heavier than my familiar dusting rod. In fact, it felt very comfortable as I lifted it to my shoulder and swung it out like so many times before. In this instance, however, I swung it into my master's right arm.

The young man screamed in pain and rage, but for some reason I was not afraid of him anymore. I lifted the axe to my other shoulder, and cut a swath across his chest, dropping him to the floor immediately.

I hesitated as I lifted the axe above my head -- another natural position for me. Like ringing a bell. Over and over again, I swung down like I was ringing that cursed bell. Except this time, no laborers came from the fields. The master had sent them away hours ago.

In a time, there wasn't anything left of the Emperor's Son that couldn't be washed down the cellar drain. The process of cleaning up came naturally to me as well. Blood was much easier to scrub off the floors than the usual grime and flour that habitually covered the cellar.

It was well known that the Emperor's Son was planning to leave for the north, so no one was surprised when he suddenly disappeared. All of the possessions in the house were sold to debt collectors, but I took the axe. It looks like the bastard gave me some useful business skills after all.

By the time they had figured out what had happened, I was already long gone. Awash in the euphoria that was my new found power and freedom.


+1 iCookies to anyone that can guess my character's race.

It seems a bit awkward to me. I did a bit of canon-bending here and it makes my teeth itch.