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I am one of the most powerful sorceresses in the world and I'm in trouble.


My name is Assallya Kressair.  I was born Assa'alliyeh of clan Kressanthair but humans, with their short sorry little lives, don't have the time for long names.  I'm not exactly elven either.  It's complicated.


When I was but a child orcs raided our village.  It was a small outpost, a collection of farms really and there's a reason why elves live in trees.  Slaughtered, the orcs took the survivors far away and sold us into slavery.  They were rooked.  They didn't realize elves were worth many times that is human slaves.  It was also the last place I saw Saeliah, my sister.


I was sold to a Pasha, a crime lord, and served in his palace for multiple human generations.  In time I learned all manner of academics, for as an entertainer for his guests I had to understand politics and when military history in addition to dancing and playing an instrument.  One never knew what stimulation a guest might desire.


It was my original master's grandson that made the mistake.  In an effort to make their loyal servant more useful they tutored me in magic.  I was never versed in the more violent arcane arts but I swiftly learned to bend a man's heart via incantation as readily as I did with a sly look and beckoning finger.  I learned to see far away places in a pool of water, to befuddle a man's mind or move a far away object with a gesture.  For the first time I saw the outside world whenever I wished and I longed for it.


It took time but I had it.  I turned the Pasha's house against itself.  Secrets better kept secret came out, some true, others were sheer fabrications and I escaped in the chaos that insued.  I hear the bounty is still on my head though word of it has died on nearly all lips and the posters likely have been used to roll cigarettes or become so much dust by now.


I'm now one of the most powerful sorceresses in the world.  It is not due to magic but the application of lesser spells.  I now trade in secrets.  I own a brothel, a gentlemen's club really.  I use locks of hair, nail clippings and a man's seed against them to pierce through their protections, slip through their wards and spy on them.  I could destroy this kingdom in which I live and rule it but... Then I would be giving up power.


Unfortunately, the gods be damned, something is happening.  Magic is failing.  My own spells are growing weaker and the lords are beginning to suspect.  In time they'll turn on me.  I don't know what to do.  The south has long been barred to me and the north...  I suspect one of the lords will try to move on me soon, take me and what I know to make a play against the rest.  If I don't do something soon I'm doomed.


That's how I got here, moving through a dark forest in a vardo wagon I haven't used in years, not since the brief foolishness of my adventuring days.  Here I hope to find some sort of edge, maybe a source of power- I honestly don't know.  


My wagon has all the benefits of a home on wheels but for protection all I have is my light crossbow, a curved dagger from my youth and my ring...  My ring is my saving grace.  Imbued with the essence of Trolls I cannot die while wearing it save by fire or acid.  It has saved me many times of the years from monsters and from being assassinated by petty nobles.


Now all I need is a little magic and a lot of luck.