I'm not a huge fan of writing summary histories, so I wrote this:

[hider=A Necromancer, the Disembodied Spirit of an Archmage, and a Hermetic Magician Walk into a Bar]
"Sophia Wallace?"

"That depends, who's asking?" Sophia warily answered. She had only just gotten her drink. It had been a long day. Three burials in one morning was two too many. One would have been enough, more than enough. She only asked for a bit of business, she wasn't greedy, she didn't need to be so busy. She had books to read, and undead to converse with. She wanted to take a bath. A real bath, a hot bath...she needed a bath tub.

Despite knowing better, Sophia eventually looked up from her drink. In front of her stood a prim and proper lady, an aristocrat that had no business in the Leaky Pitcher. Especially not on a Sunday. She wore a green satin dress with laced short sleeves over a linen chemise, a lace cap trimmed with rose-colored tassels, and an elaborate fan in her hand. She was stunning, and Sophia was almost surprised she had made it unaccosted to her table.

"Hannelore Weber," the young woman energetically proclaimed with a nod that was intended to be very serious. The dramatic and all too obvious pause that followed told Sophia that she was dealing with the worst sort of actress. "Of the Guardians of the Veil, perhaps you have heard of us?"

Sophia let out a low sigh in response, but did her best to recover, it wouldn't do to offend the newcomer, she wasn't in the mood for a tavern brawl, especially not an arcane one,"Who hasn't?"

[i][color=00a651]Mention of the infamous, among wizards, order of do-gooders and fanatical inquisitors sent a shiver down Sophia's spine and caused a presence to stir in the most carefully guarded recesses of her mind. He was angry, but more importantly, he was annoyed.[/color][/i] 

"Only the uninitiated," Hannelore smugly agreed, taking a seat unbidden across from Sophia.

"Well, Miss Hannelore, what brings you to this wonderful stretch of desolation and death known to the Gods as the town of Ulysses?"

"It has come to our attention, through a confidential source, that there are strange forces, arcane forces, at work in this town. And [i]naturally[/i] when it also came to our attention that [b]you[/b] were a recent immigrant to this fair city...well, you can't exactly be surprised that my superiors felt best to send a member of our order to have a chat with you."

"Oh, indeed?" Sophia answered, doing her best to appear bored.

"There's quite the file on you in the archives. I haven't seen it, of course, but I've been told it's extensive and very detailed."

"I'm sure there are only good things about me mentioned in your papers," the young necromancer hesitantly added, carefully studying her glass of whiskey.

"However, all our information was a bit out of date. We had great trouble identifying your current associates. Notwithstanding, Miss —"

"Don't say her name!" Sophia growled, slamming a fist hand down on the table, feeling the heat that spread across her cheeks.

It had the desired effect, and Hannelore looked at her cautiously with wide eyes. "Ahem. Well. I must ask, to what great order or society do you currently belong?"

"None."

"You aren't a member of a hermetic order?"

"No," Sophia replied with a small chortle. 

"Surely, a magician as talented as you is aware of the dangers of exploring the matters of the occult alone and without the proper guidance?"

"I am, but all the same, I prefer to work alone. For obvious reasons..."

[i][color=00a651]"That's a lie,"[/color] a voice indignantly interjected, clearly hurt at what the young necromancer had insinuated. Vaguely British-sounding, the proud voice was accompanied by the sweet smell of pipe tobacco and a subtle hint of jasmine. [color=00a651]"How long have I not guided you? I raised you up from middle class drollery and saved you from a loveless marriage to some fool of a baron's son. I initiated you into study of the great hermetic mysteries of existence. I taught you how to summon and command the dead. I instructed you in how to parley with spirits and devils alike. I forged a pact with you to span the ages and defeated death herself."[/color]

Sophia rubbed her brows wearily. It took some effort not to reply out loud in order to silence the long-dead wizard that now resided mostly in her head. He was arrogant, so damn arrogant, and even death had not robbed him of all of his power. The contract bound him to her, but it also bound her to him. Nominally, she was the master, but all magicians knew better than to trust the oaths of spirits and devils. At least in theory.

"Not now, Baltasar, I'm trying to be diplomatic," Sophia thought, shaping her thoughts into as strong of a command as she could discreetly muster.

[color=00a651]"Oh yes, let us reason with our enemies,"[/color] Baltasar disdainfully quipped.

"They are not our enemies, they are not [b]my[/b] enemies, at least not yet."

[color=00a651]"Don't worry, they will be soon enough, girl,"[/color] Baltasar cheerfully mused. [color=00a651]"The Guardians of the Veil have never been overly fond of necromancers. Do you know how many of my laboratories they destroyed? How many of my books they burned? And how many of my apprentices they killed?"[/color]

[b]"I know."[/b]

[color=00a651]"No one will notice one more body, not here, not now."[/color]

[b]"No."[/b][/i]

"Then what are you?" The prim and proper woman sitting across from Sophia practically hissed. She was growing increasingly irritated. Sophia had ignored her for too long. Baltasar had a habit of interrupting her thoughts as he pleased. He was a perpetual back-seat wagon driver. Most of the time it had the effect of making Sophia seem very thoughtful, like a philosopher of yore. The rest of the time it had the unfortunate habit of irritating those that expected a quick reply.

Sophia composed herself and took a small sip from the neat glass of whiskey that stood on the battered table in front of her. She relished the warmth that burned it's way down her throat and filled her chest with a pleasant tingling sensation. She carefully considered what to reply. Hermetic wizards were a superstitious and cautious lot and never took kindly to practitioners of the magical arts that operated outside of the usually safe domain of well-established and supposedly safe rituals. She didn't want to make a scene. It wouldn't do for the Sheriff to have to make an appearance. Not again. It had barely been a week.

Still thinking, she tapped a finger against her nose, "Ah, I suppose you could say that I am something of an independent contractor."

"A witch?" The other woman venomously asked. Sophia could not help but notice that she had managed to shift her chair away from her in record time. There was fear in her eyes, and that was never good. Not in a patient, not in a corpse, and certainly not in a hermetic wizard that was primed to blow you sky high with a fireball at the drop of a hat.

"Actually, I prefer the title Doctor," Sophia replied, flashing what she hoped was a disarming smile in the direction of the her conversational companion. She hefted her medical bag onto the table and patted it on the side, like one would pat a very large and very friendly dog. She leaned across the table, placing her elbows on the uneven wood of the table, and resting her chin on her interlaced fingers.

"Look, I'm flattered, very flattered that your order has taken an interest in my person and my interests here. However, I assure you, I am simply trying to make an honest living."

"Here?" Hannelore asked incredulously. "In this place."

"You have a point there," Sophia agreed taking in the filthy tavern and the filthier patrons surrounding her. "But yes."

"Why?"

Sophia laughed, smiling again, and shook her head slowly from side to side with amusement, "I told you, I'm a doctor. I have to help."
[/hider]


Hopefully it serves to reveal some of Sophia's character and backstory. Haven't read through it after writing it (yet), so apologizes for any obvious errors/half-awake writing.

Edit: I hope you don't mind [@ElRey814], but I referenced the Leaky Pitcher.