Name: Roswen Deforest
Details: Tiefling, female, 24, Warlock
Roswen’s mother, Elena, was a religious woman, just like her mother before her, and her grandmother before her. Unfortunately, a lifetime of prayer wasn’t enough for Elena to resist magic charms of a demon. Not long after the whole affair, the morning sickness came, and months after that a baby was born.
At first Elena could barely look at the spawn of that wretched, wicked being. For a day, she wept right along with the crying babe, unable to bring herself to give it any nourishment or care. On the morning of the second day, Elena had made up her mind to dispose of the child, and put this whole episode behind her. However, as she peered over the crib, her eyes met with the squinty, tear filled eyes of her daughter— and how beautiful they were. A shocking blue, identical to her own.
Elena immediately picked up her daughter from the cradle and examined the fragile creature. Not only did she have her eyes, but she also possessed her porcelain skin, prone to flushing. Had it not been for the horns on her head, and the tail that whipped ferociously in agitation, she could have been the most beautiful infant Elena had ever laid eyes on.
From that day forward, Elena repented for how she’d spurned her daughter, giving her the best care she could. She would never once mention the taboo backstory of Roswen’s creation, and never called her a half-demon or a tiefling. Instead, she regularly referred to her as a fairy princess, and filled her head with all sorts of happy tales of whimsy.
For the next 11 years, from what she can remember, her life was magical. Every day was the same. Wake up, brush her hair— always 100 strokes!— get dressed (the garments didn’t always match, but mom insisted the more colors in an outfit, the fancier it was), water all the herbs and flowers, play with her mother or her childhood friend, bedtimes stories, then a goodnight kiss.
Then the war came to the city, and before her eyes, everything fell apart. She watched her mother die by creatures she’d never seen before, not even in her stories and saw her cozy cottage burn down to ash. All she could do was run away to save herself— an act of cowardice that she would have trouble forgiving herself for.
Eventually, Ros was able to find a town untouched by the horrors her own town had fell victim to, but over the next couple of years, her typically headstrong, but kind attitude was slowly worn down. She discovered that the world was filled with much smaller tragedies. The eyes of the wealthy that wouldn’t take a second glance at a beggar like herself, illness and wounds with no medicine or bandages, or even the wandering hands of drunken men.
It didn’t take long in the city for her shocking pink hair to grab the attention of those men. Late one night, she lay on the cold dirt floor, wrecked and ruined, face caked in snot, tears in blood. She stared at her ragged breath, made visible in the frigid air, feeling nothing at all. The words ‘demon slut’ and ‘tiefling whore’ rang out over and over again in her head. Some of those were words she’d never heard before, but she’d been able to figure out their meaning quickly. She remembers now that her plan had been to just stay there in that ally till something killed her. Starvation, another human, hypothermia, it didn’t matter.
It was in that moment of complete destitution that light found it’s way back into her life, both literally and figuratively. Next to her appeared the most beautiful little winged woman she’d ever seen. This woman reached out and stroked Roswen’s hair and the pain went away. The being explained that her name was Queen Titania, and that she could heal her injuries and give her the powers she would need to ensure that she never had to feel helpless again. Of course, Roswen agreed, but the lady added, the price of this help would be a lifetime of devotion. Ros could not foresee a life beyond this moment and without hesitation, once again agreed. With a smile, Queen Titania’s hand glowed and pressed against Roswen’s forehead. A pact was made that night that would change her till the day she died.
The next morning, she awoke. She was still laying in the ally, disheveled, but not harmed, hurting or hungry. Something new filled every vein in her body and she felt an untapped power supply within her. From that day, she has worked to develop the gift that Angharradh bestowed upon her, occasionally completing tasks for her benevolent savior upon request.
Now, Roswen makes a comfortable living as a guild herbalist— a skill that her mother had begun teaching her when she was a girl. She can often be found tending her garden (which is kept happy with a good ‘ol plant growth ritual), or venturing into the woods with her sprite familiar for rare ingredients.
Roswen was brought up by a woman with firm moral standards. She was taught that its was her duty to be kind to all those in need, and to be respectful of every living soul. She does her best to adhere to those rules, but her demon side can sometimes manifest, making her hot-headed and occasionally vain.
Ros also believes in keeping things neat and clean, regularly using her prestidigitation spell after a meal, after gardening, after a hike, before bed, after bed… You get the drill. Others are free to care for themselves as they want, but she holds herself to her own standards.
A bit of a mother-hen type, this tiefling has been known to titter around willing and unwilling subjects whenever she deems them to be in need. It could be a cut or a frown, but Roswen is equipped with salves, bandages, candies, etc. for every situation.
Surprisingly enough for a tiefling, the first thing you wouldn’t notice about Roswen is not her long curved horns, but her hair. It’s pink hue and sheer amount, attracts attention wherever she goes. It is typically worn down, with braids at her crown, befitted with wild flowers.
Roswen has very pale skin that is prone to flushing, wether from exertion or embarrassment. Across her nose, there is a smattering of freckles, which she always refers to as blemishes, regardless of how endearing they may actually look. Amongst the freckles, her eyes shine bright blue, just as her mother’s had.
Her dress is typically a well worn frock of some pastel hue with skirts big enough to cover her forked tail. During the workday, that is covered with a crisp white apron with pockets large enough for gardening tools.
The only jewelry that she wears are three thin gold bands around her horns and a simple crystal pendant that she uses as her arcane focus.
When adventuring, Ros switches out her feminine clothing for more practical garb— leather armor over a periwinkle tunic, with traveling pants and knee high boots. She still keeps her satchel with containers for herbs she finds and also at her hip, a hand axe that on a day to day basis, she usually uses for clearing roots out of her garden.