A wiry young ex-pit-fighter with pale blue skin and small, shaved horns.


At first glance, Nalith’s ancestry is obviously muddled; her skin is an unnatural shade of teal, and the small yet prominent horns on the crown of her head are a dead-giveaway to more sinister heritage. Her eyes are bright, solid white, in contrast to her dark hair and flesh.


Nalith was, in years before, a member of a group of roving Tiefling mercenaries. Born and raised on the open road, she knew no permanent home other than the company of others of her kind. She was raised among them, her mother and father both members, and with the band of sell-swords she lived her early life.

Being too young to be included in the proceedings of contracts and politics in the camp, Nalith wasn’t quite sure why they came for all of her people. The men with swords and banners came in the night and put her people in shackles. When they clapped the young girl in irons she was still trying to brush the sleep from her eyes and hang on to her precious stuffed otter. In short order and with ruthless efficiency, families were separated, hauled into carts, and shipped off to far corners of the nation.

No matter where they took her, the little Tiefling lashed out. Each breath she took was rebellion, every movement a thrash or squirm to break her bonds. Her rebelliousness was boon and curse. When it came time to be sold, it made sure that no owner of bordello or brothel wanted to pay good coin for her. Instead it drew the eyes of the Pit Masters, who were always on the look out for fiery blood to break.

Beatings weren’t an uncommon occurrence for little Nalith. Disobedience often brought down the lash. Her claws were clipped, her tail pinned, and her horns shaved- anything to keep her from gaining an edge over authority. But in the pits she found camaraderie and a surrogate family from the one she lost. Ah’Grum Glassjaw, the cadre’s full-blooded Orc veteran, took her under his grizzled wing. Perhaps out of pity, a soft spot for pitiful blue-skinned things like her. To Nalith it didn’t matter and she never questioned his actions.

Time came finally for a chance to earn freedom. The Pit Lords organized a grand melee. The prize? The winner’s chains would be broken and they’d be set loose into the world with not only a sizable purse, but a fresh mount to take them wherever they willed. All Nalith could do was hope to win. Day and night, with single minded fury, she honed herself to beat all other competition.
Even as she grew closer to possibility of victory, her heart sank. She was filled with doubt. There were so many fighters, so many that could no doubt take the win from her waiting hands.


Pathfinder Scales of War Moosebite