Leslie

Glasya or Dispater Tiefling, Bard (sword or whisper)
Leslie doesn’t remember her parents. Not that she’s ever thought much about them; Parents are just another thing everyone else has that she doesn’t. She does wonder sometimes, though, about what her life would have been like had they wanted to keep her instead of leaving her in an alley amongst the trash. These thoughts are usually fleeting and far between, however. She doesn’t have energy to spare on something she cannot change.
And of those there are many. She cannot change how she was found by the circus master there in the alley amongst other thrown away things. She cannot change the opportunity he saw in finding such a demonic child, nor can she change how he used her during her childhood. Always on display, leered at, spit at. “Come close, ladies and gentlemen! Look at this demon spawn, the terrible Hissolis! Tamed by my own hand!”
And there were always those willing to pay extra to be allowed to teach the demon her place in society, to get revenge for some perceived injustice. For surely she was to blame for all of their unhappiness, yes? She was a demon, after all, and a beating was the least she deserved.
Many of the other circus performers disliked her, avoided her, but not all of them. Some were kind, even helpful; treating her wounds, sneaking leftovers from their meals to her when she once again had to go without food. And teaching her things.
“Your problem, kid, is that you’re unlikeable,” he said. “And while you can’t help the way you look, you can definitely help the way you act. You shouldn’t let them decide what to think about you; You should show them that you’re great before they have time to form an opinion.”
So she learned. How to move gracefully and with confidence. How to smile the right kind of smile. How to flatter and insult. How to act like she was friendly when all she wanted to do was kill the lot of them.
And she learned how to wield the rapier. “Knowing how to make them like you is one thing, but you also need to know what to do when they won’t succumb to your charms,” he told her with a wink. It was a lovely weapon, quick and elegant and deadly. And very much worth the time when the circus master saw her use it and decided that her demonic looks could be used for more than just gawking at. Their performance would surely gather a bigger audience with her as the impressive villain!
That was when her life turned slightly better. She no longer got as many beatings; Apparently a young woman able to defend herself is not as attractive a target as a crying child. And she was allowed to frighten the audience with no repercussions. Seeing the fear and admiration in their faces as she showed off her skill was high reward indeed after all her years of being looked down upon.
Her newfound active participation in the performances gained her some respect amongst the other circus performers, and more of them took an interest in her. She managed to ask kindly enough for them to agree to teach her some of their skills, and so she learned acrobatics and juggling and playing instruments. She learned to play the shawm, the dulcimer, and her favourite: The viol.
For what better instrument for a devil to play than the viol? Hauntingly beautiful string music from a creature that looks like she will guide you to eternal damnation. The circus master decided to give her her own performance for that.
But when she was seventeen everything went to hell in a handbasket. She had nearly started to trust that the beatings were over - that she had outgrown them, outperformed them. They were frightened of her when she was on stage, yes, but no one looked at her with derision anymore. No one would dare walk up to the demon she had become and spit at her.
She was wrong. They were passing through a town they’d visited before, back when she was younger.
Not written out: She meets a noble's son who thinks he can treat her the same way he used to, and he pays the circus master for the privelege. She is horrified that the circus master still expects her to go along with this, and both unsurprised and betrayed that he accepts the money. The noble starts to hit her, and she will not stand for it. She's grown out of this, dammit, and she's not anyone's punching bag any more. How dare he think he is worth more than she is! How dare he hurt her like this, spit on her, think her beneath him, when he's so clearly not! Does he not bleed like anyone else? Watch his blood on the ground, it is as red as hers. He screams just like she did, he breaks just like she broke, doesn't he? DOESN'T HE?! She doesn't stop until he's dead on the ground, and when the fog clears she realizes she has to go. This will bring ruin on the circus whether she stays or goes, and she finds she rather prefers watching it from a distance. She cannot leave at once, however - there are some people she owes a whispered word of what is to come, of what she has done. After warning those who have treated her well, and enduring their horror, she escapes. And from there on she is never Hissolis again. She's ordinary now, and she takes the name of Leslie, as ordinary a name as she can think of, and saws off her horns to better blend. Covers the stumps with a scarf and realizes that however much it hurt she'll have to keep doing it. Now she's just an odd coloured human, and while people may look at her oddly they don't look at her with derision any more. She makes her way through life as a charlatan, a scammer, but she's not in it for herself. She'll take from those rich, foolish nobles playing with her and make sure that no child ever needs to experience what she did ever again.