Charity Sparrow

What is it this time? A sprained ankle? incontinence from eating Hatu berries? Did one of those spoiled little princes get sun stroke again? I swear to Lythia I can't roll my eyes any harder at these people without it killing me.

— Charity Sparrow

Feiban Crowash had a lot on his mind today. Making sure to board the early-morning catamaran for the breakfast tour of the coast and Sunbow Fish spotting on time. Book a massage for his wife with the Muck House managers. Even take care of some midday business with the silk merchants he happen to ride into Twill with. All of that and more were placed on his holiday agenda by his wife, Salsaine. Her rigorous vacation agenda derailed the same time Feiban slipped on a wet rock outside the hot spring and broke two toes. If that wasn't enough it was Salsaine's wine glass that broke his fall. Fragile little fragments of glass in his knee sparkle with bloody light in the Twillian sun that shines into the Muck House's infirmary. It's not the injuries that are currently distracting him from the rest of today itinerary but the hushed, seething, whispers being exchanged from behind the infirmary door. One voice he can't help but recognize as belonging to the Muck House's proprietor who he spotted skulking about when he first arrived. The other; this is the first he's heard it and all he can tell so far is that it belongs to a woman and she's just as mad as the Muck House's governor.

One of the house's many servants enters quickly with brisk smile on his face to set down a glass of cold resort water for him before disappearing through the swinging infirmary doors again. With each heavy swing of the doors Feiban is treated to a small glimpse of the quiet war happening outside. The first swing reveals the vulture-like governor of the Muck House jabbing his finger and hissing through pursed lips. The other belligerent in this battle is a short woman with straight flaxen hair, professional looking attire wrapped in a white apothecary's coat and thick, black-framed, spectacles. Everything about her frame is meek. And, visually pleasing to the already drunk Feiban. He managed to get four glasses of the Muck House's famous mead down his throat before even getting dressed for the catamaran. The second swing of the doors shows a violent fury building behind her eyes while the old man's volume rises. He catches a few of his words too such as "big spender", "Silk deal", and something about her not using her typical "bedside manner" with this one. The final, weak swing of the door only briefly shows the old man with a wincing look painted over his face as the small woman shoves a pointed finger toward him now and fires back with insults aimed at just about everyone's ineptitude.

The door settles to an almost still state before briskly swinging open again. The old man is gone and the woman rushes in wearing an exaggerated smile that does nothing to conceal the swift, angry movements and mannerisms on display. She reaches into a cabinet and takes out a medical kit and a small pair of medical forceps that look disturbingly sharp and cruel to Feiban.

"Hello! I'm SO sorry that happen to you Mr. Crowash. My name's Doctor Charity Sparrow. And, I don't want you to worry one bit about this." Her voice is the voice of someone trying kindness on for the first, awkward, time. The only time the smile seems genuine is as she carefully measures a large dose of numbing agent into long syringe before turning to him. "There may be some... minor discomfort."

---

Charity sighs after the last fragment of glass finally hits the pan. Feiban is unconscious, the numbing agent she injected him with was more than enough to put him out for an hour or more. Early on in her time at the Muck House it became clear that these pleasure-seeking hedonists don't have the stomach for even the most minor pain. They get loud, they whimper, whine and weep. Content with Mr. Crowash's perfectly patched up knee and splinted toes she grabs a book off her little desk and flops down on a nearby empty cot.

It's a black, leather-bound book that's unremarkable in every regard aside from the small symbol on the front cover, a silver ouroboros. Though the familiar snake image is replaced by a serpent of bones bound together by wilted, thorny, vines. The Dusksong Codex. She found it in her grandmother's belongings during the estate sale.

Estate Sale. Charity rolls the phrase around in her thoughts while she pages through the book to where she left off. It's such a dignified term, so haughty and proper, for something that is little more than a gathering of buzzards come to pick clean a carcass. While family members both immediate and extended rummaged about Grandma Leska's manor eager to lay claim to pearls, dresses, precious art and golden decor she made her way to the real treasure hidden here. Grandma's library. Of all the places in the home that was the only quiet one, the only one ignored by her family of tomb robbers. It's here that Charity spent many summer nights reading old tomes from across Thormir collected by Grandma Leska during the adventurers of her youth.

She looks casually to the side at Feiban; drooling on himself and restless under the effects of the numbing agents. Satisfied that her patient is fine she starts studying the newest chapter in the Dusksong Codex. The Nature of Phantoms it reads in fancy old type. Her concentration is split between the esoteric diagrams, formulas and cult-like zeal regarding the entities described within and thoughts about that day at the estate sale.

Communions with wraiths and entropy-mad spectres fade further into the background as she remembers closing the doors to her Grandma's library and how it instantly muffled the greedy skuttlings of her family. That place had always been a solitary refuge for her but that day in particular it felt different. It felt, occupied. And she felt watched.

Shadows danced around the old library and mingled with rays of sunlight filtered through Leska's old curtains. She remembers the room feeling alive and the shadows all too eager to demand her attention. There was a woozy, dreamy haze that gripped her mind. Whispered voices beckoned her to desk drawer that had always been locked but that day, in that strange moment, it was open. The voiced urged her on, the lure of the little black case in the drawer was impossible to ignore. Charity only barely remembers flipping open the case. Seeing the skeletal ouroboros and the gleaming, ebony, glass sphere that sat beside it. She watched her hand reach for it and her vision darkened.

Charity sighs as she looks back at Feiban, who's grown more restless and babbles nonsensically in his drug-induced slumber. "Honestly, hush up!" she hisses at the man as if he was conscious enough to take that advice. She than claps her book closed and hold up her left hand, staring at the circular collection of little cuts on her palm. The memory of waking up on the library floor grips her. The black book laid open beside her and the shards of the glass sphere cluttered in her hand as if she'd crushed it. Whatever inky darkness was inside had vanished too. It left her with a subtle chill that never seemed to fully fade, distant echoes that call out to her during the dead of night, a sense of connection to something otherworldly... and dead.

Feiban's rolls over and off his cot. It's the sound of his front tooth rattling across the stone floor that snaps her out of her daydream. "What. An. Asshole." Charity sighs heavily and scoots off the cot, carefully avoiding the little trickle of blood running out of her patient's mouth. She pokes him with tip of her shoe in a manner closer to a kick than the wellness check she'll be noting it as in her official records.

Yesterday was her day off and the estate sale at Grandma Leska's. Today she's cleaning up Mr. Crowash's blood from her infirmary floor and is... fairly sure... she's haunted. What an awful start to the work week.

Necromancer by Antti Hakosaari

Physical Description

Facial Features

Wears glasses

Apparel & Accessories

Prefers professional outfits with a grim but stylish flare

Specialized Equipment

Medicine and surgery

Mental characteristics

Education

Basic schooling in Twill and medical training at the university

Employment

Charity is employed by Old Grump of the Muck House as the establishment's medical professional

Personality Characteristics

Motivation

Understand the haunting effect the Dusksong Codex and black sphere had on her.

Likes & Dislikes

Likes: Quiet. Libraries. Books. Hot Tea. Cities. Chocolate. Massages. The color black.
Dislikes: Children. Waking up early. Bees. Patrons of the Muck House. Her Family. Soft Cheese. Being Haunted

Social

Family Ties

Mother-Zovi
Father- Castor
Younger Brother- Lyle
Middle Sister- Aston
Youngest Sister- Regan

---

Extended family on both Zovi and Castor's side also live in and around Twill.

Social Aptitude

Not great at parties

Wealth & Financial state

Charity is the unpaid and only member of the Muck House's medical staff.

Alignment

Neutral

Ethnicity

Human

Birthplace

Twill

Current Residence

Twill

Gender

Female

Eyes

Light Blue

Hair

Straight, shoulder-length blond

Height

5'3

Weight

126

Known Languages

Common Tongue and Elven