Arielle is an air genasi; her distant ancestor had been a beautiful air elemental who had fallen in love with the gentleman sorcerer who summoned her. This was something of scandal, and the family strove to keep the secret of their blood until the story of the sorcerer and the elemental faded into legend. Arielle was born with a wicked dancing wind in her veins, a prankster breeze that had her in and out of every locked room in the house at the kleptomaniac age of 5. She was born curious about what lay behind every door and inside every chest and her clothes suffered to sate her interest.

As she grew older, she calmed into someone who would sit for two hours on the dusty front step discussing the relative merits of a brilliant versus a marquis cut. Her first love, though, was the challenge of a lock. Arielle realized she would never fit in at home and begged leave of her family to make a name for herself in the world at large. Her parents, fearing for the family secret, refused. Arielle made plans to run away from her family in the deep of the night. Her brother and co-conspirator gave her a parting gift of a bag of holding, saying that she would need it more than he. Arielle promised him letters every season or so, updates on her adventures and descriptions of choice treasures.

For the most part Arielle allows people to assume from her bluish skin, silver hair, and deep grey-blue eyes that she is some form of half-elf, but she will not talk about her blood or her family. Few people notice the faint breeze surrounding her and that she does not breathe; for there are more important things to pay attention to in an underground citadel filled with goblins. She makes her living travelling with adventurers, for she is a talented locksmith and has a good eye for appraisal. She is rough on her clothes and has gone through a few sets of leathers. She was so fed up that she dumped two different sets of leathers on an armor smith's desk and asked that she make a special set suited to her particular troubles. Freedom of movement, she told the surprised dwarf maid, and easily mended; in the two years since then she has not regretted the cost.

She is more inclined to Obad-Hai than any of the other gods and will leave the occasional offering for him. The only praying she could be said to do is her quiet time: there are times, in a crumbling castle, in the woods, in an inn in the city, when she feels the need to pull away and get back in rhythm with the air around her. She will seek some solitude and quietly play her flute to herself for up to an hour. This flute is her second most prized possession (the first being her brother's bag); it is dark, blue metal with stylized patterns of wind and very finely crafted. Her various travelling companions have noted that Arielle has a steady hand and an amazing bag of tricks and that her composed mien and quiet humor is somewhat at odds with her roguish and mismatched appearance. There are, however, times when the wicked little breeze rises in her blood, and she wonders about the wisdom of her bizarre heritage. She is not some hoodlum, thieving prankster, she says sternly to herself. With her share of loot, Arielle purchases better equipment and seeks out training. The rest she either donates to the safe houses she's found over the years or sends to her brother in the form of a fine statuette or a bracelet.


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