Healing? Really, now... do you expect
me to heal the likes of
you unless I think you are worth it?... *raised eyebrow*
...especially since clerics of Shar spontaneously cast inflict spells?... 
Backstory below.... does this work, or should I change/tweak something? (Whenever you get the chance, I understand RL demands.)
[sblock]
Vaerdh was born in Westgate. Her mother worked as a dancing girl in a dingy club of the sort where everything had a price, including the employees.
When Shean showed signs of pregnancy (having spent the money for birth-control for the alchemist on drugs), the Madam of the club tossed her onto the streets, telling Shean that she wouldn't support someone who wasn't earning her keep.
Having no money and no place to live, Shean slept on the streets, and propositioned men who couldn't afford a better woman, or who weren't picky about appearances.
When Vaerdh was born, she had a dark black-and-purple birthmark on her forehead. Her mother, ignoring the cursed sign, left the alley where Vaerdh took her first breath and stumbled back to her former place of employment, to beg for her old job back. The Madam agreed, but only on the condition that the child not bother the clientele, and that Shean start work again, immediately.
So it was, for ten years. Vaerdh grew, and was beaten, cursed, and starved; was cold, sick, and ill-clad. Why Shean hadn’t left the ill-luck child in that alley, no one knew. Perhaps she felt a bit of responsibility for the child; perhaps she was too drugged to consider the idea.
Whatever the reason, Vaerdh learned that she had to please her mother and the Madam; cleaning the inn and tavern floors, working long hours lugging heavy buckets – whatever the chore, she had to do it to earn her crust of bread and whatever scraps the patrons and kitchen-workers left her.
Not long after her tenth summer, some of the patrons started watching the skinny and delicate-boned young girl. Because of her surroundings, Vaerdh, even at her young age, knew what the looks meant. One night, a large man who had been eyeing her for most of the night heaved his bulk from the table and spoke with the Madam. The Madam turned a calculating eye in Vaerdh’s direction, and she knew fear. Grabbing her bucket of dirty wash water, she lugged it behind the bar and into the kitchen – as she did several times a night to dump it in the back alley and exchange it for slightly less grimy water. Making her escape through the back door, she dropped the bucket and fled into the autumn night without looking back.
She didn’t know where she would go or what she would do – as long as it was away from there. The back-breaking labor, the heavy-handed beatings of her mother – none of it she would miss. To her mind, living on the streets couldn’t be any worse.
She ended up in a gang of kids who lived on the streets. They begged for money and food during the day (and, in many cases, stole it), and curled up in shivering piles at night, what few blankets and clothes they had pulled over them. Sometimes, someone would go out during the day and never return; sometimes, someone would be missing in the morning from his sleeping place. Sometimes, even, their bodies would be found in some back alley later.
Vaerdh was cold, she was hungry, she lived in fear of whomever or whatever snatched the kids – but at least she wasn’t gaining blisters and pulled muscles from the work at the club, while waiting for the Madam to ‘put her to real work’.
She spent years on the streets, learning the ways of the world. In that time she learned valuable lessons – that on could only rely on oneself. That the only person who cared if you lived or died was you. That you needed to take what you could, give nothing away. She learned to lie, to cheat, to steal, to be quick with a dagger, to prey on others before they preyed on you, and to abjure pity. That loss, danger, and sorrow were a way of life.
Then the priestess found her. Mishra took one look at the faded eclipsed-sun birthmark on Vaerdh’s forehead and brought the half-wild youngling back to the Sharran enclave (with liberal uses of charm spells). She cleaned and fed the child to find a young woman, delicate with dainty features and bone structure, standing before her. But Vaerdh was to learn that this was not kindness, and so she started her second time of instruction in the ways of the world - once again in servitude.
In time, Vaerdh was introduced to the rest of the cell and became an acolyte. Eventually, she was inaugurated into the title of Priestess. Although she was the lowliest of the members of the cell, she cared little. Vaerdh had discovered in her servitude that she truly believed – she loved her Goddess, the Mistress of Night, her savior (for whom else was it that marked her so, and sent Mishra to find her?) and served Her because of that love. Of course, this showed itself in a fanatical devotion that made others in the cell – especially those who were not so fervent in their worship – uncomfortable.
There thoughts mattered little to Vaerdh, beyond listening to be sure they weren’t plotting against her. First, always, was her Goddess – but second in Vaerdh’s heart and regard was herself, always.
Such it was, when Shar called Her champions to Her.[/sblock]
