ex-chimneysweep/petty thief, now functioning as scoundrel-for-hire and wearing a very fine hat...
5’6”, 140 lbs, ambiguous age (probably still a teenager), sooty blond hair with long sideburns, dark eyes, long black topcoat, black bowler hat, black leather boots and loose fitting clothes, usually carries a cane, lately taken with wearing a rapier and dagger, frequently grinning, and usually up to something.
See,... all I really know ‘bout my tiny babylike years is that I was found toddlin’ about the old Rose District wearin’ naught but an ill fittin’ nightshirt and a grin. They tell me that the shirt had a single word stitched in it. That word? Blodget. So that did for my name. I got grabbed up by whatever passed for a do-gooder in that, my favorite neighborhood, and got chucked in an orphans workhouse.
My parents? Don’t remember ‘em. Probably better that way, because I’m fair sure they came to a bad end. ...Can’t help thinkin’ it had something to do with them religious types at the dragon temples,... Don’t know why. Incidentally, I hate those people.
So, anyways, at a tender age, I got myself purchased from the workhouse to serve as apprentice to one Mr. Stokes, professional chimneysweep and evil bastard extraordinaire. He taught me the trade, and it’s various applications in regard to robbing places blind by popping through chimneys and into various drawing rooms, dining rooms and even bedrooms, taking the loot and exiting the way I came. I was always a slippery little brat, so I was good at what we did. Thing was, I wasn’t too keen on being beaten up every night and having my earnings taken away by that black bastard Stokes, so I took matters into my own hands. Let’s just say it involved pretending to be stuck, making him climb up the pipe to get me, and when HE was good and stuck, I head back down to the stove to stoke up a little fire under Stokes. Worked like a charm.
After that, I put my skills to use on the streets back in the Rose District. I actually got quite a following among the local pickpockets. Even formed a little gang,... “Blodget’s Bastards” we called ourselves. Sadly, the local professionals didn’t like havin’ their turf invaded by a bunch of kids, so they saw to us in a most violent fashion. I think I may be the only one of us still breathin’. I got lucky. Found barely alive by a charitable “angel of mercy” working at what the polite call a “house of ill repute,” I was taken in and nursed back to health. I might have died and gone to heaven.
I earned my keep, while living there with the ladies, by being a sort of mascot for the place. I always had a good singin’ voice, so I learned a bunch of bawdy songs to sing along with the piano players in the common room. I also kept an eye on the clients, and more than once saved a lady from those sick violent bastards like Stokes, who I can, incidently, smell a mile away… Oh, ..and the ladies agreed that I needed a nicer name than “Blodget,” so I let them decide on “Bill.” It works for the time being. They seem to like it. Consequently, it seems I picked up a few skills of a more sensitive nature, which my grateful angels seemed more than pleased to teach.
So that’s basically it. A few more little tidbits of note before I ran into this funny little company of which I am now a part, but on second thought, I’m tired. I think I’ll go take a nap on a bed of gold coins. Oh,... Didn’t I mention that? I’m rich! Ha!