Zelanis Morissette

Info

Name: Zelanis Morissette

Race: Half-Elf

Class: Rogue (Arcane Trickster)

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Backstory

Zelanis Morissette was born in the bustling city of Neverwinter, the daughter of an elven scholar and a human adventurer. Her father, notorious for making powerful enemies, vanished one fateful night when she was only a child. A raid on their home left her mother dead, their belongings in flames, and Zel hiding under her father’s cloak, silent as shadows. She learned two hard truths that night: - Survival requires sacrifice. - No one is coming to save you.

She spent her youth on the streets, quick-witted and quicker with her hands, a ghost moving between alleyways and pockets alike. She learned to lie before she learned to read, to steal before she learned to write. It wasn’t long before she became a rising star among Neverwinter’s thieves, outpacing the others not just with skill, but with flair. Zelanis didn’t just pickpocket—she put on a show. A disappearing act, a trick of the eye, a con wrapped in a wink and a smile.

Then, she got caught. But not by the city watch. By Altharion Veylen, the enigmatic headmaster of the Wardens’ Order of Research and Mysteries (W.O.R.M.). He saw something in her—a talent beyond mere thievery, a spark of something more. Instead of turning her in, he gave her a choice: waste away in the gutters, or become something greater.

Zel wasn’t one to turn down an opportunity, even if it smelled like a trap.

Life at W.O.R.M.

W.O.R.M. wasn’t just an academy—it was a puzzle, a mystery, a challenge she couldn’t resist. Altharion’s methods were cryptic, his lessons frustrating, but she thrived in an environment where the best way to win was to think outside the rules.

Zel quickly fell in with three students who, for all their differences, shared a common thread: they didn’t quite fit anywhere else.

Nyx Shadowflame understood masks better than anyone. Power burned inside her, a force she wrestled to control, but Zel saw the truth: Nyx feared becoming the very thing she fought against. If anyone knew how to dance along the edge of danger, it was Zel. She made it her mission to remind Nyx that power didn’t have to mean isolation—sometimes, the best trick was knowing when to trust someone else.
Tink Fizzleforge was a walking contradiction—an Earth Genasi with his head in the clouds, a genius tinkerer who could build marvels but somehow still trip over his own feet. Zel admired his passion (and made it her personal duty to swipe his latest gadgets for "testing" before he locked them away in his workshop). Tink saw the world in blueprints and mechanics; Zel saw it in angles and opportunities. Together, they made an unexpectedly formidable team—one built on ingenuity, mischief, and the occasional explosion.
Burton was, in many ways, the one she understood the most. He, too, wore masks—though his were less about deception and more about survival. He had his own ghosts, his own demons, and while he played at reckless big bravado, Zel knew how to read between the lines. They had an unspoken agreement: don’t ask, don’t push, but always have each other’s backs.

For the first time, she wasn’t just surviving. She was part of something bigger.

Bonding Event/The Impossible Climb

There was a part of the Academy that was off-limits: The Spire of Forgotten Names—supposedly full of records on failed students, vanished apprentices, and worse. Naturally, Burton thought that sounded awesome. “Place like that’s gotta be full of secrets. Forbidden history. Maybe a few vengeful spirits. So. When are we breaking in?” Zel rolled her eyes but didn’t say no. She’d handle the climbing and breaking in; Burton could read to his heart’s content. It took three nights of planning, two hours of climbing, and one very close call when a brick gave way. Zel slipped—only to be caught by Burton’s iron grip. “Whoa there, Slick. You fall, I gotta explain it to Altharion, and that guy already thinks I’m a pain in the ass.” She huffed a laugh. “You are a pain in the ass.” “Yeah, yeah. Just climb.”

They never made it inside. The second Zel’s lockpick clicked, the door swung open to reveal Altharion himself, arms crossed, already disappointed. No yelling, just an escort back down. Later, as they nursed bruises and bruised egos, Burton tossed Zel a book—"Rope Work and Reckless Climbing: A Guide to Not Falling to Your Death" by Zen Silverkin. She arched a brow. “Seriously?” “Hey, if you’re gonna keep climbing dangerous things, at least learn to do it right.” She smirked, tucking it into her coat. “And if you’re gonna keep getting caught with me, you might wanna learn how to run faster.” Burton sighed dramatically. “See, this is why I work alone.” “Sure you do.” They never talked about that near fall again. But from that night on, Zel knew—if she slipped, Burton would be there to catch her. And he’d make a smart-ass comment about it every time.

After the Academy

Well trained and feeling almost like family always stung a bit, knowing she had hidden while her real family was ripped apart, and she didn’t even know why. Now she had the skills to find out but it had been years since the incident and she hadn’t been back to her family home since that night. Most clues were long gone. Zel spent months tracking down the name of the one who ordered your father’s capture. It led her through smoky taverns, back-alley informants, and dangerous dealings with people who don’t trade in coin—but in favors. She pieced together fragments of information, only to find that every lead led to a dead end, a missing person, or a warning: “Some things are better left buried, Zelanis.”

With no leads and needing coin, she took a job—an easy one, or so she thought. Smuggling a package across a border, no questions asked. She didn’t open it. She didn’t ask why it needed to be delivered.

But when she arrived, the buyer wasn’t waiting. Instead, a group of armed mercenaries were. Zel fought her way out. She ran. She hid. And when she finally opened the package to see what was worth killing for…

It was empty. Just an illusion. A trap. For her. Someone had set her up. Someone wanted her dead. Finishing the job of taking out her father’s family? She wasn’t able to dig deeper though, because that night, she received a letter.

Altharion is dead. Return home.

The Headmaster’s Death

Zel had lost father figures before but she wouldn’t wait so long to find out why. Altharion had known something. He had sent them on missions, forced them into groups, tested them in ways that, in hindsight, didn’t feel random at all. He had seen something coming—a darkness too great to face alone. And now, before he could reveal the truth, he was gone.

And that wasn’t a coincidence. Zel wasn’t about to let his death become another mystery buried beneath the weight of time. She didn’t believe in fate, but she did believe in playing the long con. Someone had stolen their mentor from them. Someone had silenced the only person who had seen the whole picture.

So now, it was up to them to put the pieces together. And if that meant bending the rules? Well. That was what she does best.

After removing the Cult of Vecna from Neverwinter

Zelanis – Two Months Later

After the fall of the cult, she didn’t stick around Neverwinter. The quiet didn’t sit right. Choosing her childhood home was a mistake. There wasn't anything there but dead ends and memories. She left with a note under Nyx’s mug: “Be okay. Might come back.”

She chased rumors and loose ends up and down the coast... Lowlifes like Gerrin tend to scurry and survive. She found them in dark alleyways. She found one straggler near Luskan. They didn’t make it out of the shadows. It was unfinished business.

But something was missing. No banter. No backup. No chaos she didn’t start herself.

Eventually, she slipped back into Neverwinter. No announcement. Just a rare elven wine bottle on Nyx’s table and a new note: “Still alive. You're welcome.” Sometimes, Nyx would find other messages scrawled on scraps: “Your wards need more flair.” “Still here. Still your problem.”

She tried to check on Tink subtly. He’d gone quiet, too quiet—buried in books and theories, hunched over notes and scrolls. She'd study his evidence board when he wasn't around. She’d knock things off his windowsill on purpose just to see if he’d react. He didn’t. So she started leaving notes: “You sleep lately?” “Eat something.” And when it looked like he still didn't, she started leaving a wedge of cheese and some bread, or threw a blanket over him when he finally fell asleep on his desk.

Burton, too, was different. Less lute, more longsword. The laughter wasn’t gone, but it was... strained. She didn’t say anything. Just watched from across the tavern, half-smirking, half-worried. It was like watching a song turn into a war march. Was there a bard in there anymore?

She drifted; slipping into spare rooms at Nyx’s, Burton’s, or even Tink’s without a sound. She stayed just long enough to sleep. Sometimes she left behind a bottle of ale, sometimes a note. Usually not. She trained hard. Drank more. Took simple local contracts. Started charming her way into the cities nobler circles. Kept tabs on the local underworld. Taught a few good-souled street kids how to vanish and pickpocket well enough to stay alive. She liked them more than she expected.

Some nights, Zelanis stood on Nyx’s rooftop. She missed the danger. The feeling of being right on the edge with her people at her side. She was here with them but she felt alone. There was a waiting to everything that she didn't like... a shadow of what's coming was covering them but they couldn't see what it was yet.