Backstory: Nothing

Left on the doorstep of the Red Larch church as an infant, Nothing's
early life was as troubled as a devil-child raised by the devout can be
expected.

In truth, it probably wasn't as extreme as she makes it out to be. She was treated like a *difficult*
 child, and she was a difficult child at the best of times - wilful,
contrary, and her tantrums came bundled with blazing fireplaces and
doors slamming themselves. She made the place hell for them.

But they named her *Faith*. What did they expect?

(They also heavily implied she needed to be a good and pious
child to balance out her obvious inborn sins of the father. Again - what
 did they expect?)

At the age of ten, Nothing ran away from the church, deciding
that life on the streets was preferable to the ever-present sense of
judgement and implication that she was inevitably hellbound. There, she
appointed herself the warden of the town's waifs and strays (as the
oldest child, she felt it made sense.)

She threw away the name the church gave her. What little she'd
read of tieflings showed they often chose names of their own, virtue
names...like Faith, actually, but she'd rather be called nothing than
Faith, so Nothing is exactly what she'd be called. *Nothing* but trouble, good for *nothing*, who'll amount to *nothing* if she keeps up the way she's going. Might as well have an honest name that keeps the bar nice and low, right?

Unfortunately, Nuth found that being the protector of the orphans
 and runaways isn't so easy when you're not even five feet tall and
built like a twig. The stealing part was easy. The not getting beaten up
 by Red Larch's teens who thought themselves real tough for picking on
the village oddity? Less easy.

It was after one such altercation that she was offered a way out -
 no more lying in alleyways tending to her broken ribs and bruises. A
presence reached out to Nothing, and laid out a deal: her soul, a
trifling thing, in exchange for power that would ensure no-one with
sense would dare lay a hand on her and hers again. (And power that would
 help her feed them, too. Subtler arts.)

She said yes, of course. Her soul was already hellbound, right? What's the worst that could happen?

With the help of her mysterious benefactor whispering into the
back of her mind, she learned to unlock people's doors from the other
side, to lace her words with magic that would sway people to invite her
in and offer a seat at their dinner-table. (Sure, the townsfolk got wise
 to some of her new tricks, but they'd seen she had magic since
childhood, nobody questioned it.) The kids stopped messing with her when
 she brandished a staff glowing with dark fire and shot a flare of red
light into the wall behind their heads.

She and the kids got by, scavenging and stealing, taking charity
from those few in the town kind enough to give it. (Red Larch's
apothecaress, Moira, took good care of them - a hot dinner every so
often in exchange for help around the house was a good deal, and Nuth
appreciated it. Moira patched the kids up if they got sick, too. The
town jailor, Alf, let them house up in the prison in the winter if it
got real cold or if the weather was particularly bad. The whole lot of
them were in there so often, so why not give them a key to let
themselves in?)

The magistrate got well used to finding Nuth in the courthouse,
rolling her eyes as she pled guilty to "nickin' some stuff" time and
time again. Try as the townsfolk (and the magistrate) might to coax Nuth
 into honest work, unless the kids could work with her too, she wasn't
having any of it.

And on one sweltering summer's day, she found herself jailed once
 again. Nickin' stuff. But this time, she'd landed among some curious
cellmates indeed...