I know very little about who I really am or where I came from. As long as I can remember, I have been alone in the world. That may sound like quite a sad existence, but to be honest, there is a peace that comes with solitude. As far as I can tell my family was Rhenee. I mean, I look like they do, but, I couldn’t tell you the first thing about being one. I have a few friends that I consider family, although I couldn’t tell you if I actually have any siblings or blood relatives. I suppose it is possible that I don’t have a mother either, but I find that theory to be a bit suspect.
As a very young child I remember getting scraps of food from the kind older women who attended church, but as my cuteness faded, and my stench grew, such kindness became less frequent. I was a street urchin; an orphan with no home to call my own and an odd desire to survive as such. It was during this time that I learned how to use my natural abilities to help me make ends meet. Theft worked well, which is embarrassing to admit. Fortunately for me, I learned at a very early age that it was not the biggest and the strongest that made it on the streets (no offence meat shields), but the smartest. I don’t know what sort of blessings the star of my birth bestowed upon me, but I am very fortunate that wit was one of them. I spent my time learning the streets and alleys of Greyhawk. I would play games with myself; like trying to get as close to people without them noticing as I could, unlocking old doors and sneaking about peoples cellars in the night. I thought I was as skilled as Nerof Gasgal. However, such is the fantasy of youth. I stole food, and anything shiny I could get my hands on. Nooly Hoppertoss is a gnomish fence that helped me unload my merchandise. Now that I am older I know how badly he ripped me off, but I guess I can’t blame him since he also looked after my back for my many years on the streets. Remember that comment about family? Well he is one of those people. He is now “retired” and living out in the Celadon Forrest. He has a nice little cottage; it’s funny what you can afford after 15 years of fencing stolen goods.
As I got a bit older I became intrigued with magic. I knew some of the privileged children whose families could afford to send them to learn the ways of wizardry; I was just as smart, if not smarter then they were. However, I had no sponsor, no benefactor, no means to afford entry into a school. There was a short time where I thought I may have a chance to study. I became close friends with a young boy named Mosenrat. He came from a privileged family no doubt. His father was an adventurer so he seldom was home. The boy was tended to by his aunt, since his mother died during child birth. Mosenrat was and still is very cocky. In a way, I consider him my brother, however, we are no longer on speaking terms…I apologize…I will not bore you with my personal problems. To make a long story short, Mosenrat’s aunt was not a fan of mine. She didn’t think that a child without a home was destined to study magic. Yet, I did not let that shatter my dream. So instead I did what any foolhardy child would do, I obsessed. I read every page I could find on the subject. I found myself trying to look into the windows of mages. I even tried to hang around magic shops in hopes that someone could see something in me to give me a chance. However, no such chance ever came. Time continued to pass as it does, and rather than obsession, my feelings toward mages became bitter; such a childish way of thinking in retrospect.
I suppose I was about 13 when I first met Greyson. He was a weathered angry looking old Half-Elf, always bringing skins, meat and furs to trade late in the night. He would always approach his customer’s accompanied by his large wolf companion Dorian. It was very unusual, but they had the exact same eyes. I admired the patience of his gait, and his relative comfort under the cover of darkness. I started watching him from a distance at first, but as my youthful arrogance got the best of me, I tried to get closer and closer. It was odd, I felt like no matter what I did, I could never get his attention. Often people will turn their head quickly, or see you out of the corner of their eye when you skulk in the shadows, but Greyson never even flinched when I was close. This lack of attention fueled my next boneheaded, life-changing act. One night while he was ordering a meal, I decided I could sneak up on Greyson and snatch his purse. I was right, I did just that. However, by the time I made it back into the alley to count my spoils, I was greeted by a large wolf. When I panicked and turned around, I ran head first into Greyson.
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