Pik began his life on the tug-islands of the Merrinj dynasty, one of the halfling dynasty-fleets that spend their days lazily working their way up and down the Drench coast, trading with coastal communities. They are comprised of huge floating rafts added to year on year, stretching skywards and connected by rope bridges, and driven by wave-mages from the coast who, every time the fleets come to rest near a port, take the halfing’s crafts and gold in return for sending them on their way again, on currents of pure Haze. This is the chaotic life of the Merrinj, and all sea-folk.
But Admiral Pik Hoora Jascalapsy Merrinj, to give him his full name, was not one for the unknown. He was a collector of ancient objects and texts, a voracious learner by nature and proponent of planning and reason, and managed to secure private quarters for himself, a rare feat amongst sea-faring halfling, in order to study in peace and store the antiques that he bought whenever the fleet reached land. His father, a leading Admiral and gruff traditionalist, was deeply disappointed in him, and searched for a reason to eject him from the flotilla. Thankfully, as they approached the Hidden Thallasocracy, an outpost of dour monks (and masters of wave magic and mysterious submersibles), Pik was discovered with one of his best friends in a compromising position, and the surprisingly conservative Merrinj eagerly ejected him from the flotilla, along with his beloved antiques.
He managed to procure a cart, and took the treacherous King’s Road to Fallcrest, where he had heard that everyone was a collector, a slave to the arts of antiquity as he was. Arriving, he found his dreams dashed slightly by the grim reality of Fallcrest’s cut-throat streets, but after selling some of his precious items he was able to afford his own shop in the little-frequented Bolus Market, where he traded everything from swords, jewellery and centuries-old artwork, down to the last remnants of his beautiful and rare collection; he was always on the lookout for new items, and was intrigued when he found a filthy but intact warforged stuck upside down in the huge scrapheap in the tunnels at the foot of the Scimitar known as the Yawn.
Within days, however, Pik was missing, his shop half-empty from looters and the warforged nowhere to be found. With no relatives known to the Consortium, his shop and possessions were sold, and his file buried amongst the red tape that binds all investigation in the great sunken city.