Born of Elven mother (Fi’annin) and human father (Brandon Tharn) I spent my first years growing up amidst the streets of Tyr. Brandon was a merchant of some minor standing and although had little wish to be associated with his new offspring, still had fondness for my mother. He secretly provided small coin to ensure their survival but little else beyond.
At an age before adulthood had blossomed, my mother was taken ill and quickly died, at which point my father quickly dismissed my existence and my survival was immediately my own to forge.
As I soon learned, the fleet of foot inherited from my mother became a useful trait. Fleeing from the traders with the small amounts of bounty snatched from them taught me quickly slight of hand and cunning. I was adept at slipping through crowds, hiding in the shadows and changing my appearance to remain undiscovered.
Yet I was unfulfilled. Empty. My soul was crying in heated rage for vengeance against the father that had abandoned me to this rat-like life.
Months of careful planning, watching and learning came to fruition as I plotted the downfall of my father. I knew when he was vulnerable. I knew when he was exposed. At last my chance came and in a cold, calculated moment struck to end his life.
I fled the scene, confident of my anonymity but I was wrong. My deed had been seen by eyes that were not horrified but were intrigued. They followed me and I was easily caught in my euphoric disregard. The man did not reveal his identity but made it clear he would reveal mine should I do less than he bade of me. He explained his knowledge of what I had done and yet in my fear I was curious – why had he not just given me over to the guards?
It became clear that he had links to a guild of secret origins and had spotted my potential.
