"A lousy wingman, but a damn good shot"
Class: Favoured Soul
HP: 31Strength: 10/0
Feats: Animal Affinity, Iron Will, Weapon Finesse
BioThe creature that would come to be known as “The Hideous Bird Boy” was born to a world of cold; silence and darkness, interrupted only when the man would come to feed or examine him. As painful as some of these encounters were, he often found himself looking forward to them, desperate for the contact. One day, the man came and dragged him up into the light. He was presented to another man who proceded to look him over. The creature, wanting to learn as much about this new man as he could, tried to look up, but found himself curling up and shielding his eyes from the light. He was vaguely aware of being dragged to his feet, manacled and led off somewhere. As twilight fell, he dared to open his eyes and found himself approaching a garishly painted caravan. He was promptly shoved into a box, which was smaller than the one he used to live in, but a bit warmer.
Over the next few days, he grew used to the light and began to look at himself. He was scrawny, with long limbs and gnarled claws at the ends of his arms that trembled when he moved. His body was covered in scraggly brown feathers that occasionally gave way to patches of pallid skin. He often wondered how his face looked.
Every so often, the caravan would come to a stop and he would be put on display. People would come and peer at him. Most would gasp and draw back, staring at him from a distance, but there were always a few who would shout things he couldn’t understand as they threw rocks and poked him with sticks, hoping he would move. Over time, he grew to understand the things they shouted, eventually teaching himself to speak and dance in hopes of entertaining them enough to keep them from hurting him.
As the days grew colder and the nights even more so, Lucien began to feel weak and sluggish. He found it more and more difficult to rouse himself when the people came to stare at him, and didn’t mind quite as much when they threw rocks at him. One morning, he woke up to find one of his toes rolling away from him and concealed it in his tunic. Around this time, he began to hear a woman talking to him in the back of his mind in a warm, gentle voice. She asked his name. It occurred to him that he didn’t have one, so she asked what he thought of “Lucien”. He liked “Lucien” It wasn’t sharp or cruel like the words people liked to yell at him. It was nice.
As the woman talked with Lucien, he became less sickly and listless. She told him to watch the paths the caravan was travelling, to examine the door of his box, to prod at the hinges. One night, Lucien was able to remove the hinges altogether and with the woman’s encouragement, slip out of the box. After wrapping himself in a tattered, garish cape he found in a corner, he jumped off the caravan and ran as far away from it as he could go. Lucien wandered through the woods -eating whatever he could find and sleeping wherever he could. With the woman’s guidance, he eventually came to the outskirts of a town. He took to the shadows, watching the people and living off whatever they discarded and tacking anything shiny he came across onto his cape. He eventually took up residence in an alleyway near a particularly loud tavern, where he existed relatively peacefully, until a nearby bar fight introduced him to Rhôvanion Aefaradien .