Wandering Weirdos

I was born and bred in the bustling port city of Waterdeep to Mason and Elena Evenwood. Ma was a kind soul, always with a smile and a warm loaf of bread fresh from the oven. She was a fierce and headstrong sort of woman, bound and determined to do what she wanted. It were her fiery disposition that had her leaving everything and everyone she’d ever known in Baldur’s Gate to follow my da to Waterdeep.

Da, though, well he was the rock of our little world. He was a carpenter, and he drilled into me that hard work and duty are the true measure of a person. He’d spend hours in his workshop, the sweet smell of sawdust and fresh pine filling the room. I’d sit at his feet, watching him turn what weren’t but a bit of wood into usable pieces or even works of art. He'd tell me tales of heroes staving off dragons, rescuing distressing damsels or fighting for justice from cruel villains. I'd listen, wide-eyed, my imagination taking me on every adventure right alongside them ol’ heroes. He'd laugh and ruffle my hair, telling me I was destined for greatness.

Then, like a sudden squall, Da was gone. Struck down by a no-good, two-bit cutpurse when he tried to stop the man from harassing a young lass that was not yet grown. One day he was there, strong and steady, the next he was gone, leaving a gaping hole in our world. Ma was shattered. She closed up like a clam, her laughter replaced by quiet tears.

Little Darian, still but a sprout, didn’t understand. But me? I was mad as a hornet. I blamed the world, the gods, anyone and everyone. After Da's passing, Ma took my little brother, Darian, and skipped town right off to Baldur’s Gate to be with her own kin.

That left me with naught but Uncle Willem and his brood. Willem wed Marga Grifstone, and they had 3 young'uns of their own. Manda, their eldest, is my age, and I think of her as a sister. The twins, Rushe and Soren, they're a couple of good lads, and they took over their da’s smithy so he could take it easy.

I was a right hand full growin' up, no denying that. Aunt Marga called me spirited, but Uncle Willem, he said I was just plain ornery. I never did quite learn to hold my tongue or think before I spoke. Couldn't keep me out of trouble if I was chained to a dock post. From scrapping with the Dock Ward bullies to sneaking into the Dragon's Spine, I was always on the lookout for a bit of excitement. My kin used to say I was born with a sword in my hand.

Causing mischief was always a group affair, and my mates were the best. Rolf Ironfish, a dwarven warrior with a love for strong ale and a sharp tongue. Sera Nightshade, a rogue who taught me the value of stealth and guile, not that I ever got the hang of it. Thornan Ashford, a mage whose quick thinking got us out of many a tight spot. I thought Thornan might be the one for me, but he and Sera had their own ideas.

Their union made me realize I needed to grow up, so at sixteen, I joined the City Guard. The training was brutal, but I thrive on a challenge! Captain Ralnarth, a grizzled veteran, became a mentor of sorts. I put him in mind of his own younger self - impulsive, passionate, and strange sense of honor all my own. He gave me more than one tongue-lashing about my emotions getting the better of me.

There was this one time when we’d gotten the drop on a band of roving bandits who refused to be taken alive. The skirmish took a bad turn and if it weren’t for Capt Ralnarth, I’d have been left in the mud and lost my head for sure. He’d earned my undying loyalty and I made up my mind right then and there to follow his lead from then on. That same day, I vowed to never leave a friend behind in battle. After that it tweren’t long afore I moved up to armar (sergeant) and got known for being brave, stubborn, and if I’m being honest, a bit impulsive.

I was always loyal, but the strict rules chafed, which got me in hot water with the bosses. There were them what liked that I fought for justice, even if meant causing a ruckus. Then there were them what just saw me as trouble. My star was on the rise, but the dark side of the city kept dragging me down. Every arrest and rescue felt like a win, but fights against the big criminals were nigh on impossible. Maybe I was just young and an idealist but the fight to exist in the real world, where them in power do what they want and damn the rest of us, was eating away at my soul.

Then there was the rotten nobleman. He was abusing his power and connections to get anyway with the most awful crimes. When he got started framing innocent folks for his misdeeds, I nearly lost my head and confronted the pompous fop.

The Guard reprimanded me and nearly threw me out on my own arse. I'd poured my heart and soul into protecting the city, but it felt like fighting against a rising tide. The noble's smug smile was burned in my mind. Every time I failed to bring him down, I lost a bit more faith in the City Guard. Realizing that power, not justice, ruled Waterdeep was a tough pill to swallow.

In the end, I couldn't bear to be naught but a cog in a machine that cared more to kowtow to the powerful than to help the helpless. It was time to leave and find a path where my actions had a real impact, where justice weren’t a distant dream.