Golden Palace - Ascension
Corbin "Stray" Idlefoot
A jaded, quick-witted halfling, covered with blades and filled with stories
At first glance this halfling appears quiet, slight and reserved, unlike the many of his kind that are boisterous, plump and jovial. Draped in blacks and grays with a hood drawn, his steel grey eyes are keen and alert, always scanning the area, as if expecting the worst, and already prepared. A light breeze through his cloak is as likely to reveal pouches, coin purse and travel gear, or a plethora of blades strapped in easy to reach positions. While his initial demeanor is skepticism, wit and sarcasm, Stray actually is quite happy with his life. He has come a long way from the hardships of his youth, and he is proud of his accomplishments where the rest of his family had given up. He is brave and daring, and while not book smart, he is street smart, and understands the need for allies and for planning, to a point. Actions speak louder than words, and they also tend to be quieter.
After the end of the Gold Expansion War, the Surefoot clan was left with only one child, the son of a widow and a farmer/war veteran. With the wide spread and desperate peasantry in the lands to the East, the family farm was lost. After years of short-lived generations, poverty, sickness and death I, Corbin Surefoot, last in the line, was left orphaned. Taking to street urchin life, I fell into a world of crime under my adoptive “parents”, a group of Tiefling thieves. Taking on the Tiefling chosen name ‘Stray’, I learned their trade, developing a sharp tongue, wit and blade. Learning to keep a low profile, steal what I need, run when I should, and kill when it’s necessary. As is the life of thieves, the Tieflings got caught pick pocketing a holier-than-thou Dragonborn paladin of Bahamut who destroyed the band. Being a halfling, I escaped the holy-man’s tunnel vision. At yet another turning point in my young life, and with a change to my surname, Corbin “Stray” Idlefoot, I’ve made my home in Waterhelm, where my ears have picked up rumors of the deep pockets of the Grisa. The 10th generation farmer’s son is dead, and I’ve vowed to never relive my poverty days, and have now set my sites on the gold lined pockets associated with this faction, and the rumors of glory to be found with the rebellion from the west.