Baldurian-bred, Cormyrean blood

[mendicantI]

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Twenty-four years ago, a redheaded girl gave birth to a child. The circumstances were not ideal, enduring labour while stowed away in the back of a farmer's wagon, rattling out of Eveningstar into the night. But it was better than that from where, and from whom, she fled, no less the dark god his sire served. Pitiful though she was, roiling in the throes of pain from childbirth and with not a copper piece to her name, she knew she would give her babe a better life. A life she could not give, surely, but one that this child deserved. To loving parents, would her scion go - from the hospice, would she part with her blood, half-aware of her surrounds.

This ruddy little thing, adopted by Orwahl and Gothric Dorne, was all smiles, all bright energy and cheer. Where two men may not conceive together, their love would pour into this font of warmth that would become a son of their own. The man today, Renaud Dorne, knew shanties and rain-soaked tents before hovels and crumbling tenements, all of which this little family called home in the Lower City of Baldur's Gate. Orwahl and Gothric - Pa and Da, as he calls them - worked more days than they would rest. When there was enough coin to start Orwahl's cooping business, the redhead was put to work alongside Gothric in labouring before the little one's eighth summer, helping to make ends meet. Teenage years were spent assembling barrels, hauling heavy goods, laying cut stone and mixing mortar. Hard work hardens the body, so the child would grow hale and mighty, if not entirely educated.

Renaud would meet any job that needed a strong hand with a smile, regardless of gratitude returned or withheld. It was one of these jobs, hauling cargo for one of his Pa's clients in Cormyr, that brought him to meet his birth mother - a young thing, barely sixteen or seventeen years his senior. She had no home, the vagrant that she was; she would be found in the slums of Arabel, having fled from town to town, city to kingdom, marred even still by a Banite-turned-Cyricist's cruelty. Though wretched and wrought mute, a child knows their mother beyond wit and whim. The very same red hair, the very same looming height, though gnarled and withered by a life of squalor. Renaud took her home to live under his fathers' roof, where she was welcomed with nothing less than the open arms and wide smiles the boy embodies so.

To this day, the three still keep a loving family home, even while their son roams Faerûn.

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How did I end up following Torm? Well, let's see...

One of my neighbours, an older fellow by the name of 'Cobb' was in debt to the Zhentarim, you see. Figured I'd go have a chat with them, see if I could get them to ease up on the monthlies. I thought we'd have a chat over an ale, I'd explain the situation, and the whole thing'd be done like daisies. We're all just trying to make our way in this big ol' hard world. Surely they'd listen, right?

Boy, was I wrong!

I remember copping that first hit like a slapped bull on the run. Don't remember much after that. I do remember being held down by three Zhents and feeling my ribs cave in one by one, though. One of them had a broken nose, the other one a few fingers that bent the wrong way. They weren't like that before, let me tell you! The thing I remember most, though, was the smell. Gods. Sweat, blood, and hot breath all mixed together, like some nasty... soup. Messy, stinky soup.

Anyroad! As fate would have it, a passing paladin of Torm took notice. A paladin! Called herself 'Dame Ifira'. Gave them a good hiding, she did. They wouldn't be bothering ol' Cobb much after that, she said.

After a drink at the Elfsong and a visit to the old neighbour to give him the good news, we became fast friends. Told me all about this 'Loyal Order of the Innocents' she swore to, all the way down in Tethyr. For some reason, she thought I'd make a good squire! Da always said 'Lady Luck don't wait fer no-one, lad!' So of course, I squired to her. I told Ma, Pa, and Da the good news, and that I'd send them any coin I had to spare. That started an argument, of course, but we hugged and kissed and sorted it in the end.

We travelled all up and down the Sword Coast, while I learned to swing a sword all proper-like, tried out the different kinds of weapons I ought to use. She taught me letters, too, though I still ain't so good with them. I felt like I was dreaming! It was like one of them knightly stories Pa would tell me after a couple of pints, tucking me all into my cot-like.

So... yep! That's my story. Now, what was it you needed help with?