Corbin Nettlewick, Halfling Rogue
Brief History: Corbin has never remained in one place for long. From growing up in the streets of Neverwinter jaunting from district to district for fine pickings of food to survive on and goods to sell in the streets for a bit of coin, the orphaned halfling has never felt a sense of home. As he grew older and more talented with a sling and picking locks, he could finally make an "honest" living pilfering dungeons for coin alongside generally grumpy dwarves, elitist elves, and overzealous humans. He rarely came into touch with those of his own kind seeing as every group needed only one thief, and that was a trade Corbin spent his entire life perfecting. Corbin never quite stuck to one adventuring party because unlike other urchins he never overcame the roughness of street mannerisms and the discomfort in social situations of those isolated from most common interaction. Corbin trusted his own sticky fingers more than his friends, seeing as they'd brought him life saving food and a bit of extra coin to live on since he was only a child.
It was on a typical dungeon delve, disarming traps, tossing rocks into hordes of goblins, and climbing statues to get to levers in the walls and jewel set eyes, that Corbin had his first encounter with magic. This was not the kind of magic that mighty wizards summoned from their books or that stalwart clerics called from their gods, but this was magic infused in metal. A small blade that glowed with magic and swung truer than any blade Corbin had ever laid eyes on. He was dazzled by the intricate design of the hilt and the beauty of it's magical nature. Corbin always felt jealous of magic-users. Perhaps this was the answer to mimicking their powerful nature. Corbin wished to keep the blade, but he was convinced by his companions to sell it at the next opportunity for extra coin. Corbin sulked the whole way back to civilization making a secret vow that he would not let the next magical trinket slip through his fingers.
It was only a few months later that Corbin found himself separating from a fresh adventuring party in Narfell during the Bildoobaris Festival. A group of interesting looking nomads, among many others, were present at the festival. Not one to resist his general urges Corbin sought out their pockets for a good picking. Coming away unnoticed with a bit of coin, Corbin began to wade away into the crowd. It wasn't until he heard the commotion behind him that he realized the small trinket in his hand. It seemed Corbin's stubby fingers found their way around a more precious item. Among the small clutch of coin Corbin held a small stone ring carved with glyphs and runes. The halfling didn't have time to marvel the ring for any longer, although he convinced himself at first glance that this one wasn't going to slip through his fingers. The nomads began shouting from behind him and pointing after the halfling with angry gestures, moving after him in the thickening crowd.
Fortunately for Corbin the crowd was enough for him to lose the nomads easily, but he harbored a distinct feeling that he would be pursued even after the night's end. Corbin found a trade caravan full to the brim with red, blue, and yellow cloths. Taking a few quick glances around him Corbin decided he had a moment before anyone would see him. The thief burrowed himself below the many blankets and bolts of cloth. He didn't have the slightest idea where this caravan was going, but he knew he would be all the more difficult to track if he didn't have the slightest clue where he was headed. Corbin stuffed the ring deep into his pack, and he hasn't looked at it since. Just as afraid to be seen with it as he is afraid that it has mysteriously disappeared from his pack by way of it's mystical powers, Corbin is anxious to hold the ring.
Corbin fell asleep among the rough textured cloths only to awake the next morning to the jostling of the cart over rocks and through worn holes in the road. After two days of travel a band of human thugs ambushed the caravan. Hearing all the commotion, Corbin slipped out the back of the wagon and fled toward the woods. He looked back over his shoulder just before vanishing out of sight. The trader's two guards and three of the bandits lay badly wounded on the ground. One of the thugs, a bit bloodied, threw the trader to the dirt road and kicked him hard in the gut. gripping a small stone in his pouch and loosing his sling, Corbin turned back to the caravan and hurried into range. The halfling drew the stone and slung it straight in the highwayman's temple. The gangly human collapsed to the ground in a heap. The merchant thanked Corbin profusely making the assumption that the thief was merely a passerby turned hero. He offered Corbin a ride the rest of the day's journey to the Bezentil trading post. Hungry and thirsty, the halfling was not about to pass down the offer. He only hoped the traveler would not draw any unnecessary attention to his heroism upon their arrival.