Role

Chapter 2

Nereid was his name. Foul smelling. Foul looking. Foul of temper. And most
definitely foul of every law enforcement organization in Thera. His one saving
grace was an unlikely and highly surprising ability with arms. He would have been
long dead had he not possessed skills even to impress the guildmasters of Galadon,
Hamsah Mu'Tazz, Arkham, and even Seantryn Modan. Shocking, even, that such a
revolting human being would have the luck to bear the natural gifts, as well as
the dedication to succeed. But, he did, and so his weapons were prized even if he,
and his pernicious odor, were otherwise unwelcome. One such time, the last in
fact, brought him to the underdark, where a band of thieves needed some muscle
in the biggest heist of their lives: hitting the tribute caravan from lower
Cragstone. Nereid could not possibly care less who he worked for, as long as it
promised killing, women, and paid in gold - pure, and paid on time. That's all.

He didn't know a damn thing about his parents, he was a classic orphan left at
the door, raised in Balator, a bully from the start. Obviously fully human,
nothing could be discerned and he never spent even one second wasted wondering
about the scum who abandoned him. He assumed he'd be just like them, so never
wanted a family, any children, he just wanted to do whatever he wanted,
whenever he wanted, and to have the gold to do it - if killing wouldn't be
suffice. And so jobs like this one in the underdark were perfect. Undoubtedly
bloody. Certainly high pay. And no law around to get in the way. Perfect.