Life was not always easy for Thrabian Whyss. In his earliest years, his mother struggled to provide for them. His father had abandoned them before Thrabian had even entered this world. His mother never spoke much of his father--only to suggest his father had been a vagabond, wild and untamable--but there were rumors. Thrabian would hear whispers of his father's strange gray complexion and forked tongue, the former of which the child shared with his sire. "Demon-spawn" and "fiend" were frequently thrown about just within his hearing, especially as Thrabian began to exhibit his own rebellious tendencies. Thrabian was never a cruel child, but he was never one to follow the rules or to bend over backwards to fit in, either. Because of this and his strange appearance, he was often taunted by the other children. At the same time, he was never a complete outcast. He was known for his puckishness and wit. While he could not best the strongest boys by brute force, his speed and dexterity were renowned for miles around. He was thus regarded with a degree of respect, but never truly accepted by any, save his dear mother and one other. That "other" entered his life shortly after he turned 13. His mother, despite being ostracized by much of the village, had grown close to an itinerate priest who visited the village monthly. He was a kindly man, generous and forgiving. He seemed to see nothing in Thrabian except for his potential for good. He encouraged him to use his talents for the betterment of others. Although Thrabian could never fully articulate it, the priest's kindliness became a significant influence on the young man's life. At 15, Thrabian learned a young girl his own age had grown sick and quickly died. A few days later, her grandmother suffered the same fate. Soon it was one after another; the disease quickly consuming the entire town, including, sadly, his dear mother. Strangely, Thrabian survived. He wasn't sure whether to count it as a blessing or a curse. Thrabian was thus cast adrift, looking to his own gifts to survive. He relied on his stealth and speed to survive. He often stole, but he was never reckless. More than once he gave his spoils to one less fortunate than he. But he was rarely afforded the same kindness by those around him. This hurt. Although he never spoke of it, he sought the acceptance he had found with his mother and the priest. Thus far it eluded him, but he did not give up hope. The world lay before him. A year after having left his village, Thrabian often found that his longing for companionship was more than he could stand. On a hot summer day, as he walked through a rolling copse, he suddenly found himself surrounded by a dozen bandits. He was surprised to find himself in this situation. More importantly, he was surprised to be surprised: as he was growing older, he had grown conscious that his awareness went beyond that of most others. Regardless, here he was--alone, armed only with a dagger, and severely outnumbered. "Yield or die!," a voice called out. A fool perhaps, but never an idiot, Thrabian made no effort to resist. With quick efficiency, he was seized and disarmed. His cloak and small satchel were taken, his shirt torn off. He had nothing but trousers, boots and a small pendant hanging around his neck that had been a gift from his mother. As most of the bandits quickly went through his former possessions, a sinewy, lithe figure strode in front of him and looked him over. The bandit reached to remove the pendant. He had barely moved when his wrist was caught with uncanny speed. "It's worth nothing to you," Thrabian growled. "Leave me this, it's all I have." Their eyes locked and the bandit's hand tightened around his dagger. "Brand," a hooded figure called from behind, disarming his rage. It was one of those sifting through Thrabian's belongings. "This bum's got a bracelet engraved with Lord Waincroft's crest. Wonder how he got that, eh?" "A thief, then?," asked Brand, turning back to his quarry. "A survivor," Thrabian responded. "Say what you like," Brand turned back the others and yelled sardonically, "You know what we do with thieves. ... Bind him and bring him to camp." Brand's quick response saw Thrabian dragged roughly back to the brigands' camp. He was left bound, but fed. Otherwise, he was ignored for nearly a week. Finally, one evening Brand approached him. "I have rarely seen a man move so fast ... that is, if I may call you a man. Boy is perhaps better, demon child maybe better still." Thrabian sat stoically. "We know you stole from Lord Waincroft. That is no small feat, however you came by this bracelet. It's worth more than you probably know. You must have some talent at burglary, so I give you a choice. You may join us or you may die. Choose now." Thrabian made the survivor's choice: he said yes to living, though it was not quite the same as saying yes to life. It was not a pretty existence. He aided in a variety of petty thefts, ambushes and kidnappings. His aptitude at stealth earned him much respect from his fellow bandits. His wit evoked its share of laughter. But they still seemed to fear him. And they definitely never fully accepted him. He sensed this alienation, but like many teens, he misplaced its source. He began to try harder to earn their acceptance. He volunteered for the most dangerous tasks, he honed his skills as a thief--he worked to become the best in all he did. He also began to do things he would later regret: he committed acts of cruelty at the urging of his peers and he took from the needy for his own gain. In doing these things, he was celebrated by this fellow thieves. Yet his sense of alienation never vanished. As he reached his 19th year, Thrabian felt empty. Something wasn't right. He began to see that who he had become was dictated by his drive for acceptance rather than who he felt he should be. He realized that he could not serve anyone else's rules other than his own. He could not be a slave to satisfying others. At the same time, he thought back on the priest's exhortations to use his gifts to good ends. He remembered the moments when he had sought to serve others. Those had been the moments when he had felt best, felt most "true." After this realization, Thrabian became more and more removed from his fellow thieves. He became less and less accommodating. Not surprisingly, those around him stopped laughing at his jokes and began to deride him. Unlike before, when this derision urged him to seek confirmation, he now found affirmation. He was not like them. He was not like anyone. He was who he was. So late one night, he found within him a darkness the night had rarely seen. Invisible to probing eyes, he slipped away, in search of something else, something true to who he was...