Erin was born into a wealthy halfling family, her father a nobleman and city official, her mother a prosperous merchant. She had a more or less painless childhood, growing up in a comfortable home with her older brother and younger sister, then attending the rudimentary education that befit an aristocrat's daughter.
But there was a problem. Something wasn't quite right about Erin Reynor.
There was her strength, of course - that was hard to overlook. From a very young age, the sheer force that Erin could exert was beyond comprehension, a physical power entirely at odds with her diminutive halfling form. But this wasn't the only thing that set her apart. Just from talking to her, you could tell that something was a bit off. Erin never seemed to fully understand the thoughts and feelings of others, as though her mind were shifted one notch off from the outside world. And her own emotions, at times, seemed to overwhelm her entirely. She'd get that special glint in her eye and be swept off in a spiral of fury or joy.
These anomalies didn't have a place in the world Erin grew up in. Her bizarre strength was not the subject of polite conversation, but it drew furtive glances from across the marketplace and whispers from her fellow students. Freak. Mutant. Something wasn't quite right about Erin Reynor, and the children around her could never quite forget it. Nevertheless, those early years marked a time when Erin was truly happy. She was optimistic and engaging, and she had, if few close friends, many friendly acquaintances. And what she loved most of all was dance. She was placed into dance classes as just one more obligatory pastime, but she took to them like a fish to water. Soon she was spending hours a day learning new styles and techniques, and she loved every second of it. When she was spinning and spinning until the world became a blur of motion, suddenly everything made perfect sense.
It all changed when she was seventeen. It all changed after an ordinary day of dance rehearsal, ordinary in every way but one. Erin was practicing with her partner, trying to spin him around at just the right moment. They failed once, twice, three times. Erin took a deep breath and focused, determined to get it right. There was that glint in her eye. When she took his hand, as he began to turn, his feet lifted off the ground. She swung him upward in an arc, his body flung from her outstretched hand. He soared higher and higher, far higher than should have ever been possible, almost grazing the ceiling of the dance hall. Erin watched in horror as he fell, heard the sickening thud of his body hitting the ground, stared at his motionless form on the hall floor.
His neck had snapped instantly on impact.
She couldn't stay at the school, of course. Her parents made a few "generous donations" to keep her role in the incident quiet, but something had to be done with Erin. It was then that her father's associates came forward with a proposition: Erin could be sent to a special training facility for Vliasport enforcers, where she could put her unusual talents to use doing the city's dirty work. "This is a great honor," they said. "Think of it as a chance to serve your community," they said. It didn't matter. Erin had seen the frightened looks in her parents' eyes as they ushered her into the carriage. They were scared to even have her around them. She didn't belong there, so they sent her away. She was seventeen years old, and that was the last time she saw her mom and dad.
Erin trained at the facility for three years. She learned to fight, to handle a polearm and move swiftly under the weight of armor. She learned to restrain her emotions, to channel that passion into the will to achieve her goals. She learned a bit of discipline, a bit of cynicism, a bit of courage. Erin found the notion of becoming an enforcer distasteful, but she didn't try to leave. Where would she go? The facility had warm beds and decent food and acquaintances who didn't look at her like she was about to hurl them across the room. And as for the fighting... well, that was just another kind of dance. But even so, as their training drew to a close and the prospect of hunting down enemies of the state grew ever nearer, Erin resolved to leave. She didn't know where she belonged, but it wasn't there.
Chi came that night. The flying squirrel simply climbed up to her window, and Erin knew it was there for her. She gathered up the equipment she had learned could keep her alive, clambered over the ledge, and glid off without looking back. She spent the next year and a half struggling to be self-sufficient in her newfound freedom, performing honest work when she could find it, breaking into store cellars when she couldn't. She wanted to get out of this city that had no place for her, she wanted to find a place where she belonged. And then... well, then the Sirensong Traveling Carnival came to town.
