Futin was born in Breachill, son of a poor historian and an even poorer artist. His family's roots were in the Mwangi expanse, but his father - patron of their tribe and clan, had decided early on that the area was not right for a family. Their people were of a small clan of catfolk who lived with the Alijae elves of the norther jungles. However, a terrible lizardfolk raid decimated the catfolk population in their little area of the jungle, and they were left largely alone - with the Alijae elves but still outsiders.
Tired of the dangers posed in the jungle and struggling to find a sense of community with the Mualijae, Futin's father dredged up their meager belongings and struck out across the sea to the north, stopping at a few places that proved far too inhabited on the way. Eventually, the family landed in a small community that seemed welcoming. Even though they were the only catfolk there, no one seemed to mind them and seemed even welcoming. Home? Perhaps, but for now it was good enough.
His parents loved their pursuits, but they were only barely more than hobbies, and coin was thin. At a very early age, Futin found that he had to invest his own time and talents just to put food on the table. As a youth, he found many odd jobs that he wasn’t necessarily good at, but that he could perform at an acceptable level at least. Futin thus spent time as a cook, a professional rodent catcher, a woods guide, a bartender, a writer, and a brief stint failing as an artist. He never did any of these well, mind you, but he sure tried…sometimes.
Innately curious, Futin is always seeking more information about, well…everything. He’s particularly curious about the nature of dragons, spurred by various recent dreams he’d been having. These dreams have been horrifying, graphic images of fire and death…but more than anything they spurned Futin into discovering more about them. Searching through books at the Breachill Archives, he discovered an image of a dragon god – the great Dahak…and a sudden random memory jolted him – death, fire, dragons…and his very hometown of Breachill.
Futin had more questions than answers; he turned to his goddess, to whom he’d shown a devotion since he was young. Honestly, Futin didn’t know where his powers came from…his mother had said that his family was blessed long ago, but he never understood it too much. He attributed it to the goddess of freedom, but at the same time he didn’t necessarily perform devotions or prayers. He just…talked to her….and when he reached for the power, it was there.
Though his power still showed, the answers he sought were not buried in these conversations, so the curious cat has spent the last few weeks and months making himself a complete pest in the Breachill Archives. It started with his simply constantly asking Jorrell Blacktusk, the librarian for different information, but then progressed to Futin wandering the halls of the archives aimlessly, often having to be found by Jorrell and kicked out so the librarian could close for the day. Now, Futin was convinced he simply worked there, though he didn’t get paid, or really acknowledged.
Still, answers eluded him. This mystery of his dreams and their effect on his own town and people…and employer, it had to be discovered. So…why not branch out and see if knowledge could be found in unlikely places….after all heroes sometimes find good loot that can tell tall tales.
