I never knew my parents. The only memory’s I have of them is sitting on my fathers knee as he leafed through his spell book, enraptured at the strange, arcane writings wrought upon the page, and snippets of being entranced by his display of magic abilities.
The rest of my childhood was spent in an orphanage, I assume after my parents died. But being one of the smallest kids there, and somewhat socially awkward, I was the frequent target of bullying. Sure, the kindly old lady who ran the orphanage was nice enough, but she was naïve as to what happened after she retired for the evening. Suffice to say I was often the target of the bigger kids. I tried to compensate by retreating into a world of knowledge and reading, but that only seemed to make me a bigger target. As soon I was able to steal a few silvers, I ran away, figuring life on the streets would have to be better than there.
And for a (short) while it was. This was the first time I didn’t have to constantly be on my guard. However, it didn’t last long, and after only a few days I had quickly run through my meagre finances, and was now cold, hungry and alone with no immediate prospects of improving my situation.
For perhaps the only time in my life, luck was on my side, and I ended up falling in with the local street gang. However, soon again, my small stature and social awkwardness came to the fore, and I never seemed to be able to climb off the bottom of the totem pole. Every time a new “recruit” joined us, I would think it finally my chance to move up, but within no time at all they would move past me on the pecking order. It seemed that the easiest way to advance was at my expense.
Despite this hardship I was able to eventually scrape together enough coin to sit the entrance exam to the local wizards academy. It with dreams of emulating my father, which I had kept alive for years, I took the test, hoping against hope to be successful. To everyone’s surprise (including my own), I topped the test, and was accepted with a full scholarship.
Finally I thought, here among people like myself (smaller of stature and likewise socially awkward), I would finally find acceptance. How wrong I was. It was worse than the orphanage. Most of the students came from families with a rich magical tradition, who looked down on a poor upstart with now arcane tradition or background. Only this time, those bullying me also had access to magic.
I however, was determined that nothing would stand in my way, and simply applied my self more diligently to my studies. My studies were a raging success, and not only was I now topping the class, I was also among the teachers favourites. Unsurprisingly, this only intensified the bullying, but I was determined to at least see out graduation.
However, one evening, only two weeks before our final assessment was to begin, I was subject to an unforgivable prank. I really don’t want to go into the details, I will leave it up to your imagination, and say it was worse than anything you can imagine. Suffice to say I snapped. Not realising the fury they had unleashed, my attackers retired for the evening, leaving me alone. I waited until I was sure they were all asleep. The gathering my meagre possessions, I crept up to the room my tormentors shared, and summonned 3 fiendish wolves from a pilfered scroll of Summon MOnster III. Overcome with what I had just done, I fled, determined to complete my magical “education” on my own.
