Dad was an elvish minstrel (still is, I suppose). Mom is a human minstrel. You can guess how long that “marriage” lasted. Son of two minstrels, but I couldn't carry a tune in a sack.
Mom had the idea that I could do magic. Don't ask me why. Anyway, she sent me off to a batty old wizard. The old nut job figured the best way to teach me magic was with a good beating when I made a mistake. I made plenty of mistakes. I never learned much magic, but I definitely learned to see trouble coming.
One day, I got wind that a bunch of warriors were coming through. That night, I grabbed as much gold as I could stuff in a sack, plus the falcata the old bird had in the basement, and lit out. When I found the strangers, I gave them the gold, and told them that I had escaped from the wizard. I also made sure they knew that the wizard would rain death and destruction on them if they got close to his tower. Well, sure, that might have been stretching a bit, but he could do something magic if they got too close to his house. Anyway, they went in another direction and let me tag along, as long as I didn't eat too much. They even showed me how to use that falcata, and how to fight better when I get angry. Who wouldn't be angry about being saddled with a name like Sazzle?
One thing I did learn was about dragons. I love dragons. I even learned to speak their language. I don't think I'll ever get much use out of that, but you never know. A dragon would eat me, not talk to me.