Tycandus was born of the meeting between an Elven Wizard and his mother, a rogue who seemed to rely on luck more than planning, most of the time. A trait which Tycandus seemed to adhere to during his younger years.
Growing up in Amphail, Tycandus learned what he could of weapons from passing guards from Waterdeep, who seemed to take a liking to the boy. In Tycandus' defense, he did offer to do chores to help the soldiers as much as he could when they were around, so weapons lessons seemed to be the least they could do. As he grew older, he learned what he could about wearing armor, and various weapons, finding that he preferred lighter weapons that allowed him some freedom of movement.
At the same time he was learning about weapons, armor and tactics of battle from the passing guards, his father was trying to teach him the rudiments of magic. While intrigued, Tycandus found himself too impatient for his father's instruction. Always with the long view of things, his father's method of teaching just didn't show the results Tycandus craved. Theory, history and formulae were just something that Tycandus didn't want to learn, when he could see results when he simply DID magic. He understood the incantations and somatic gestures, and could see what they did. That was good enough for him, the rest would find its place. It just always did.
After a fight one evening with his mother, Tycandus retreated to the woods near the cliffs nearby, where he and his friends often retreated, to seek out adventure. Which usually consisted of maybe seeing a badger, or if they were lucky, a wolf or wolverine, which usually led to both sides running from the other, in opposite directions. Tycandus followed the cliff wall for a bit that night until he heard the cracking of branches, and wondered if he might spot the wolverine again. Being careful to not make (much) noise, he crept around the bole of an ancient tree, careful to avoid the deadfall nearby, ready to make his retreat, once the wolverine spotted him. He turned the last bit of the tree, keeping his eyes low, so as to not miss his prey and was surprised by the site of what looked like a green, knotty tree branch. Even more surprising was when the branch moved. Tycandus slowly raised his eyes following the branch, which joined another and thickened. He winced as he kept moving his gaze up to the bulbous nose and dead black eyes that were just above the fang filled maw. The troll roared at the young man and struck with both claw tipped gangly arms, and Tycandus managed to narrowly avoid the blow by stepping backwards out of reach. He tried to calm himself to remember any of the basic spells his father taught him, as the troll leapt at him. The spell came to mind as the troll impacted Tycandus and bore him into the deadfall he'd avoided earlier. Branches snapped and scratched at him and the troll, as the two were separated in the fall. Tycandus landed with a breath stealing impact, and scrambled. Backward, out of the deadfall, he hoped, and more importantly, he hoped away from the troll. He heard the roar of the beast, and splayed out his hands, thumbs touching and shouted the command for a basic spell. A fan of fire burst out from his hands and lit the area where he heard the roar from. Dead branches cracked and lit on fire, and the whole of the area burst into flames. Tycandus raised his arms in front of his face and stumbled through the branches away from the fire, falling prone once he'd cleared the brush.
Scratched, bleeding and still barely able to breathe, he failed to see several of the guards who were now coming to the area.
"Good work, Ty, you killed it."
Tycandus looked around, not sure what was being said, but getting helped up, and patted on the back by the guards. "Wha...? I didn't mean to. It just..."
"A tale to tell for sure! What a fight you must of put up."
"No, I didn't. I mean it fought, but... It's dead??"
Tycandus took the moment to look back at the dying fire, that had cleared out the deadfall, only to see one of the guards standing over the dead body of the troll. The neck of the troll had been torn, most likely from the fall and an errant, and lucky branch. He stood, dumbfounded.
"Looks like he cut its throat, and then burned it. Smart lad, fire or acid are the only things'll finish these buggers off."
"Wha...? I didn't... I mean, it wasn't..." Tycandus struggled for the right words.
"Don't be so modest, lad." The guardsman put a companionable arm around his shoulder, "Come on, first drinks on me!"
From that day forward, Tycandus has found himself caught up in a swell of expectations from locals who believe he's the "youth that killed a troll by himself."
