Lost Mines of Phandelver
Adavan stands a mere 5’4", his clothes tattered and threadbare. A white mouse peeks out of a large pocket in the breast of his robe. While slight in build, he moves with a surprisingly quick stride, and his stare is disconcertingly confident.
Born to the streets, raised amongst the beggars and urchins of Neverwinter’s grimiest hovels, Adaven had a modest knack for thievery and the makings of a reasonably average pickpocket. He didn’t possess the quickest fingers or the sharpest mind, but things simply had a way of… working themselves out to his advantage.
Well, most of the time. There was the occasional explosion, the odd case of prolonged invisibility, and though Watch Sergeant Philmus has since spent a good portion of his monthly stipend on expensive hair dye, you can still catch a flash of bright pink in the right light.
In the end Adaven’s last and best mistake in his short-lived thieving career was attempting to lift a bag of gems from a portly, flamboyantly robed dwarf in Neverwinter’s merchant quarter. There was an indignant growl, a flash of bright yellow light, and Adaven spent the rest of the week as a mouse, trapped in a cage, slowly developing a taste for Waterdhavian Old Smoke Cheddar that persists to this day.
Upon Adaven’s release the dwarf introduced himself as Rodolphus Crownhollow, retired adventurer, former court wizard to the Muhabba Caliphate, master of transmutation and best-selling author. Rodolphus demanded that the young half-elf perform a penance of one year’s servitude to the Crownhollow estate in recompense for his misdemeanors. Though initially resentful, Adaven quickly came to realise that the grumpy old dwarf had no real interest or need for a servant, but had instead recognised a latent magical talent in the young street urchin that needed to be harnessed and nurtured.
Over the next three years Adaven learned how to harness his power, perhaps not with the same discipline as his wizardly mentor, but enough that he was no longer in direct danger of sprouting feathers in public. On the half-elf’s twentieth birthday (or as near as could be guessed) Rodolphus gruffly announced that true mastery of magic could only be learned upon the open road, and that Adaven’s period of servitude was at an end. He handed Adaven a bag of coins, a focusing orb from his own collection and a wheel of Old Smoke Cheddar, and told him to and seek his destiny on the adventurer’s path, as Rodolphus himself had, many years ago.
Though sad to leave the old dwarf, who he had come to regard as a friend and mentor, Adaven departed, determined to return one day to the grand house of Crownhollow with some tales of his own to tell.