Background:

CHAPTER 1 - THE RAIN 
- Mother killed in Orc raid when 9 years old 
- Father disappeared during Orc Raid 
- Alone, Dorian attempts to find his father 

CHAPTER 2 - THE WANDERING 
- Spends years wandering and looking, learning about orcs and their ways 
- Relies on thievery and trickery to survive 
- Ends up in Waterdeep 

CHAPTER 3 - THE BETRAYAL 
- Attempts to steal from a master pickpocket, who catches him and the two become friends 
- The Master Pickpocket, named Gib, becomes a mentor for Dorian 
- Gib refuses to become a member of any local guilds 
- One night, a friend of Gib's betrays him and leads the two into a trap set by a rival guild 
- Gib is killed, and Dorian escapes 
- Fueled by rage, Dorian sets fire to the guild hall and kills most of the members, but the guild master escapes 

CHAPTER 4 - THE CHASE 
- Dorian chases the guild master across the forgotten realms, only to loose track of him in Boulders Gate 

It was raining that night - the kind of rain that makes you glad to be indoors. I remember water pouring off the roof of our small house in great rivers, splashing on the muddy ground with a roar.

Pa was sitting in front of the fire, reading a new book he had borrowed from the neighbors, and Ma was cooking something in the kitchen. The smells of fresh baked bread permeated the air. I was leaning against the frame of a window, lazily gazing across the watery street, fixated by patterns of rain pounding on the ground. Then I noticed dark shapes. Everything happened so fast; I can hardly recall what exactly happened next.

I remember sounds of glass breaking, timbers splitting, hinges squealing and breaking. Then there were screams, guttural roars, and horrible sounds of fighting. In the blink of an eye, the homes on the other side of the street - places where I had spent my childhood in merry play - were aflame with death and destruction. I turned to Pa, startled and afraid. He was already out of his chair and reaching for an old sword that he kept on the far wall.

"Into the Keeper, boy!"

In the center of our house we had a secret compartment built under the floor, where we kept our most precious valuables. We called it "the keeper". Without a second thought, I ran to it, pulled back the concealing rug, and yanked open the trap door. The area beneath was tiny, just barely big enough to fit a skinny, 9 year old boy. Following Pa's command, I jumped in, and Ma was there to close the door over my head. She had no more than pulled the rug back in place when the horrible sounds and mysterious dark shadows reached our home. I can't really describe what happened next. I have never been so afraid before in my life. There were sounds of ripping, screaming and running, things breaking, loud cracks and a great thud. Something heavy fell on the floor just above me, and not too far there was a short struggle. The beasts (for I could vaguely see them now through a crack in the flooring that had not been covered by the rug) were unnatural, ugly creatures. I now know them to have been Orcs, but to my mind such creatures were legends and stories told to frighten young children. Yet there they were, in the flesh, in my home. I was absolutely frantic with fear. Time slowed, every sound came thundering to my ears, and every shadow, every movement was a threat. What if they found me?

Just as quickly as the chaos had appeared, it left, and the room was quiet. Still, I could hear sounds of destruction in the distance and held my breath as if the creatures were still in the room above, waiting for me. I lay in the keeper for a long time after the last sounds died away. I don't know how long. The seconds were hours to me. My muscles were aching from stiffness and my mind was growing dizzy from strain when I finally started to push up the trap door that had saved my life.

Cautiously at first, then more boldly I raised the lid to my hiding place. It was slow to budge, with the weight of the rug and something else that now lay over it. I had no room to get much leverage and for a moment I feared that I would be unable to get the door open. However I was able to get it open enough to wedge a small jar into the opening and worm my way out. The first thing I noticed after I had worked the door open some was that the room above was darker. The fire had gone out, and only the eerie flickering light from neighboring buildings that were ablaze lit the room. Still, my eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the keeper long ago, and I was able to see the devastation that had been brought upon my family home.

Pottery lay shattered on the floor, contents spilled out in every direction. Furniture was hacked and battered into unrecognizable configurations, sheets and clothes were torn and tossed about, and our doors hung unevenly from their hinges, splintered and useless.

My Mother, mercy on her soul, lay atop the keeper door right where she had fallen. A huge red gash crossed her chest. Her face was ravaged with fear and pain. I vomited the moment I saw her, and was unable to ever look at her again. Just the memory of that sight makes me sick to this day, though I've since seen more than my fair share of death since.

My Father was nowhere to be found. The sword he had pulled from the wall lay near our broken door, dark blood smeared along the blade. I called out for him, a fleeting hope that perhaps he had somehow survived, but got no reply.

I remember running frantically from place to place, searching in every nook and cranny, in every building and around every corner of our small town. All night and all of the following day I looked, only to find death and devastation everywhere. All my friends, their families, and all the residents of the village were dead. With mounting despair and desperation I searched, through the pouring rain of that dark night, through the stink and the fire, through the endless bodies and faces I once knew, until I collapsed, feverish and exhausted.

I awoke, muddy, hungry, and alone on the quiet village streets. The sun was nearly setting, and the storm clouds had long since left. I managed to find some unspoiled food in a house a couple buildings down from mine. Once, I had eaten there in the company of good friends and family, now only torn bodies kept my company.

After eating and sleeping some more, I resolved to find my Father. I fancied that the beasts had taken him captive and that I might rescue him. Thinking I would need a weapon, I took my Father's sword from where it lay, gathered some food, and set off. I remember turning as I reached the top of Quillin Hill on the way out of town.

The sky was ablaze with brilliant reds, oranges, and purples as an angry sun sank behind distant storm clouds. Below, my village lay nestled in the wooded hillside, still smoldering from the ravages of the night before. I watched, and as fiery sunset gave way to a cool, starry night, a feeling hopeless dread sank deep into my bones.