"A lot of people think that Altamar's this amazing place, but grow up on its streets and you may think differently about it. I spent sixty years on those streets, and I know them like the back of my hand. I knew what to listen out for, where to hide, where to look… and where not to look.
My grandparents were Wood Elves who came from the Heathlands and fought in the great wars. When my mother died in childbirth, my father raised me by himself; we never had much, but it was a life. Altamar was a tough place back then; it was before you were born, you wouldn't have even heard the stories. After my father died, I'd have ended up dead if it hadn't been for Endervane. He wasn't Lord Porcelain like they call him now, just another gang leader. There were rumours about him, but I never saw that side. He'd fallen on tough times too, made worse because his own parents had been elves fighting in the war. He was outraged that the humans and half-orcs that ran the city didn't recognise the veterans that were still amongst them. I suspect he might have seen a little of himself in me.
I worked with Endervane's crew off-and-on for years, and I still owe him a debt that I can never truly repay. I sometimes acted as a messenger, or a source of information (and a good one, at that!). I'd happily slice a merchant's coin-purse to make sure a few of the young kids on the streets got some food in their stomachs.
As the decades rolled on it was clear that I needed to improve myself, make my fortune, maybe even do some good in the world. So one day I left the city and never looked back. I'd like to set up my own guild somewhere, but for now I've got a taste for adventure and the open air.
My grandfather died in the Sunder Mountains in the last days of the wars, somewhere near a place called Durga (not that I've found it on any map I've come across). They say there's treasure up in the mountains too, so I'll see what I can find along the way…"