Heroes of the Shadowfall
Juggler, acrobat, and spy (not to mention thief and assassin)
Andrew Rowe grew up not knowing his real name, if he ever had one, nor his parents, heritage, or anything else about who he could have been. Left on the steps of a local church when he was still wrapped in swaddling clothes, he was doomed to a life of servitude working for the clergy, raised with strict rules and harsh punishments. His early days were spent dreaming that one day his parents would show up to save him from his evil captors and later dreaming that the king himself would wonder into town and see his long-lost son again being whipped as punishment forgetting the name of some long-forgotten deity.
Alas, for poor Andrew, his dreams never became a reality. By the age of twelve he had decided there was no one to come save him from his tormentors. By the age of fourteen, he decided that since no one was going to save him from another beating at the hands of some old tyrant spouting religious teachings, which meant nothing to him, he would have to save himself.
After a spectacularly painful teaching session by the head-master Andrew made up his mind, he was leaving… and not empty-handed. The next morning, after the collection plate was passed around, he helped himself to a good-sized handful of the coppers from the offering, some salt pork which had been left unattended in the pantry, and a pair of large knives from the kitchen.
It didn’t take long for Andrew to discover that while life at the church had been dreadful, life outside its stone walls was less than wonderful. Andrew can tell you all about hunger, fear, and the bitter cold of a long winter night spent sleeping fitfully on the hard cobble stones of a smelly ally way. It can be a hard life living on the street, begging for a copper piece, hoping that some passerby will accidentally drop their crust of bread on the cold, wet ground and decide that the food is ruined…
One dark night, six months after he had decided to leave the church, Andrew failed miserably to pick the pocket of a nobleman headed home from the tavern. The man looked and smelled as though he had drank enough to drown a small army… that wasn’t the case. This man was was not only completely sober, but he was the fabled lord of the black hands thieves’ guild.
To Andrew’s surprise, Marcus Feral, guild leader of the Black Hands, decided not to slit the young man’s throat who had just failed at picking his pocket, instead invited him back to the Black Hands hideout and ensured Andrew that he would never again fail to steal from a mark or spend a night on the cold, wet ground.
That was three years ago, things in the world have gotten worse, people have less copper in their pockets and tend to be as likely to run you through with a sword as to shake your hand, but every time the sun goes to hide behind the mountains, the night offers up a new adventure.
Andrew has never again had to sleep on the wet cobblestones or go to sleep hungry. He has had a few run-ins with constables and rival guild members, but has always come out on top. Andrew Rowe is a survivor.
Standing only 5’ 4", Andrew has a long pointed nose, small squinted eyes and straight, black, raggedly cut hair. He was trained by the guild master of the Black Hands and he is known to carry multiple daggers on his person at all times. Rumor has it that he will do just about anything for "the Right Price.”
“Fight fair? Work for a living? Pray to some disembodied, impotent god? Surely you jest!”
“The local lord is away on business, you say? …interesting.”