Born and raised in the run-down buildings and scarcely-walked alleyways of Rittensberg, Charvey never knew much of a home other than the humble tavern run by his mother, Calantha. It is among the drunk and the violent that he spent most of his childhood, an environment hardly appropriate for one his age, but one that taught him the craft of thievery as he grew older and more hateful of the world around him. A rusty old knife would, over the years, become his only "friend", to his mother's dismay. These days, he spends his time prowling the streets in search of people who look like they don't belong - easy money.
Eglin Washold, the father of the family, is a face that Charvey can no longer recall, having last seen him far too long ago to remember. Whether he still lives or not, he might as well have never even existed, as far as his son is concerned.
The traveller has just arrived in a small town. As they look around, their gaze is met with run down houses and shops. They duck into one of the shacks, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the small room, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town?" She begins, then pauses to study their face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a chair, “Where do you come from? What do you hope to make of yourself?”
The young man only briefly turns to looks at the chair, then glares at the hag. "Expecting me? Who the hell told you about me?!" He asks with feigned anger. The woman's following silence calms him somewhat, at least enough to walk a few steps over towards the chair, which he drags closer to her before sitting down, hunched forwards. "You, uh... you know about the necklace?" Charvey whispers, "I've been lookin' for the bloody thing for a damn week now."
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