Wenthe’s Backstory

  I am a heroine. Not "going to be" or "destined to become"—I already am one. The rest of the world just hasn't caught up yet.

  I can picture it perfectly: strutting down the main boulevard of a major city, scorched fur and bloodstained clothes, holding some grotesque trophy aloft while crowds chant my name. "WENTHE! WENTHE! WENTHE!" I've rehearsed this scenario about a thousand times. Sure, the details change—sometimes I've just slain a dragon, other times I've outsmarted some pompous archmage—but the ending's always the same. Me, recognized. Me, celebrated. Me, vindicated.

  Is that ego? Probably. But show me a true hero without one.

  My childhood in that tiny Catfolk village in Tamandre is a blur of tedium I've deliberately forgotten. Nothing interesting ever happened there—which is precisely why I'm not there anymore. The only worthwhile thing I picked up was alchemy from my father. He taught it as this serious, methodical craft with strict rules and careful measurements. Naturally, I saw it as a playground for experimentation. "What happens if I add twice as much quicksilver?" Turns out: fascinating results, and occasionally minor explosions.

  Life took a dramatic turn when I was 14. Drow raiders attacked our village, and I was among those captured and then dragged below ground on the island of Aleru. Let me be perfectly clear: slavery under the Drow was exactly as horrific as you've heard, probably worse. They're not just cruel—they're boring about it. Predictable sadism delivered with smug superiority. Even their "creative" punishments followed the same tired patterns. I decided early on that I wasn't just going to escape—I was going to come back someday and burn their whole system to the ground.

  The one bright spot in that cesspit was meeting Monoffa Nightstar, another Catfolk slave about my age. I called her Noffa, partly out of affection, partly because it annoyed her at first. While everyone else had been beaten into submission, she still had this defiant spark. We'd whisper plans to each other—each more outlandish than the last—about how we'd escape. "What if we trained the giant spiders to carry us out?" "What if we disguised ourselves as priestesses of Yarae?” Most were impossible, but they kept us sane.

  It took seven excruciatingly long years before we found our opening. Our assigned expansion work in Aleru eventually brought us near the Fungal Lift Gardens—this bizarre network of giant mushrooms the Drow use as natural elevators. Fascinating stuff, actually. These colossal fungi grow at accelerated rates due to wildshard infusion, and their hollow stems lift platforms loaded with goods. Most importantly, they connect to the surface through greenhouse domes.

  That's where opportunity knocked. While working near one of the older greenhouse domes, my ears picked up something the Drow couldn't detect—a subtle structural weakness in one of the seals. Over several weeks, Noffa and I took turns working at this flaw, enlarging it bit by bit while performing our regular duties. All the while, we received subtle hints from Brother Vexrin Dawnshadow, a Luminous Path monk who I believe secretly opposes slavery. He "accidentally" mentioned when that particular greenhouse would be unguarded.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  When the opening finally became large enough, we slipped through during a low-activity period and emerged into blinding sunlight. After years underground, it was excruciating—but also exhilarating. Freedom! Or at least, the first step toward it. We fled into the island's dense jungle before our absence was discovered.

  Armed with a crude map from Vexrin, we spent three harrowing days navigating through the jungle canopy, avoiding the dangerous forest floor. Our destination? A hidden smuggler's cove on the northeastern shore. Upon arrival, we found emergency supplies (apparently we weren't the first to use this escape route—why hadn't I thought of that possibility earlier?).

  Following instructions, we lit a specific pattern of signal fires visible from the sea but not from inland. Two nights later, a ship appeared—captained by a grizzled Tabaxi named Mero Swifttail who, as he later told us, had escaped Drow captivity himself decades earlier. His ship was bound for Takatari—an island populated by people who don't keep other people as property. Novel concept!

  Freedom was intoxicating but terrifying. What now? Noffa and I quickly agreed: we needed power. Not just strength, but the kind of power that ensures no one can ever control us again. She had an aptitude for sorcery and found training at a local academy. I sought out the most unorthodox alchemist I could find—a manic Gnome named Zapkack Fizzlebang (though he preferred "The Immolator" for reasons that became abundantly clear during our first lesson).

  While traditional alchemists were busy making healing potions and transmutation elixirs, Zap and I were developing explosives that could level small buildings. "Why merely heal a wound," he'd say, "when you could obliterate whatever caused it in the first place?" We shared a philosophy: the best problem-solving happens at the intersection of creativity and destruction.

  Noffa and I started taking on odd jobs—beast hunts, artifact retrieval, the usual adventurer fare.

  I started feeling an obligation to let my parents know I was still alive. I didn’t want to stay in my home village, just dart in, tell them I was alive, and leave again after a short visit. Noffa agreed to accompany me. The ship we found wasn't exactly top-of-the-line, but the captain swore it was seaworthy. Five days in, our ship was attacked by a massive sea dragon—a writhing serpentine body, eyes like dinner plates, the whole dramatic ensemble.

  Did I panic? Absolutely not. This was my moment! I unleashed everything in my arsenal—acid bombs, fire bombs, smoke bombs that probably just annoyed it. The creature eventually retreated, though I'm still debating whether it was my alchemical assault or simply indigestion that drove it away.

  In the chaos, Noffa went overboard. One moment she was there, the next—gone. Unfortunately, the ship sank anyway. I searched for her, but had to get on a jolly boat to survive. Spent a week at sea before a merchant ship picked us up and took us to Afa Masina, Andovarra—their destination.

  I spent a small fortune on scrying services in Afa Masina. First, I saw only ocean. Then, miraculously, glimpses of a city. I dragged an old sea captain to the next session, and he identified landmarks from Andovarra, specifically the capital city of Candibaru. If Noffa survived (and she absolutely did, because I refuse to entertain any other possibility), that's where she'd go.

  So here I am, headed to Candibaru with a pack full of experimental explosives, a head full of half-formed plans, and the unwavering certainty that I'm destined for greatness. I'm going to find Noffa, free every slave in Aleru, and make absolutely certain that everyone knows the name Wenthe Quickclaws.

  After all, what's the point of being a heroine if no one's watching? And when I return to Aleru—and I will return—I'll find Brother Vexrin and Captain Mero. I'll need their help to pull off the greatest slave liberation in history. Just imagining the looks on those Drow faces when their perfect system comes crashing down around them... now that's a vision worth working toward.