Sometimes the good guys start bad. Dwyer Fenwrehr never knew his parents. He grew up a street urchin in the small town of Trimbleton just north of Luskan. As happens with lots of kids like this, he spent his teen years working with a gang of small-time pickpockets and charlatans who were able to eek out a living bothering travelers and rich folk. He showed a lot of promise and the big bosses took notice. His keen senses and quick study of human behavior made him a first pick for complicated jobs. He could tell you how many men were in a room without looking and sense when an ambush was brewing.
When Dwyer reached his early twenties, he caught the eye of two prominent business men. One was legit, Jimmy Gundry. One was not, Benithar Therat.
Gundry was a logistics guy, a big fish in a little pond. He had a few crews that moved goods, animals, and sometimes people in caravans between towns and did his job very, very well. Mostly he dealt with folks in Trimbleton, Gottles, and a mining town at the Spine of the World called Mackle’s Finding. Jimmy made Dwyer a part of his delivery crew whenever he could.
Benithar, on the other hand, promised a lot and the jobs went sour a lot. Dwyer knew this, but he wasn’t scared of this. He trusted his senses and didn’t trust Benithar, so he figured he could make it work.
His very first job for Benithar was one that went sideways, really, really far sideways.