Krekeke

Name: Krekeke
Race: Kenku
Age: 24
Height: 4"9
Weight: Featherweight (oh ho ho)
Profession: Pickpocket, thief.

Krekeke grew up among the twisting dark alleyways and dilapidated slums of Luskan, using his innate penchant for trickery to survive. Whether it be a backstreet mugging after luring a less-than-sober individual with the feigned complements of a lustful maiden, or invoking the pity from a kind hearted soul with the cries of his non-existent child, Krekeke delighted in deception. Eventually, he began to take a more direct approach, stealing what he wanted from the homes and pockets of others, something he took great pride in. He had little pity for those he stole from, believing that if they were foolish enough to allow their treasures to be stolen, they didn't deserve to have them anyway. Magical objects of any nature were the most lucrative prize, and his collection of pilfered magical baubles was well known among his flock. However, even amongst a race such as the Kenku, he was considered a coward, fleeing at even the slightest sign of danger. Because of this he became adept at running and hiding, often outpacing his own kin in a retreat and disappearing into the cluttered alleyways and crowded streets.

-Physical Description-
A collection of rags and leather scraps cling to the kenku's figure, tufts of unkempt black feathers sprouting from a number of tears and split seams. Boney, scaled limbs each end in a clawed foot or hand. A tattered beak protrudes from a dirty leather hood, and a pair of yellow eyes cast an eerie gaze upon that which interests him.

-Krekeke's Tale-
The Durland Kenku -named after the abandoned general store where they made their home- had taken one job too many. Tasked with the theft of a scrying orb from a wealthy Luskan merchant, they instead found themselves walking into a trap. Just as they descended upon their prize, a crossbow bolt shattered the skull of their lookout as armed mercenaries appeared in the hallways of the seemingly empty mansion. Within seconds, two of Krekeke's flock fell to a flash of steel, their cries of pain silenced by a swift downward strike. Outnumbered, the rest of the flock scattered, only to find their escape route blocked by yet more ruthless mercenaries, and Krekeke watched as three more of his kin were executed like vermin. Rapidly running out of options, he took his chances by crashing through a nearby window wincing with pain as the shattered glass tore through his clothes and bit at his flesh. Blood oozed from beneath his feathers as he sprinted through the mansion's gardens, A trap like this meant that someone important wanted his flock dead, and were probably all too aware of their home at the Durland general store. Seeking a new place of refuge, he found himself at the city docks. While the ocean had always made Krekeke uneasy, it was nothing compared to the fear that some human would gut him as he slept. A boat he thought, would provide an ample hiding place until he could decide on his next course of action. Moving to an older part of the docks, a place where long abandoned barges and sailing ships were left to rot. well accustomed to sleeping in rough conditions, he concealed himself within the hold of a vessal. Now in relative safety, the weight of his injuries began to play upon him, and his consciousness slipped. If only he'd know the ship had just been purchased by a group of ambitious(or reckless) group of fortune-seekers, stirred into action by the barside tales of the lost empire of Siranda...