Background:
Quinn was born beneath the marble spires and obsidian halls of a great Drow city, where power was measured in secrets and bloodlines. From the moment he could walk, he was taught the games of his kin. To smile when plotting, to bow when lying, to command with velvet words. His tutors called him gifted, his family called him promising, and his rivals called him dangerous.

He called himself trapped.

While others reveled in the subtle cruelties of court, Quinn’s gaze often drifted downward to the servants who never spoke above a whisper, the beggars who lived in the cracks between the city’s shadows, the slaves whose names were forgotten beneath the weight of lineage. He began to see them not as tools, but as people. Quietly at first, he shared food, medicine, even coin. Then, when that wasn’t enough, he began to act.

He treated the wounded, forged false papers for escapees, and sabotaged cruel trade deals that kept the poor in chains. Each act a thread in the noose he was weaving for himself.

When the house matron discovered his “betrayals,” her wrath was cold and absolute. His name was stricken from the family records, his crest shattered before the gathered court. There was no trial, no argument, only exile. Cast out from the glittering depths, he was left to wander the tunnels above the Underdark, where even light was reluctant to linger.

For the first time, he was free.

Now Quinn walks the world above, a noble without a house, a Drow without a home. His manners still bear the polish of his upbringing, his blade the precision of training meant for assassins and duelists. But his heart beats for those who have none of that, the forgotten, the overlooked, the ones who remind him why he was cast out.

He carries no family name now. Only the quiet conviction that nobility is not inherited, but chosen.

And though his exile began as punishment, it has become his purpose.