Age: (40)

Starting level: 4

Backstory: Ghreijvorr Bludfang. Bugbear. That is enough name.

Got taken young. Syndicate. Did not understand then. Understand now.

They take me in Feywild. Home. Family.

Then they move. Through some door, some crossing. Human world. Loud. Crowded. Strange place. Wrong light. Wrong smell. Not home. Smells like mud and metal and too many people. They bring us to market. Waiting to be sold like tools.

One human pull me out. Old lady. Monk. Small. Did not look like someone who save things.

She take the chains off. First thing she do. No words. Just... off.

But hands still remember the weight. Still wake up sometimes, reach to touch wrists. Nothing there. Still feel it anyway.

Hated her at first. She is human. Humans put those chains on me. Does not matter she take them off. Hands still remember.

She did not try to fix that hate. Did not say be kind, be gentle, be soft. She say — use it. The anger, the rage, the wild thing inside. It is not bad. It is power. Learn to hold it. Learn to move with it.

So I learn.

One day she call me Grey. Say my name is too sharp for her old tongue. Say Grey is simple, quiet, neither black nor white. Say that is what I am learning to be. Not tame. Not wild. Something in between.

Did not like it at first. Felt like she was changing me.

But she is not. Grey is not a cage. Grey is a choice. Still Ghreijvorr. Still Bludfang. But Grey when I walk among others. Her word. Her way of saying — I see you.

Keep it. Still carry it.

She is strict. Good. Strict is honest. She teach me discipline is not weakness. Discipline is what makes the strike land.

Never tried to make me not-Bugbear. Not-Bludfang. That matter. That matter a lot.