Keef is a gangly, scrawny, long-limbed awkward 13 or so year-old.  He is an ungainly stick topped, like a mop, with a puff of unruly hair, but with bright hopeful eyes.

Everything about him looks second-hand: battered leather vest, a rusted pot helm and filthy pants.  The only element of flare or finery is a golden locket about his neck.  A large fat toad commonly pokes out of his overstuffed bag.

Hello there!  I'm Keef, and one day I'm going to be a great hero!

I grew up in the small town of Harding Meadow, mostly farms and a few artisans and whatnot.

Working around a farm wasn't all that bad, mostly I did odd jobs for a local merchant, it was home life that was tough.  I don't remember much about it, besides dad and the drinking, and I don't like to think about it much either.  I do know that not one of me or my six siblings stayed in that house a day longer than we had to.  I got out at ten with only a badly broken nose and counted myself lucky.  We all left behind our surname as well as our past.  Haven't seen any of them since.  That makes me sad, but I dream sometimes that they're off finding a better life just like I am.

I'd always loved the stories of great heroes, both old and new.  Knights, Mages, Dragons, great Kings and kind deeds, that was the sort of stuff I always wanted to hear about from the minstrels, not local news from the criers.  I dreamed that one day it would be me in those books, making a better world and living a better life.

When I'd made it far enough from my home town to stop running, I got right on the task of becoming the greatest hero possible.  I found myself a job running messages, enough to pay for tutorage from a wizard in a small city.

What free time I had I was never idle.  There was nobody around who would train me to use a sword for free, so I took to watching the local Master-at-Arms training squires from a nearby alley.  I even found a couple wooden training weapons and discarded armor so I could follow along.

By night, I would sneak out and watch the local cutpurses, practicing the art of not being seen, of climbing in and out of windows, and of picking locks.  Hey, a true hero has to be well-rounded right?

At times my moonlight escapades and shadow-fencing would cut into my wizarding studies, but my master was pretty tolerant.  He didn't yell, he just shook his head a lot.  I may have gone too far when I fell asleep while copying magical scrolls for him.  There was so much spilled ink and ruined parchment to clean up after that I think he just had his fill.

Having no master and no money, I thought it best to get right to learning by doing.  I know I'm not the most likely hero, and I know I've got a long way to go, but I also know that, if I put my mind to it, anything is possible!