Gwyndolyn "Gwen" Glyphwyrd is a lot younger than she lets on. She lost her family in a terrible accident as a teen, and a well-connected and well-meaning uncle arranged an apprenticeship at a remote academy for aspiring wizards. The elves who oversaw it were deliberate and methodical in their training, but slow, and Gwen was eager for greater progress. The more she pushed against what she saw as arbitrary limits, the more she was assigned menial duties that took her further from her peers and her studies. She was an outsider, a gnome among elves, an poor orphan among wealthy noble scions, and one of only a few young women in a cadre of men. And she was miserable.

Gwen made a desperate gamble one night while assigned to the stables. A weary messenger, an elven prefect from the upper echelons of the academy who always sneered at her with disdain, had returned from the long round trip to Neverwinter with spell components and correspondences. He grumbled at her to see to his horse and his baggage and stumbled off to bed, unwittingly leaving his personal satchel behind as well. Unable to resist, she rummaged through it; in it was his travel spellbook, a bundle of obscure spell components, and a few letters to the elven administrators. One was a request to send a spellcaster to aid in the redemption and reconstruction of a place called Phandalin. A knight and his dwarven companion had taken it upon themselves to restore the territory recently won back from orc control, and they had some relationship with the elven academy-- probably a mutual infatuation with law and order-- that allowed them to call for aid.

But law and order were not Gwen's forte. She saddled a fresh horse, took the messenger's satchel, and set out that night for Neverwinter. Her masters would never know of the request the knight had sent, and she had a long ride to decide whether to take the job or not-- either way, she would pursue her magical education on her own.

Gwen stands only half as tall and weighs less than a quarter of a human woman. Her hair is a mop of tangled red-brown curls usually tied up in a colorful scarf. She prefers boots and leggings to dresses and favors a sleeveless doublet of purple velvet, one of her few possessions from her mother. On the road-- which is most of the time-- she adds the elven messenger's high-collared travelling cloak and broad-brimmed cavalier hat.

She's determined to realize her magical ambitions and develop her craft, while also embracing her rootlessness, seeing a bit of the world, and maybe making a little wealth and a name for herself along the way. She's a cheery and charming companion, if a little reckless at times, and she has been known to overstate her magical abilities and then compensate on the fly, with highly variable results. She talks a little too fast, drinks a little too much, and acts a little too impulsively... as far as she's concerned, that's what keeps life interesting.