Most people deep down inside think they are special. Someone important. The grand scheme of the world that goes on in some secret way revolves around THEM. Scumbo the dwarf knows this to be utterly false.

Take his name. Early on, growing up as a parentless urchin on the rough streets of (generic Forgotten Realms Big City) he found out his name was NOT the ancient name of an dwarven hero as he had imagined, instead the casual insult that he was called so much it became an identity. He is Clan-less, knowing virtually nothing of dwarven culture, lore, family tradition and has no link to dwarven religion (instead relying on Tymora to get himthrough his early life). He painstakenly learned dwarvish but with a strange accent that instantly marks him as an outsider (having learned it at Helm's Home for Human and Demi-Human Orphans from a half-elf, where he resided against his will when the authorities picked him up off the streets).

He had to be a petty thief out of necessity, but wasn't good enough for it to be noticed by the local Thieves' guilds. He is neutral good, not trusting the law or society, seeing them as only means to keep wealth for those that already have it. They can't be trusted, like those snooty dwarven traders he occasionally ran into and tried to befriend, only to have them laugh at his name, accent, and lack of anything decently dwarven about him.

Still there was something about him that interested people. Made them pay attention to him. Maybe it was the strangeness of his story (or lack of one) and situation. He always assumed he was the leader of the small groups of urchins he ran with because, as a dwarf, he had just been alive longer than the rest of the humans and knew a thing or two they didn't.

Then puberty came. Along with an ever deepening voice thankfully came the hair and beard of an adult. This was a blessing because the hair started covering up the strange, black scales that started to sprout like skin on parts of his body. Scumbo assumed he caught some sort of weird disease from eating apples that had fallen into the sewer. Then, during an argument with a headmaster at Helm's Home for Various Orphans, he spat a huge load of acid into the headmaster's face, and his sorcerous powers started to manifest.

He ran away from the Orphanage one step ahead of the cops. He has been on the run since. He joined up as a mercenary guarding caravans once his powers started to become more controllable. The coin has kept him one step ahead of the desperate poverty he was used to and one step ahead of the law in his home city. He has seen a little of the world. He took up a life of adventure.

Deep down he wonders about his parents. How did he become a clan-less beggar? Why did they leave him? Who were they? Why is he like the way he is? He hopes his journeys eventually help him find an answer to some of these questions.