Back Story

Scaramouche was born in the city of Melvaunt, on the Moonsea. His mother was a drow from Maerimydra named Alystin and his father was a traveling half-elf bard from Myth Drannor named Mercury Jaggerson.

His parents met while Mercury was on tour with his band ‘Riders on the Storm Kings Thunder’. During a particularly epic show in Melvaunt at the Screaming Goat Tavern, their eyes met during a powerful performance of their hit song ‘Light My Faerie Fire’. Instantly smitten with one another other, a night of wine and song gave birth to two things - the bands next hit single ‘Melvaunt Woman’ and a son, Scaramouche.

Most cities in Faerun, and especially around the Moonsea, were fairly inhospitable to drow, but Melvaunt had been one of the exceptions for nearly a century. Alystin was an avid follower of Eilistraee and her teachings that all races should live in harmony, without pointless discrimination or wars. When here home of Maerimydra was overrun by hordes of undead some hundred odd years ago, she and about 2,000 other drow commoners fled and organized under house Dhuurniv. But when the Dhuurniv matron sisters later allied with the Zhentarim and the Church of Shar to invade Shadowdale, it was clear she would never be free of Lolth’s influence if she remained. She set out for the surface with a small group of Eilistraee followers and helped found a small community of drow in Melvaunt.

A hundred years later, there was still some discrimination against her kind and it wasn’t significantly better for half-drow. Scaramouche’s icy blue eyes and stark white hair gave away his lineage and made him a constant target of local bullies. Still, Alystin taught her son the ways of Eilistraee and he learned to use his natural charm and charisma to win even his most fervent adversaries over. Alystin and Mercury were proud of their son - he was a natural born performer with a good heart to boot.

Mercury continued to tour regularly with the ‘Riders’ while Alystin became more and more involved with a group of sword dancers led by Saradreza Oussmtor, a charismatic and warm hearted high priestess of Eilistraee. Alystin not only shared Saradreza’s faith in Eilistraee but also of her desire to one day free her birthplace, Maerimydra, from the fire giants that had driven out the undead and now occupied it.

One night when Scaramouche was in his early teens he heard his parents arguing over his fathers upcoming tour. He couldn’t make out what was said but he could clearly hear when his mother stormed off to her bedroom and slammed the door. Shortly thereafter, his father came him with a small wooden case with weathered bronze hinges that he knew all too well.

When he was younger he had snuck into his fathers study and found the case sitting open on the desk. The sunlight pouring in from the window behind the desk made the gold details on the recorder glimmer in the light. He reached out and picked up the instrument. It was far lighter than he expected it to be but it still felt very comfortable to hold. As he brought it to his lips to attempt one of the elvish folk songs his father had taught him his father flew into the room and snatched it out of his hand.

‘Scaramouche!’, his father yelled. ‘That is not a toy! It is a very important family heirloom.’

‘I’m sorry papa.’ He replied. ‘It just looked so beautiful in the light. I wanted to play one of the songs you taught me.’

His fathers expression softened and a wry smile crept onto his face.

‘That it is son, that it is. And one day, it will be yours.’

Mercury laid the recorder gently back into its case.

‘But today is not that day. Be patient my son.’

He ruffled Scaramouche’s hair, much to his sons chagrin, and sent him off to play outside.

Now here he was staring at the same case in his fathers hands. His fathers words become a bit of a blur as he tried to explain because he knew something wasn’t quite right. Why now? Why would this be the time to pass on this heirloom? It just didn’t make sense.

He finally refocused on his fathers words in time to hear, ’Take care of this son. And I promise that I’ll tell you everything about this recorder when I get back in a few weeks.’

The look on his fathers face told him that this wasn’t the standard ‘going on tour, see you soon’ good bye. This was different. He mustered a smile and told his dad he couldn’t wait to here all about it.

Weeks turned to months. Months turned to years. His mother never spoke ill of his fathers absence and he had started to suspect that she knew more than she was saying. Still he continued to practice his elvish folk songs and even some of the somewhat darker drow tunes his mother would hum around the house.

In the weeks leading up to his mothers disappearance there had been a flurry of activity in their house. Saradreza and her sword dancers had become a fairly common sight in his fathers old study and as the weeks marched forward there was a palpable air of tension. His mother did her best to project an air of whimsy about the whole thing but he knew. Something wasn’t quite right.

One morning two of the regular sword dancer visitors came by as he was finishing breakfast. He should have known that something was amiss considering his mother was fully dressed for a somewhat early time of day and her friends were clearly packing short swords and daggers under their cloaks. She whispered something to them and then looked back at her son.

She gave him a gentle but concerned look and after a moment she walked over to him and let her know that she had some errands to take care of with her friends but she would be back in time to prepare dinner. One of his and his fathers favorites, blue cap stew.

Even as he watched the carriage with her and her sword dancer friends disappear down the Melvaunt high street, he somehow knew she wasn’t coming back. He went about his normal daily routine of studies and musical rehearsal - today was all about the thumb piano - but as dusk fell he looked out the window, not really expecting to see his mother making her way down the high street but hoping nonetheless.

As he stared out the window watching the sun fall behind the horizon he saw something that both made his heart sink and confused him. His fathers band, ‘Riders on the Storm Kings Thunder’ were making their way down the road. He hadn’t seen them since his father had left so many years ago and they were clearly here with a purpose.

‘Scaramouche,’ his fathers lute player, Elton Malmsteen said, ‘I know this may be overwhelming and I… we, wish there was more time to explain. We can’t speak to your parents whereabouts but what we can tell you is that we swore an oath to them and we owe a service to you. It was their wish that in the event of, well, this type of event, that you should continue your education in the feywild, where your father trained.’