Born of the union of a Elf and a Human, Owen’s birth was hardly one that was carried with celebration. Abandoned at infancy for whatever reason his parents may have had, he was left in a basket outside a makeshift hut in The North. In front of the Owen household, the young child first met his new parents.
Ulick Norman Owen as the child was named, had nothing with him in the basket that night, save for a withered old blanket, and a note full of incohesive words, blurred by the melting snow. None the less, the young half-elf was accepted into the Owen family, and before long he grew into a contributing member of his tribe.
Becoming a “member” of the Gunhildr tribe of the The North, Owen grew accepting a large sense of responsibility for protecting those who could not protect themselves from the dangers of The North. Often times pushing himself beyond his limits, the fledgling barbarian tried his best to earn the respect of his tribe, but found himself constantly held back. Not by difference in skill, but rather by differences in race.
Gaining a growing contempt of organized society, Owen slowly found himself growing to hate the rules and traditions of those around, even as loosely as they were based. It was then, in the height of his anger that his parents finally decided to bestow on him the knowledge of who he was. Handing the now young man the blurred note, Owen found himself in the realization of who he really was.
Not a member of the Gunhildr tribe, but rather he was someone who had been entrusted to the tribe, a child left outside in a basket by the unknown. Departing off, Owen found himself in soul searching, taking horse to gain some distance in the quiet. It was only then, that he heard the clashing of steel and roar of fire. Looking back, it was all to clear what was happening.
Dashing towards the settlement, Owen found the makeshift tents and huts torn to pieces, the valuables looted, and the people dead. Crying out in pain, the young man desperately searched for even a single survivor. Yet every man, woman and child now laid slain before his eyes, and by whom he lacked the knowledge. Crying silently to himself, he prepared a grave for those close to him.
Piling the bodies to their final resting place, the half-elf noticed a note fall out of one of his father pockets as he dragged the body onwards. Looking at the contents, it contained a message from the old friend of his father’s, someone he could only identify as Erick Silvertree of Waterdeep. Starring quietly at the note and onto the endless peril that was before him, Owen decided quietly to himself what must be done.
There was no answers left in this ravaged settlement, no indication of who or what had destroyed all that was dear to him, no clue as to who he was, nor any reason for him to stay. But what was true, was that his last connection to his parents, along with the trail of those who had slain his family both laid in the direction of Waterdeep. Lighting the bodies up in flames, Owen gave a few prayers for the dearly departed and marched onwards to The City of Splendor, his only hopeful means of redemption.
Quite short for what you would imagine, Owen only clocks in at five foot, seven inches tall. None the less, that doesn’t take away from his muscular build. Clearly a trained soldier even to the untamed eye, the young barbarian could prove to at least pose a threat in combat. Although his small build almost always accredits him with less respect then he properly deserves.
For his facial features he appears somewhat normal barring the scar across his left eye. Deep red eyes, and the pointed ears identify him as a half breed, and the blonde hair braided down into a long ponytail identify him to anyone who knows of the Gunhildr tribe.