Phyraal

I’ve always found it kind of difficult to make my way in the world. My earliest memories are of the turf hut where my mother kept me hidden for the first few years of my life, only letting me outside at night or early in the morning when no one would see me. I knew I was different from my mother, who was iron, like all the rest of the village. But she seemed to care for me, in her way, and gave me my name; Phyraal. One day, they found me, and dragged me from the hut. My mother tried to stop them, but they hit her, and she didn’t get up. They called me names like “half-cast” and “mud-scale”, and carried me away from the village, through the cliffs, to where the mountains met the sea. There they threw me into the water, and I might have drowned, if not for the sea nymph who took me in their arms and carried me to the island of Thyssica.
There, I was greeted by the High Priestess of Thyssia, Goddess of Sea and Storm, Praise Her Name. From that day, I grew up among the community of wild elves who, along with the twelve aquatic elves who lived below the water around the island, gathered in worship to the Goddess. I was mainly given domestic duties, like keeping the Temple clear of detritus from the sea. It was not a large place; you could make the walk from one side of the island to the other in five hours. Though to me, it was the most beautiful place in the world, filled with pretty forests and secret caves.

We were fairly isolated from the rest of the world. The sea elves would often leave offerings from the deep: treasures from sunken ships, giant conch shells, many wonderful things. Very occasionally, pilgrims from far off lands would also makes the journey to pay homage to Thyssia, Goddess of Sea and Storm, Praise Her Name; mermaids from the Sea of Tiavyrm, nymphs from the Twilight Lands, once, even a grumbly duergar from far below the earth.

Most of the time, I had free roam of the island, coming to know every crack, tree, and plant. I was never lonely, particularly when looking after the garden with its goats. They were my happy little kids. I picked up lots of skills, like scavenging, gathering, gardening, mending, farming…all sorts of things. The High Priestess even taught me ways to call upon the power of the Goddess and cast some small spells. I’m really observant, and recognise the magic in things, even if I don’t really know how to use them myself. I was taught other things too, like how to defend myself. Thyssia, Goddess of Sea and Storm, Praise Her Name, has for her symbols the twin daggers and the scythe, and I was taught in their use as well. The sea elves showed me how to dive and hold my breath for a long time. I was not born to the water, but I became a strong swimmer in time, using my wings to propel me. I was glad to find a use for my wings because heights frighten me. I don’t like to pick fruit from the top branches or look out the windows on the upper floors of the temple. I don’t think I even want to learn to fly.
I was happy there, but then the Empire came in their ships with their soldiers. They had iron dragonborn too, who flew across the water from the mountains. The other priestesses had warned me that the Empire hated us, that they hated our Goddess and her magic, but they believed we would be safe on our hidden island. But the Empire came all the same. They killed the High Priestess, killed the priestesses, burned down the temple, and used nets and harpoons to drag the sea elves out onto land, where they suffocated. They had come to kill the High Priestess, kill the Priestess, kill the sea elves, but it seemed no one told them to look for the half-blue-half-iron dragonborn, because I managed to escape. I swam for as long as I could, even after my shoulders burned and my breath grew hoarse. I still don’t know how I reached the shore, but I did. Perhaps I am a better swimmer than I thought. I wound up in a place I had never been to before; a town filled with strange people; dragonborn, but also humans, and some elves, and scary people who looked like giant cats on two legs. Everything was busy and loud, and there were so, so many people, and I was hungry. In the Temple, we shared everything we had, so when I saw a man with lots of bread, more bread than he could possibly eat on his own, I took some. But then a tall, angry orc-woman in armour grabbed me and shouted something I didn’t understand. I yelled at her to let me go, but she didn’t, so I used what the priestesses had taught me and hurt her. That only made her angrier, and she kept shouting things I didn’t understand, and other people were using the strange words too. I don’t like being in that many people. I wanted to go back to the island, with my sea-elf friends and gardens and goats. I screamed, and tried to run away, but they grabbed me, and took me somewhere dark.
A few days later, they took me to a place where other people said things to me I didn’t understand, until they brought another dragonborn, and he said in my mother’s language that I had “broken the Empire’s laws,” and would be sent to a place I don’t know, but that sounds far away.
Then they packed me onto this wooden ship, where nothing nice grows. I’m sad, and afraid, and I don’t know what’s happening. I miss my friends. And my goats. I really miss my goats.

Basic Information:
Age - 15
Height - 6'1.5"
Gender - What is gender?
Born - Blackthorn Mountains
Race - Half breed dragonborn (iron/blue)
Class - Cleric 
Things Phyraal doesn't quite "get" - 

• Horses
• Money
• Crowds
• Law
• Things that aren't elves or dragonborn
• Conversation