[The author of this text apparently has trouble maintaining his objectivity. The handwriting is rough and hard to make out.]

Background:

Tommy was born in a whorehouse on the docks of Calimport, the lowest of the low of Calishite society. His mother was a whore named Periwinkle Meriweather, which probably wasn't her real name. She told him she named him after a certain Amnish sailor by the same name that she always liked, making him half Calishite and maybe half Amnish. Tommy don't go by Tommy Meriweather though. That's a wussy whore's name, so he made another one for himself. TEN-IRONS. After the time an old friend tried to convince him such a small amount could be overlooked between friends. Tommy don't play that way, so Tommy "convinced" him otherwise. Oh shit! What a badass! Except, that's not true but nobody's going to know.

[the pen drips to the next line]

Anyway, Tommy was a slave to the madame of the house, a heinous bitch who to my[crossed out]Tommy's memory was always having him dump out chamberpots caked with week-old shit and clean soiled bedsheets. He grew up hungry and overworked. Thinking back on his shitty treatment, Tommy can tap into a limitless reservoir of rage, like what barbarians do only borne out of the indignation of a childhood spent scrubbing shit with one's fingernails and "washing" countless sticky bedsheets with only a bucketful of dirty water, not with the spirit of one's dead ancestors.

Tommy is smart and knows that to make it in Calishite society, or any society really, you have to seize whatever you can and to hells with anyone who objects. Six months ago, him and other street urchins made a sort of gang that mugged rich looking nobles. Unwisely, on one of their heists, Tommy's friend tried to mug the wrong guy, a black armored man wandering in a dark alley. A crack on the head from his morningstar knocked Tommy out. He woke up in a dirty warehouse surrounded by a bunch of hateful bastards. The armored man turned out to be a priest from Zhentil Keep, who gave Tommy a choice of either converting to Bane on the spot, or a colorful execution. It wasn't much of a dilemma. Tommy converted. Tommy knows Bane represents a level of asskickery not rivalled by anyone really, and he was eager to ascribe to most of Bane's dogma. Bane is his surrogate father and role model; Tommy when faced with one of many challenging situations that he encounters each day, still asks himself, "What would Bane do?" That's right, kick ass. The Zhentarim asked/forced him to go to Zhentil Keep to fight in their armies as fodder. Tommy obstinately refused at every turn, thinking fate held something greater for him. The priest, being a real practical guy and probably short on money, decided he had heard enough of his complaining and sold Tommy into slavery instead. He was passed from slaver to slaver until a month ago Tommy, because he was such a badass, escaped from Traensyr and three weeks ago, arrived in Sanctuary.

Tommy plans on never dying, and plans on ascending to immortality as a god of one thing or another just like Bane did. He'll make something up. Maybe something abstract, like thuggery. He hopes Bane, whom he sometimes refers to affectionately as the Big Daddy, is more amused than pissed at his antics.