Legends of Belariath
Raelin
Raelin was born in secret, son of a shady merchant and his concubine slave. Raised in the shadows as a half-breed, he was trained in the stealth arts, his father convinced he would be of some use to him. And a use he was.
As Raelin grew, his father began sending him on small errands to collect payments owed. The inky-black fur that covered his slight frame, topped with a shaggy mop of obsidian hair, aided him well, allowing him to move easily about the night and gain what was owed. His proficiency earned him slight regard, if only whispered through the estate.
As the years passed, his father grew in wealth and prominence. However, with the fame and grandeur came a hatred from his peers. Dark rumblings spread through the backrooms of taverns, plots building before, one night, they struck.
Raelin was away on errand when it happened. As he returned to the manor, he found it in flames. Screams and shouts, firey shadows darting through the property, chaos befalling all who bore the merchant's sigil, and Raelin fled. He returned late the next evening, picking his way through the smoldering remains of what was once his home. He found what he thought to be his mother's remains: a soot-blackened skeleton near where the slave quarters used to be. His emotions overwhelemed him, and he stumbled from the property, wrapping himself in the shadows of alleys and listening to the whispers of the town.
His father, he learned, was targetted by an angry merchant, who's business had fallen on rougher times while his father's grew. Enraged, he sought out the mastermind of the attack, stealing into his home and slitting his throat. He cared not much for his father, who used him for nothing more than a tool, but he felt the need to avenge his mother upon the pomp and greed of the merchant world. He watched as the life fled from the merchant's eyes, ebbing away with the blood seeping from his neck, until both stopped. Shrouding himself in darkness again, he left, becoming nothing but a whisper for many years.