#enver calling durge 'it' at first because he's truly not sure if they're even human or not. but he MUST find them again.

[absowution]

Thinking of tiny Enver, following helplessly along as he's dragged through the streets by a strong, unrelenting grip. It was the middle of the night when the warlock came for him, darkening the Flymm's doorstep. The only time his mother made a fuss when they handed over their son, sparking a light of hope in Enver's heart that they might've changed their mind, was to ask the warlock if he'd counted the amount of gold correctly. After that they were right as rain.

As the trade concluded his mother never looked at him once.

The moment the door to Flymm's Cobblers closed shut behind them with a sense of finality, his fate well and truly sealed, Enver Flymm's mind was running miles a minute. Thoughts of escape had occurred to him, of course, but even if he were to manage to overpower a warlock twice his size and make a run for it, where would he go? His parents just sold him. If he went back they'd kick him right out the door again, screaming and yelling over what he'd done. He turns his options around in his head repeatedly, but he can't think well when his heart is trying to jump its way up his throat.

They're halfway through the Lower City when the grip on his arm suddenly loosens. He could barely hear a thing at first - the city uncharacteristically quiet even for such late hours. Then, there is a sickening squelch followed by a slight thud as the warlock drops dead to the ground. He sees the vague silhouette of someone on top of the body, a smaller creature dripping with blood as it tears through flesh. It's too dark to see a face, but there is something animalistic about its movements. Either it doesn't notice Enver, or it doesn't care.

Whoever or whatever wild thing it was is gone just as fast. By some God's mercy, it passed right by him.

Enver is left alone with the mangled remains of the man who bought him, whose pockets he rifles through for gold and valuables before disappearing from the scene of the crime. Without a home he has to put his mind to work living on the streets, toiling and climbing his way steadily up so as not to ever be so powerless again. It's not a way of life that comes without soiling your hands, but sometimes the messiest deeds are the cleanest, and vice versa. Stabbed backs and broken souls are left behind in the process when you need a stepping stone or two. He will rob as many people of their freedom as necessary to preserve his own because a miracle like that will never happen again. Even so he is admired. Respected. The people of Baldur's Gate support him now in a way they never would have before.

Years pass but it's impossible to forget what granted him this chance to forge connections and climb his way up to become unreachable in the first place. However oblivious it might have been back then that murderous creature freed him, and while there is little to go on in terms of finding it again he'll never forget the debt he owes.

(It grows into an obsession.)