The son of the Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate is supposed to be many things: rich, polite, chivalrous, valiant, and royal, but is he supposed to be nimble, quick, adventurous, dexterous, imaginative, and a marvelous thief? The son of Duke Portyr was not always a burglar. He began life as a pampered, kind child. His mother died shortly after his birth, and his father was not always there for him. However, he was well cared for. His life was like that of any royal child. He was well versed in sword play, mathematics, the various languages, politics, tactics, geography, written symbols, and the history of the land. History was one of his favorite things to learn. He especially enjoyed tales of pirates, rogues, and highwaymen. He poured over books, reading anything he could get his hands on. This was actually his first theft. He was at the library of Deneir.
He told his nanny that he wanted the book on the Night Masks, an infamous thief's guild, but she told him that his father wanted him to stop learning of thieves. Now, just as any spoiled brat, Aranthalas Portyr did not like being told no. So, on the way back to the castle proper Aran and his nanny stopped at a tailor. He found the opportune moment when she had her back turned and broke away. He was back to the library swiftly. He snuck throughout the library feeling as though he was one of the Night Masks or Basadoni guildsman from Calimport. He found the book and tucked it away. He went back to a street corner near the nanny and began to bawl. He feigned like he was swept away in the crowd and tricked her.
As soon as he got home, he snuck into a small cubby down in the dungeons. The cubby hole had a small hole opening into a jail cell. The current inhabitant is a thief that robber the Grand Duke Portyr of his favorite diamond. He regales the youth with stories of his numerous burglaries. This time, Aran, only came to read his book. He had several books and drawings hidden throughout his refuge. He learned the story of Orbahk, the leader of the Night Masks during their prime. Aran poured over the book and began to drift to sleep. He woke himself up from his near disaster. If he fell asleep, he would be found with all the books he is not allowed to have. So, he snuck as swiftly and silently back to his quarters.
Aran was roaming the streets with his saber at his side, nearly ten years after his first theft. Throughout the years, he has become a very skilled thief, and surprisingly a good swordsman. It is an open secret in the city that the son of the Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate was becoming the Grand Duke of the criminal side of the world. His moniker was well known not only in Baldur's Gate, but through all of the SwordCoast. Aran Portyr, first in line for the regency of Baldur's Gate, was the Prince of Thieves. His symbol was a crowned coin purse. He did not become corrupted by thefts. Rather, it served to increase his thrill seeking appetite and love of danger. He didn't keep much, but the most magnificent items he couldn't help but keep. For the most part, he would drop of gold to the chapels and libraries, but occasionally he would keep a bit off to the side.
Aran had a small gang known as the Crowns. They began to rule the royal district. Aran and the young thieves making up his gang went on their first collective mission. It went of without a hitch for the most part. Up until the getaway.
"Sam, do you see anything?" Aran asked the young Halfling pickpocket.
"Yes, m'lord, I see four Flaming Fists," Sam replied nervously.
What in the Nine Hells are the Flaming Fists doing here?! Did someone tip them off? Aran silently pondered. He motioned for them to get their weapons out. His four companions drew knives, shortswords, and a bow. They didn't like to resort to violence, but when they had to, they did so with deadly efficiency. Aran brandished his throwing knives and slinked towards the entrance. Suddenly, he was jerked upright and was being choked with a quarter staff. He dropped one knife, but held firmly to the other. He stomped the man's foot, and slipped the sharp knife into the man's thigh. The pressure was gone, and Aran fell to the floor gasping. He scooped up the crown that toppled from his head in the scuffle. He saw his companions rush the entrance, and they seemed to immediately win the way.
Aran turned to the man that grabbed him. He noticed it to be a ranking officer in the Flaming Fists and knew the encounter for what it was. He bounded towards the exit, when he felt a strong grip on his ankle. He crashed face first into the ground. The officer wrapped up the young prince. Aran drew another dagger and dug it into the man's throat. He rushed forward again. He was within five feet, when he heard the twang of a dozen bows. Aran fell to his knees as he saw his friends become pin cushions. He felt a blunt object strike the back of his head and everything went dark.
Aran woke up in his quarters a few hours later. He went to the mirror thinking everything was a dream. He saw his neat dark hair and thin goatee were in perfect order. However, his thin nose was slightly swollen on one side, and saw that his left eye was not the normal egg white and green but very bloodshot. He felt the back of his head and noticed dried blood. Suddenly, the door swung open. The Duke walked in and he looked like he was about to explode with rage.
"Aran! Why must you continue to embarrass me? The Prince of Thieves?! What is wrong with you!" Portyr charged his son and backhanded him roughly. It sent Aran to the ground with a bloody nose.
"I know you get bored with the trivial life of being second in line to rule Baldur's Gate! But it is no reason to frequent seedy taverns and steal from merchants and aristocrats alike! I did none of these things as a child, why must you enrage me so!" Portyr continued.
Aran stood to his full height of five foot eleven and stared down at his father. He had a look of pure malice in his eyes, "Did you order my friends dead?"
Portyr was silent. He was stronger than Aran and knew he could when a fair fight. When did a thief ever fight fair, though?
"Dammit, father, answer me!" Aran screamed in his father's face.
"Yes, son. They were common rabble and thieves. They deserved death." Portyr said evenly.
Aran kicked his father between the legs and tackled him to the ground. Portyr was rolling in pain. Aran proceeded to hit him again and again. Portyr finally threw his son off of him. He picked his son up by the scruff of his neck and drug him to the open window. He held Aran's head into the open air.
"Do I have to drop you? Or should I have you killed like your friends?"
"You're my father! You can't kill your son!" Aran protested as he tried to wrench himself free from his father's grasp.
"No, I can't. However, I can send you away for a few years. That's the punishment. You are to leave for ten more years. Go and be like King Janol. Steal your way through the SwordCoast, but not in my city. You have until dawn to get out of my walls." Portyr said as he threw his son back to the ground and stormed out.
Little did Portyr know, the thief that stole his prized diamond had given it to his own son. While Aran was supposed to be leaving, he snuck down into his old cubbyhole. He could barely fit anymore, but he dug the fist sized diamond from the inside of the hole. Aran also picked up his copies of the biography of King Pinch and of Artemis Entreri. He was out of the castle within the hour. He procured his father's favorite horse and was gone. Aranthal Portyr, the son of the Grand Duke, was living his life as a thief in the grand cities of the SwordCoast. He was on his own before he was even twenty.