Creak was still just a runt in his Murder of Kenku when he was snatched up by the Waterdeep Slavetraders. Sold to the local mill, he was assigned as a Piecer, working to repair broken lines on the dangerous milling machine.

That is until one day, when he mimicked the angelic voice of the one for whom the lascivious foreman longed for, luring and trapping him into the shop cupboard.

The youngling fled the mill and headed north to the outskirts of Neverwinter. Weary of others due to his past, he nested in the edge of the Neverwinter Wood, only coming out at night in order to sneak and steal what he needed to survive from the cityfolk.

The City of Neverwinter was alive at night, being cautious but curious, he passed the time listening to many things that no youngling his age should have heard. But years past and he was coming of age.

One night, while sneaking his way into a small, untidied home, our avian friend was discovered by an elderly human when the man's bedroom door let out a slow and faint creeeeeeeak.

Rather than turning the youngling in, the old man, Larson Keys, took pity on him. After all, in his more formidable days, Keys was once an infamous master thief and burglar.

The ill-ridden Keys became something like a mentor to the youngling, showing him the tricks of the trade.

He would sit and listen to Keys tell tale after tale of heists gone array. But for certainty, his favorite story was of a wagon heist, in which Keys mounted an ass, while donning gunslinger attire and robbed the wagon using faux revolvers.

But all good thing come to an end and once again, he was alone.

Keys motions for the youngling to open the trunk at the end of his deathbed. "Fetch what's inside there for me. These belong to you now.
We had a good little run of things, didn't we, Creak? I thought that name suited you. After all, it was the sound that brought us here.