Quinn Montgomery

Traverse the stretches of the badlands? Done.
Acquire the fortune of a king? Done.
Hunt the vicious Dark Claw? Done.

For Quinn Montgomery, there was no challenge in this world that he hadn't conquered, no corner that he hadn't crossed, and no treasure that he hadn't touched. When you own the world, there's very little that money can't buy. However, to be known as the victor in the arena of the Gods, that was worth it all. Quinn didn't join the arena to carry out some long held wish. He was just here to win, that was prize enough for him.

As a child, Quinn never had parents in the traditional sense. He was raised by a pack of poor street kids that were known by the local merchants as the "Black Hand." This nickname stuck due to their lodge being near the coal mines, and the soot imprint of their hands being left on those who they had stole from.

The Black Hands would beg in the streets throughout the day, trying to get what money they could from the merchants and travelers. Those few coins that they'd pocket helped to keep the pack fed, clothed, and sometimes armed. As the pack aged, their thefts become more fruitful. Merchants would find their whole stock ransacked overnight, with only a black hand print in the dirt. No one could stop them.

The pack was led by a spiteful teenage boy named Breik. His viciousness kept everyone in line out of fear, and his "family tax" kept everyone starving. He planned the thefts, and picked the kids to take part. Quinn was often made the lookout of their thievery runs due to his keen eyesight.

Doing work for Breik meant that he didn't have to steal from travelers on the street. Yet, being around Breik commonly meant that he had to watch children get beaten down for not being able to pay their share. Sometimes, Quinn had to standby and watch his friends take the bulk of Breik's punishment.

One night, upon returning from a goods run through the merchant row, Quinn found a group of Black Hands circled in the main lodge. The crowd barely masked the sounds of fists colliding with flesh and bone. As the circle broke slightly, Quinn could see through the crack of bodies to find Breik, standing triumphantly over a boy who was barely seven years old.

The boy wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing. He was dead. Quinn tore through the wall of kids to rush to the child's side, barely able to recognize him through the swollen mess that Breik left behind. It was Tobin. He was one of the newest runts to join the pack. Always quiet, his eyes once filled with such curiosity about the world outside of the Kingdom. Now, those eyes were paled and lost.

The family tax had to end. Breik had to end. Quinn set out that night alone to steal a special hand cannon off of a bangersmith. He had been eyeing it for months, it was far too expensive for any normal traveler to buy. Yet it wasn't the money that Quinn saw when he looked at it, it was the chance to change fate.

When he returned to the Black Hand lodge, hand cannon gripped and loaded, Quinn was met with Breik. He demanded to know why Quinn had gone on an unplanned thievery run, and Quinn answered him with a single shot. To the Black Hand, that sound was freedom.

Together, the Black Hands grew into new cities, new lands, and into the greatest thieves guild in the world. Their name can be heard whispered on the lips of merchants, of child thugs, and fearful Kings. And Quinn was at the center of it all. The Black Hand had made him their leader, and thus, today, into one of the richest men in the world. A collector of ancient artifacts. An explorer of new lands. A hunter of all prey. A man who doesn't accept his limits, he breaks them.

He still uses that hand cannon, he named it Tobin. Something to remind him of where he came from.