He was born brilliant. Simple as that. His mother had some minor talent with magic but hardly pursued it beyond a few simple cantrips. His father was once a scholar in the great library of Waterdeep. Good blood for magedom all around. Unlike many stories of raw magical talent at an early age, there were no moments of uncontrolled outbursts and mysterious spirits that haunted his room at night. Korvus had more than talent, more than the bloodline, he also had a natural aptitude for control.
By the time he was 5 years of age he could flavor his food to taste like anything he wished. By 7 he had mastered all the cantrips his mother could teach him. On his 9th birthday he watched his mother weep as she packed his bags. His father, who stood about statuesque, would not shed a tear. Korvus knew his father was too proud of this moment to ruin it with sentiment. All his belongings were placed into the carriage as servants ushered him up to his seat. He looked back over his shoulder at his mother and father as he started off. He was scared to be away from them, but the pride that held back his fathers tears gave Korvus strength. He waved with his four fingers over the back of his seat. At that moment his only hope was that where ever he was going... they would love him.
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