Aurix was kidnapped by drow and taken to the Underdark as a slave where she would be used for a myriad of different things. Largely, she was used for labor throughout most of her child life, but she came of age things changed as she became used for entertainment purposes, gladiatorial or otherwise. However, it was her natural will to survive that allowed her to carry on as she feasted on the corpses of her fallen opponents or whatever the drow would give her as a treat of good work.

It was not until she found a cursed blade that she would believe that she would have the power to free herself. She found it as her handlers took her to another drow settlement to fight and serve more. It promised her power to free herself so long as she would wield the spirit of the weapon in battle for the rest of her life. Being a being whose primary focus was on survival, she agreed and was bestowed magical powers thanks to her newfound blade, the Cryptic Eye. In that moment, Aurix found her chance to escape, breaking free from her handlers and fleeing into the belly of the Underdark.

The magic that her patron had given her, she found that she had become the predator and the drow had become her prey as those who sought to recapture her soon found themselves at her mercy. Mercy was something that Aurix lacked and she will openly talk of how she devoured those who begged for their lives for they had become food at that point. After much time, Aurix escaped the Underdark, leaving the torture of her previous life behind her before stumbling across a town.

Aurix was an alien, lizardfolk hardly left their swamps and if they did it was normal to find new sources of food which made the locals skeptical of her presence. She found adjusting to the surface difficult, being detached from emotions drove people away and made the braver feel uneasy so it became increasingly difficult to find work for food.

-Likely meets up with party afterward

More depth to come

Found and raised by an elven woman named Ilithria, Lin was raised as an equal. She never shy away from her true nature, as oppose to most of her kind. Then again, She has never met another one quite like herself. In terms of elven prospective of time, She was within Ilithria's family and embrace for a mere blink of an eye. The Changeling woman had grown fast, Faster then any human Ilithira had ever seen.

From a mere toddler, she had shown a knack for mimicking others, thus learning a vast variety of skills.
It was Ilithria's older daughter, a half elven woman named Narwen, that taught Lin to use the blade, and to fight.
Thus, Lin assumed her ever first identity (Identity #1) aside of her own. She found it easier to fight when taking Narwen's shape. Soon, Narwen's character immersed into the technique, turning into a nearly different entity.

When Lin was 14, near adulthood, a party of drows attacked the village.
They slaughtered Narwen, and Ilithria, leaving Lin with a rage that would never know peace.
Despite her anguish, her survival instincts took the better of her, she turned herself into one of the drows.
Soon, She found her second home - Belizinastra - a small drow settlement.

She was taken in by a woman named Soolur'drinith.
She hated every moment living under Sool.
But she had a plan. She would learn the drow ways. She would become one of them. She would adopt the innate drowish yearn to slaughter their brethren. Only, she had more then one reason to enjoy their slaughtering.
There, She adopted her second Identity (Identity #2) - Sool. a Drow rouge, which would take any job offered to her, if it meant to "kill her own".

Within the drow settlement, was a small prison section, filled with elves that were meant to be sacrificed to the spider queen. Among them, was a man that Lin came to love. The two would spend hours playing together all sorts of instruments, Making wonderful music together.
When he was sacrificed, she took his identity, to commemorate him (Identity #3)

She left the drow settlement 3 years later, in search of the specific drow that had killed Narwen. The woman she actually had deep feelings for, but never consummated them.

Her search lead her to this party.

It's not uncommon for monasteries to take in children with no homes. The remote Brotherhood of the Unwavering is no exception, having raised many an orphan in the past. But when they were offered a Tiefling baby to care for one autumn night nearly three decades ago, they hesitated. The woman offering her baby looked wrong to them; a Tiefling, yet somehow even closer to a beast than the ones found in big towns. It wasn't until the desperate mother offered them generous coin that they finally accepted her plea, taking in her baby and promising him sanctuary. Be that it was, as time would tell, a sanctuary in name only.

Unnerved by the 'infernal child' as they called him, the brothers changed his name from Salrakh to Vice - and though they didn't shun him openly where he could see, the whispers were undeniable and the glances constant. On the rare occasions the monastery dealt with those outside it, they made sure no one knew who lived in the shed behind the main building. Still, the Tiefling boy knew not of a better life. He was fed, clothed, taught in the ways of martial arts and nature, and whenever dusk came he was allowed to roam the forests that surrounded the monastery. For over a decade, that was more than enough for him.

Then trouble brewed. Someone broke into the monastery one evening, stealing valuables and damaging property. A search was carried out in the nearby forest, and Vice ventured deeper than he ever had before. It was then that he happened upon her. Another that bore the same curse as he did; a Tiefling, around his age. She was unlike the monks at the monastery, and somewhat unlike him, too; though they looked similar, she behaved like a wild one, crouching and growling at his approach. Still, he pressed on, and she eventually spoke. Infernal - his language.

Before the two could talk any further however, the brothers found them - and at the sight of her, prepared their ki for a battle. They blamed her for the break-ins and the thievery, and refused to listen when Vice tried to defend her. It was clear that she did not care for treasure nor money, he argued; she was just startled by the noise. Yet despite his efforts, a fight broke out. He managed to get into the midst of it, distracting the monks just enough for her to slip away - but in doing so, he sealed his own fate. He was banished as a traitor and left to fend for himself in a world he did not know.

The next few years were as difficult as they come, and the threat of death was a constant companion on his travels. Vice knew and loved the forest, but he could only live there for so long before necessity pushed him to find humanoid settlements. He was willing to work for his bread, eagerly trying to help and talk to everyone he saw - but the few that spared him a glance did not do so with kindness in their gaze. It soon became clear to him that his was cursed blood, and it had doomed him from birth.

He ended up associating himself with others who society shunned; cutthroats, thieves and scoundrels. They had no more love for him than the rest did, but they were always interested in a few extra hands and eyes, particularly if no payment was involved. Vice became a spy, a little bird that carried information from one place to the next, finding his home in the shadows. In time, he combined such expertise with his teachings as a monk and became able to fend for himself. He travelled more, carried information farther and farther, saw more places, more hatred, and met with others of his kind. His home became the small settlements on the edges of towns and slums, where Tieflings made their nests. Wherever he went, he saw that coin talked, and power silenced. It became increasingly clear what he should do if he wished to get off the streets and change the way people looked at him.

All he needed was power. Not the kind that came with strength - but the kind that came with gold.

Eventually, he did what many Tieflings do: he changed his name. Once known as Salrakh by his mother and Vice by the monastery, he opted for the name Ardour; 'passion and devotion to a cause' - his cause.

In a word… “fat.”

In other, more charitable words, “stout,” “plus-sized,” “big-boned.” In less charitable ones, “oversized,” “corpulent,” “ventripotent.”

It is clear that serving as the priest of a fabulously wealthy temple to Bahamut in a major city allows for one to live a certain lifestyle possessing many qualities, but abstemious not being one of them. Vodalus clocks in at almost thirty stone. His is not a squat, pot-bellied figure, however. He can be (and has been many times) likened to an upright bathtub filled with lard– tall, broad-shouldered, and not entirely lacking power, even if his middling strength comes only from his general volume. His shaved head, bald as a stone and round as a dome, is in its own way equal in marvelousness to his frame.

But Vodalus is more than the sum of his flesh, great though that sum may be. He has also clothing: an immense mauve cassock shrouds most of his frame, and a periapt of lazulite hangs around his bloated neck.

Before any discussion of Vodalus’ origins, it is mandatory that a disclaimer in colossal, capitalized letters be attached to the foremost end of the recounting. A stern, exacting declaration that Vodalus’ career path is not representative of Faerun’s population of priests, fat people, and fat priests, and that stereotypes of gluttony, cupidity, and mendacity are wholly inappropriate to sign off entire groups of people.

That being said, Vodalus is exactly what you think he is.

Vodalus was born into a noble family of not inconsiderable wealth, power and influence. Had he been born earlier in line, he might have actually had the chance to enjoy some of that wealth, power, and influence, and the background listed on his character sheet would be “noble” rather than “acolyte.” Such was not the fate of a third son, and a career in either the civil service or clergy beckoned.

Vodalus was given the choice between the two, as well as the third and terribly overrated option of voluntary exile. Since third born sons are typically married off to women of fourth and fifth-rate attractiveness, he chose the vestments of the Church of Bahamut to avoid such a fate, at least until such time as he had improved his bargaining power.

Vodalus found the religion of Bahamut to be very quaint. Its tenets were honesty, compassion, mercy, and justice, just as the platinum dragon commanded. He was swiftly enamored by it. Honest, compassionate, merciful, and just people are quite easy to take advantage of.
Vodalus worked his way up the sacerdotal ranks with the help of his booming sermons of incomparable zeal. For a long time, his fellow priests of Bahamut watched in awe and respect as the worshippers used to solemn, somnolent ceremonies were overwhelmed by pathos, theatrical displays, and all manner of priestly histrionics. It became easy, then, for them to turn a blind eye to unaccountable lacunae in the financial records, overflowing collection baskets that were strangely sparse when they left the altar, and the swelling weight of their star priest that suggested a lifestyle a little far from mendicancy.

The moment of judgement came, as the flock and clergy would insist later, from divine intervention. Vodalus is today not sure if he would disagree. However, he does not think that the deity in question was Bahamut.

During a sermon that Vodalus would look back upon as being possibly his most orotund and accomplished, the great priest suddenly collapsed. The worshippers were stunned and horrified to discover their favorite cleric had been caught in the grip of a seizure.

The subconscious mind of Vodalus had been struck by a misfired spell! The caster was a being from the Astral Plane that neither Vodalus nor anyone else of the lesser, Material Plane could see. To this day, the priest has no idea what was the intent of the spell, or even entirely what transpired. All he knows is that for a long while, time melted into an abstract concept. He wandered the ethereal seas of the Astral Plane as a wraith of some form. He might have been an elemental, a demon, a lesser god. He can only remember hazily that he encountered and conversed with other such entities, and that his presence in their realm was not welcome.

If Vodalus had been expecting to regain his consciousness in his own bed, surrounded by concerned followers and clergy, then he would have been correct. Yet he also would have been more than a little surprised to find the crowd gathered around his bed seething with rage.
His attempts to explain the numerous items of evidence they procured before him, from the hoards of gold hidden around his manse (which, to his credit, had been hidden well enough so that they could not find all of them), to the multitudinous mistresses he had kept sheltered away from the sight of the flocks to which he preached chastity and abstinence, did not go as successfully as he would have liked. Vodalus would have been stripped of his priestly garb had he not thought of some cunning legerdemain to distract his accusers and make a hasty getaway.

Now, he finds himself still in the holy profession, albeit with his reputation transformed from an asset into a constant peril. In general, encounters with his former flock and fellow clergy are rare. When they do occur, Vodalus has no choice but to quit town or find some ingenious way of covering his tracks.

So far as covering his tracks has gone, the others in his party know nothing of his scandalous past. Or, at least, the ones that do know value the much desired place he fills in their ranks as a healer enough to stay silent and ignore his continued indiscretions. Vodalus is made even more irreplaceable by his command of no less than three exceptionally uncommon tongues: Celestial, Primordial, and Abyssal. If Vodalus is not totally honest as to how he acquired these languages, then, to be fair, it may be because he doesn’t really know himself.