Hailing from the pocked and craggy plains of Shrym, Shumwise the Shrym had an unremarkable childhood. Huddled with his seventy brothers and sisters underground, below the constant sandstorms and skyfires, and the mad-stomping of Ettin ant-farmers, Shumwise had barely conceived of a life outside his packhole until his 19th year. That was when his entire tunnel-town was killed by a roving knot of migrating Spitsnakes. Shumwise would have met his demise as well, had he not used each and every scrambling head of his brothers and sisters as a step stool up to the light of day.
These days, Shumwise is by trade a grave robber. Not simply because of his keen tunneling abilities and familiarity with the cramped underground, but because his moral code is remarkably flexible. After his town was slaughtered, Shumwise returned days later, pilfering the riches and trinkets of the dead. After all, dead Shryms have no use for golden teeth or ducal rings, and living Shryms, of course, do. Especially Shumwise the Shrym, who is now up to his ears in inescapable gambling debts owed to, unsurprisingly, an Ettin ant-farmer named Kag Nok.
Not unlike rats or shrews, Shryms in general enjoy hoarding fine foods and treasure. They are known throughout Eem for their ingenious engineering: elaborate pulley systems that web their tunnel-towns, and dust-powered engines that chug in convoys across the vast desert. While Shryms are scattered all over Eem, those indigenous to Shrym rarely ever venture from their towns or convoys for fear of the terrible weather phenomena, and horrendous monstrosities that roam the plains. Shumwise, on the other hand, has been assured in no uncertain terms, that if he ever returns to Shrym, he’ll be basted in man-jelly and hurled into a writhing, spitsnake bacchanalia.