Tulio

Tulio has amnesia. He doesn't know his name, his parents, his home; As a half-elf, who ages differently from humans and elves, it is impossible for him to tell how old he is.
Everything about his life prior to meeting Miguel has been fabricated. Even Miguel has been given a fake back story.
Prior to separating from the group, in his heart to Tulio knows that the truth is rather unremarkable. For that reason he has made a significant effort to convince both himself and everybody around him that his past present and future are all the stuff of legend. Everything about the chaotic, often selfish "always seeking fun nature" way that he acts is driven by the fact that, to his knowledge, there's no expectation of him or penalties against his behavior. The evil, morally lacking portion of his demeanor is the manifestation of his fear that, quite literally, anything could have happened in the unknown number of years that he is missing.
In truth he was the son of a whore who serviced a very young elf who was in the midst of his beryn fin. His mother never even knew his fathers name, and she viewed Tulio as a "business liability" that she sought to be rid of as quickly as possible. He was pushed off into an orphanage where he lived an uneventful life until the day he was handed two gold and a sword and told to leave.
He wanders off to the local fish market, he remembers seeing dead bodies dragged off ship nearly every time he was passing by. What a better place to find work?
After only four days of travel, one night while he was in the kitchen, tucked away from all other crew members, he was struck in the head and everything went dark. What happened while he was on the ship, you may ask - did Cthulhu attack? was there a pirate raid? NAY. he was struck by a falling pumpkin, and the crew thought he was dead, so they threw him overboard. He was fished off the ocean by a passing dinghy, and put up in a hospital in a local port town.

If a druid-bard Kurtzes in the forest...will his friends hear him?

Still yourselves. If you're very still, you'll feel her weeping. In some places, speaking like that alone would give people a right to kill me. They would judge me and my brothers and sisters as mad. If they could feel this, they would realize they have no right to judge us. To feel this...
I remember a time when I was a child. Maybe it's my memory, maybe it's the memory of someone else, but I claim it for myself. I was playing a lute...I think. Nothing but a child, playing away, and my tutor complementing my skill, peering occasionally out the window. My mother smiling in the corner doing her needlework. A jester was there and he was practicing his tumbling. Back and forth he'd go with such blinding speed and skill. Every now and then he'd do handstands and I could see that his clownish face, so happy right side up, when upside down was painted so that it was the deepest face of sorrow. My mother never saw this, and laughed at him though as he tumbled.
Then in a blink, the world stopped.
My tutor's encouragement went silent. I turned to him and saw a dagger deep in his throat, blood soaking his doublet as he fell to the floor like a hewn tree. I turned back to the jester, and he was caught mid tumble, ending as a crumpled pile of color, an arrow sunk into his back. My mother let out a single syllable, stood, reached for me, and then held a dampening area of her dress before slumping back into her chair. And I remember... I... I... I wanted to cry out. I wanted to weep. But I could not, and so I ran, I tumbled, and small as I was I escaped the chamber, the house, the walls and ran into the woods, leaving it all behind. The blood, the looks on their faces, and their eyes just looking.
The woods gave me comfort then, but this land...her forests, rivers, rocks...they weep now, not I. Once finally I heard her, it was like I was shot and I remembered so much. And I thought: only a few hear her, and she calls out to me for strength. I will hear her. I will fight for her. I will be her hands and her vines and her rocks and I will sing the sad song she makes me sing. I will bring those around me who will do the same and wipe away those that would harm her. Her tears I will dry, because it is not right for her to weep as she does.
But those who would judge me and call me mad? {cackles in laughter}