His family were a caravan of Drow merchants, always on the road, always in the wild. By no stretch of the imagination could one describe this lifestyle as lavish, they were hated and shunned by most of civilised society but there was always food and the comfort of family and companionship. As Drow they were seldom allowed in the city limits and as such became adept at finding ways in, this of course, done under the cover off night.

With decades spent on the road, Celdor spent many formative years learning how to forage for food, track and hunt animals but was also taught to love and respect his surroundings, if you care for the forest the forest will care for you. Even when times were at their toughest Celdor always enjoyed life on the road and when not on watch or manning the carts, he could be found studying the local wildlife and vegetation.

The merchants themselves were a subset of Drow who refused the teachings of their ancestors and fled the Underdark in search of an easier lifestyle above ground. Perhaps better than being turned into some twisted beast, the caravan life was not what they hoped. Forever under threat of attack by beasts or raiders and never welcomed as merchants but scorned and forced to remain outside the city limits made for a difficult life. Always on the edge of danger, all within the caravan became proficient marksmen, even in the dark and were able to repel many an ambush or attack and great negotiators, forced to barter and cajole just to get fair prices for their well crafted bows and leathers.

When members of the caravan were struck by a terrible sickness, one that required more specialised remedies than they had access to, the caravan was forced to travel a notoriously dangerous path to Byrrygreene. A fairly sized settlement situated at the crossing of many paths leading all across the land, Byrrygreene attracted all kinds of settlers and even had a Drow amongst them Of course the locals were none too pleased by this but the Drow, Arleya, was a skilled alchemist and her abilities were oft called for.

The caravan travelled the treacherous path to Byrrygreene full of fear and trepidation. The rumours of the area run rife with tales of a dangerous band of orc. A band that hunt not just for the taste of flesh but for the sport. The elders try to quell these rumours and keep spirits high but the sickness has spread quick amongst the caravan and the number of able bodies are too few, especially for this perilous path.

During the day, when most are resting under the cover of the forest canopy, the orcs strike. Loud and blunt they attack, there is no plan, no strategy just force.They charge forward bellowing deep war cries in a horrible tongue.The brutish wave of green breaks through the already weakened defences of the caravan and quickly they slay what few guards were left at full strength and begin to tear through the carts.

Of the sick, those strong enough, attempt to flee but are quickly caught and brutalised in humiliating ways. There is no escape. Celdor who was struck by the sickness perhaps worst of all was too weak to lift even his own head, never mind his bow. He lay there helpless as his friends and family were destroyed by the Orcs. Eventually, Celdor was discovered and dragged out by the biggest of the Orcs, clearly their chieftain.

The chieftain was tall, a head and shoulders taller than the rest, a mountain of muscle with a paler complexion and horrific scarring across the left side of his chest and neck, as if mauled by a great bear. He strides to Celdor's slumped, mass and lifts him with ease, holding him high off the ground by his ragged cloth robes and laughs as he looks him over.

Cledor, slipping in and out of darkness sees the tattered remains of his companions and the stench of death fills his nostrils. With lightning quickness that catches even the great chief by surprise he pulls a small dagger from his robes and tries to plunge it deep in the chief's neck but the great Orc sways at the last second and is caught across his face. He drops Celdor to the ground and clutches at his now even more mangled face, howling with rage. Seizing his opportunity and with his final shred of consciousness Celdor rolls himself down a banking and into a river of darkness that carries him down...

Many weeks later Celdor awakes to the comforting smells of the forest. He's been bandaged and cared for but he's still weak, clearly though, he is on the mend.

Sometime after the massacre, Celdor's body washed up not far from Byrrygreene, where he was found battered and Broken by the Alchemist Arleya. Driven by a sense of kinship she smuggles Celdor back to her cottage under the cover of night for fear her neighbours would spot her and kill them both. Arleya is tolerated but at the sight of another Drow, the people would assume she was attempting to create a heaven for her dark skinned brethren and she surely would be stoned.

Once he's fit enough to walk, she can keep him a secret no longer and manages to convince the locals she has need of Celdor to help her brew potions for the settlement. Grudgingly they accept this. While he mends, Celdor spends some time under her expert tutelage, learning some more potion skills and the medicinal properties of the local plant life. She developed quite the soft spot for the kind natured Drow and shared in his love of wildlife and the forests.

One morning, the people of Byrrygreene awake to the sounds of screams. There's a pile of dead livestock in the centre of the town and a young maiden has been taken. A note is left asking for the whereabouts of Drow that might be in these parts.

Celdor tries to leave but Arleya convinces him to use his skills to track the girl and bring her back. The kidnappers were heavy footed and made no efforts to hide their tracks. They were easily followed. Following the tracks Celdor, comes across a small Orc encampment not far from where his caravan was ambushed.

Using the cover of night, he creeps slowly through the woods surrounding the camp. There are signs of a great fight amongst the Orcs, perhaps a power struggle or maybe even just entertainment but it's clear many of the Orc were slain and the remaining have fractured off. He sees that most of the orc that stayed are wounded from the fight.

Carefully staying within the shadow of the forest, he discovers the belongings of his kinsmen, strewn across the camp and watches as a few smaller Orcs pick up the scattered loot. Moving closer he sees one Orc, covered in cuts and wounds toying with the body of the local girl, laughing as he drink from a stone goblet.

From his bow he let's arrows fly as he dashes towards the camp, felling two sentries and is behind a third before they realise the first two have fallen. Thanks to the infighting of the foolish Orcs their numbers are low and the few left are tired and wounded so Celdor moves through the camp with a lethal swiftness. Perhaps too much, he relishes the slaughter of those who killed his kinsmen.

After the fight he makes his way back to Berrygreene to tell Arleya of what happened. On his return however, he finds the townsfolk put the arrival of Celdor on Arleya and blamed her for the disappearance of the girl. They burned her with the butchered livestock.

Sick of the 'hospitality' of humans Celdor slinks away into shadow. Condeming himself to loneliness he sets off in search of the other Orcs, hoping one day to find the pale Orc with one eye. A guardian of the grove he commits himself to wandering the forests and defending their boarders from the barbaric orc horde. A lone hunter, he walks the earth.

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