[EdTheKet]

Full Name: Zaraun of the House of Torlyl
Age: 120
Class: Rogue/Shadowdancer
Race: Elf
Sub race: Dark Elf
Gender: Female
Alignment: True Neutral
Deity: Aragen

”So you thought to undermine my position, Zaraun?” Jysdril, Matriarch of the House of Torlyl says coldy, while the tip of her blade rests on Zaraun’s throat. “I did no such thing!” Zaraun spits out. The blade presses against her throat a bit harder and a small drop of blood begins to well up. “SILENCE WORM! I do not want to hear you speak to me ever again. Guards take her away, make her talk! Then report back to me!”


Zaraun is dragged away by her hair to a dark, damp cell, deep inside the Underdark. “We will begin the torture in the morning.” The guard snickers as he locks the cell. However, Zaraun is not planning on waiting around that long, once she’s sure the guard is away, she takes out some of her hair pins, muttering “I guess most males are fools after all...” and she picks the lock.

Sneaking through the jail, hiding in shadows where needed, she manages to get out. “Now, to leave this accursed city.” she mutters, and waits in shadows near the gate for the right opportunity. As a raiding party returns from the surface, she manages to slip out of the gate, at that moment the alarm bells ring, she’s startled and steps out of the covers of shadow and is noticed.


Arrows fly... Zaraun runs.


With an arrow in her upper leg she stumbles on, and manages to hide from her pursuers. She breaks off the arrow and continues her flight, on to another drow city. A few days later, feverish from the wound she approaches a city, only to find drow warriors bearing the symbol of the House of Torlyl exciting the gate. “... that bounty for her corpse is high enough for people to just kill her as soon as they see her.” She hears them say. She realizes she’s not very likely to find any aid for her wound around here and staggers on. Getting more feverish by the hour from the festering wound, she stumbles on, not noticing the slight but steady upward slope of the corridors she walks.
Staggering on, she suddenly finds herself outside, seeing the moon for the first time. “Beautiful...” she stammers and then collapses.

Time passes, and she wakes up to the touch of a damp cloth to her face.



She sees an old human, dressed in some kind of robe tending her wound. She tries to move but can hardly move a muscle “Must have been a poisoned arrow.” She thinks. “Do not touch me, you filthy human.” She whispers, but it appears he doesn’t understand. “Do not worry,” the monk of Aragen says slowly “I mean you no harm, you’re the first live drow I have ever come this close too.”


However, Zaraun does not understand a word he is saying. She tries to push the filthy hands of this male surface dweller away, but she utterly lacks the strength to do so. She loses consciousness again...


It takes several months for her to get a semblance of her strength back and get out of bed without his help, and all the time she has to listen to this monk. So after the first two weeks, when she can stay awake for more then two hours before collapsing again, and with nothing better to do but lie in bed all day, she starts to learn the Common tongue while she teaches drow to the monk. “Might as well understand what he’s ranting about all day.” She thinks.
In time, she begins to respect him and starts thinking that maybe her view of the world was too narrow-minded and that most things are just a matter of perspective. She takes an interest in the teachings of Aragen, and spends another year with the monk in his humble shack. After that, she decides she needs to see and know more of the surface world. She thanks the monk for his kindness, picks up her sword, her kukri and her shuriken and sets out.