Journal Entry

I purchased this little tome, expecting to fill it.

The inquisitive drow has me thinking that I should record my history for at any time I could fall and none shall know.

Now, dear reader, you will be informed.

I swear my blade hand that everything accounted for is fact and should you feel that any aspect is false, feel free to challenge my sword hand so that I may show you proof positive.

I started my life as Renor. I don't know how the name was bestowed upon me, nor do I care to know. I was born and existed in the Underdark for many years.

Outside of typical drow society, amongst wayfarers and brigands. Not well known, this community occupied ancient drow and duergar cities, long abandoned to ruin. They didn't fight amongst themselves, their violence could only be purchased. Most often by the dorw rogues of the Bregan d'Aerthe.

This particular community had no name. Naming a thing makes it known. One does not need a name to be effective. The names of many warriors could link their history to this community and I am no different.

Reproduction was encouraged in this community. As the community found it's riches by those warriors they sold to drow houses and surfacers alike. Training was a time tested ritual, that I'm sure, still hasn't changed since my birth.

A child in this community is birth nearly once every week or two. It is nursed until it's able to walk and talk and eat regular food. Then the child is turned feral.

I and many others around the same age were set loose. Loose being a loose term. We were merely made to fend for ourselves. Hunt or gather our own food. Steal it if necessary. We were always watched but never aided. If a child died it was disposed of. After the savory pieces of meat were carved from the corpse. We were not allowed weapons yet. Sharp rocks, hand fashioned spears, and rudimentary ropes.

I remember tackling a giant lizard after banding together with many others in the same plight as myself. None of us past eight years, wielding tiny spears. Driven by hunger. However we brought the beast down and dined for weeks upon the flesh. It was the talk of the community for several days. I can say, without gloating, that the elders saw much in me after that instance. I was routinely singled out by the males in charge of us as keepers.

Let me explain a moment..there were leaders. There were keepers. There were females and males.

Keepers were usually old males, too old to be of use in battle and too battle scarred to turn the eye of females. They were used to train young drow. They were lower than snake shit to all but their pupils.

Females were rarely kept. Drow houses always wanted female children, so they were sold straight away. Many were allowed to stay but not enter into the training that the males underwent for they were only to remain in order to birth new life.

The leaders were mercenaries who had been bought and sold so many times that their price was simply too high. So they had amassed their fortunes and returned to lead the community. Usually running businesses of sorts. They held council and played everything close to their chests.

As I was writing, I was singled out by keepers often. Their only chance at glory was to produce the best warrior possible. So when a pupil, such as myself, displayed the skills necessary, they sought to teach him more. Often I would find my stance corrected, the tips of my handmade weapons sharpened professionally, or I was given tips on when rothe would be ripe for poaching. Such preferential treatment, put a mantle upon me, since others in the same plight would follow my lead.

It was not an easy childhood, in comparison to others, it'd be safe to assume that it was downright rotten. Many nights the only companion to follow me to bed was hunger. I grew lean and strong but always appeared underfed.

By the time the next stage of my childhood commenced I was wiry. Strong and fast on my feet. Merciless as well. I could wield rudimentary weapons as well as any hunter. I had learned to make clothes, bedding, and basic armor from my kills.

Such wouldn't serve me well in the next seven years of my life.

Renor

General Information

Known Alias - Renor Dro, Black Life, Renor d'Xukuth'el, Renor d'Unra'eth
Age - 211
Origins of Birth - Cloudy, first known habitation Menzobarranzan
Current Residence - Valahari, City of Unra'eth
Occupation - None
Former Occupation - Mercenary, Weapons Master

Appearance

Height - Short
Weight - Meager
Eye Color - Bloodshot
Hair Color - White
Clothing Preferences - Prefers comfort, usually adorned in a kilt.
Weapons - No less than two blades. Typically more.

History

You wish to know?

Why, who sent you?

Aye, I do reach for my blade and should you studder or mumble once in explaining your purpose, I will remove your fool tongue.

Very well, very well...you may have a seat. Order a bottle of wine and ask your questions.

I frequent the Cheeky Bastard often enough, yes. I enjoy losing myself amongst the crowd, apparently you found me.

I am the only Renor in Unra'eth or Valahari for that matter, as far as I know.

No, it's not likely we'll become friends. I may come to know you. May even come to know you well enough to hesitate a moment. Believe though, that if it serves a purpose, I will end you.

You still want to know more?

Very well.

I'm finished with the soldier's life, for the moment. That doesn't mean I've lain down the blade, that'd be just, silly. I feel the rigors of age so I've taken a step back, to live in the comfort of Unra'eth. I want for little and need less. A female to share my bed, a pipe filled to the brim with magic opium, and of course food and wine. All of which I come across here, which leaves me mildly indebted to the Ssivah and Shar.

Orders? Haha! I've never taken an order in my life. Directives, yes. Orders, no. There's a fine line between a directive and an order. The former requires compensation when the ends are met. The latter requires a flexible knee. Mine are much too stiff to bow to any.

Yes, my gratitude for the hospitality of Unra'eth makes it so I am more than willing to undertake directives from the Ssivah or Shar. They have earned my respect, for the time being. So I'm happy to contribute as often as needed, so long as the rewards are plentiful and the directives don't interfere with my routine so much, then you would say I'm a willing servant of Unra'eth. To the extent that, if something happens to the city, it is likely to effect me.

I've been on the surface for several years now. You're correct in assuming that I'm from the Underdark.

I never ventured into true drow society until after my blooding rite. There I was introduced into the Bregan d'Aerthe of Menzobarranzan.

Aye, the rogue males. I was born amongst a small city of drow living on the edge of Lloth's reach. The one real purpose of this community was to produce warriors. Who were then sold into the service of the drow mercenary house. Or if they should prove lacking in need of new mercenaries, any house who could handle the pricetag of a warrior drow trained from birth to end life.

Many years, I was with them for many, many years. I earned a small but considerable fortune as a mercenary. There are always wars amongst ourselves, or against outsiders. Always coin to be made.

No, you'd be wrong there. I did serve a Llothian. At one point. I was lured away and became Weapons Master of Xukuth'el. My time as a Llothian servant was very brief.

Then what? You'll have to wait for the auto biography.

I am here now, I was there. There is little chance that I would return.

Aye, slim pickings indeed. You'll have to buy me more wine next time, the bottle's empty, so my patience is at an end.