He was born sickly, to a heretical house. A male, untouched by the weave, and too flimsy to be of worth. He was cast aside, a mere babe stripped of whatever name he had been given. Such is the way of the drow, those of no use, are cast aside.
However, one training program would see those of no use salvaged. Taught that they were useless. Expendable trash, these males would be little more than fodder for the front lines, only just better than slaves. They were called Xa'huuli, the drow word for trash.
He stood out however, unable to accept such a fate. He knew he was of little use, but vowed to change it, slowly becoming a warrior of some skill through harsh training and discipline. Determined to wield the blade that was a pinnacle of a swordsmith's craft, despite being told he was unworthy for such a fine sword.
Determined to master it, and rise from squalor. Once he had set down the path, he quickly stood out from the other trash, and the commandants of the program hated his ambition, to think a Xa'huuli such as he would dare attempt to rise as he had. They had to make an example of him, but the male stood fast and battled them.
Though he was little a match for them, the male stood fast. Fighting as best as he could with a simple club as the commandants toyed with him. Somehow, this awoke something in the Xa'huuli around, and the camp erupted into a sea of blood. The male could not understand why his brothers would be so moved by his example, he had been losing after all.
The camp that had been his home until then burned and what little Xa'huuli survived followed him as if he were their commander. It was not long after however, that the male walked alone, the harsh wilderness of the Underdark claiming his weaker brethren. He alone stood, and that was when he knew that he was of the drow. He claimed for himself, a name. There was, after all, none to object.
Kael'iln he called himself, a name without meaning, but a name born of the drow.
Kael'iln of the Drow
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