From the Journal of Drarik Haldon, penned in his own hand, Second Entry
I shall not tell of the story of my freedom of slavery, nor shall I pen in these books the tales of my early years. Sufficient for the curious should be my assurance that the life of a body servant to a merchant is often menial, degrading, and tedious. If it’s true that Elven memories are eventually capable of fading from Elven minds I will be most happy to let that 50 years of torment disappear.
On leaving the home of my masters I arrived at a certain city to find myself quite penniless and in need of sustenance. I am ashamed to say that my hunger had caused my mind to wonder to the point that I simply fell on the food of the first vendor I came to and started gorging myself like a rabid wolf. It’s quite unfortunate that the merchant did not realize that I would have eventually paid him and just saw a hungry elf attempting to decimate his stock. The bastard began to call for the guards! Distracted by the lulling effect of the food (and perhaps a small amount of the wine that the merchant had available) I was taken unawares by unskilled hands and thrown into prison. This was likely the most shaming thing to happen to me since my former master had ordered me to attend a fat sow of a guest of his in the baths. I’m afraid that both the smell of the prisons and my masters guest will linger with me until my dying day.
This culture apparently has in it a mechanism for utilizing those in prison for something more beneficial than acting as companions to the rats. A group called “light bringers” or “light seekers” or some other nonsensical name offers the imprisoned a chance to redeem themselves through questing. When I was dragged before the judge with my fellow prisoners a member of this “light” group offered us escape from further time in the jails in return for retrieving certain items from a sunken Elven Temple far from the city in a forest. I jumped at the chance to free myself from chains once again no matter how slim the chance is that we will actually find these items. I would’ve jumped at the opportunity even if it had no chance to succeed as my cell mate has the disconcerting habit of searching itself (I dare not ask nor check it’s gender, knowing would likely be as bad as not) for fleas and then holding conversation with the pestilence. I swear before all the uncaring gods of my people, it will be better to die under the sky than to hear that vile thing hold another Court of Insects debating the merits of Ale versus Wine.
My companions for this journey seem to be a mixture of travelers and prison scum armed with whatever meager possessions they owned before being thrown into this dungeon. In any case they will likely serve to catch a few blows for me before expiring which will hopefully give me enough time hurl a few daggers at whatever is trying to kill me. Those are my hopes, at least.