Retheran was born in one of the many isolated Drow tribes scattered throughout Athas, this one particularly perched on the peak of a mountain. When he was just a babe his parents disappeared without a sign, leaving him to be raised by his grandparents. At the age of five, both of his grandparents died of mysterious causes, almost seeming as if something wanted the child to remain alone. The tribe leaders attempted to find a fitting guardian for the lone child, but none would take the child, figuring him cursed for the death that followed him. Knowing not what to do, they let the child roam the village; many citizens held the rumors of his curse as true. People would pass him by in the streets, berating and harassing him. As the months went on, only one person ever showed him compassion, an elderly hermit who lived just outside walls of the village.
Every day the man would stop and give the child food and water while casually sparking a conversation. This went on for many months, the man telling his tales and the boy eating his bread, listening attentively. One day as usual the man made his visit and told one of his many unique tales, but this day he stopped midway and with a serious voice asked Retheran “Would you like a home boy?” Not knowing the comforts of a home, the boy accepted with great curiosity.
The hermit went by the name of Zilvdax Teken’lyl and was among the oldest residents of the tribe at the age of 637, he had seen things many would never believe. He told his tales to the boy, how he was exiled to the outskirts of the city for speaking ill of the sun-worshipping ways of the drow, how he was once a swordsman that was rivaled among the greatest, and among all the tales the most interesting being how he had roamed the world of Athas fighting dangerous foes along the way.
Every day proved a learning experience for Retheran, mornings consisted of training with the deadly scimitar and the ways of the agile drow, afternoons were meditation to gain power from the midday sun, and finally evenings where the two sat down and trained in history, knowledge, and the drow magic abilities. Taking to the swordplay almost instantly, he soon began to skip his evening classes to train. As the years went on, he became stronger and wiser, while his master became weak with the curse of age.
Zilvdax lay on his death bed, but not quite literally, for he was as strong as ever yet with clear signs of distress and death on his face. He knew his time was coming to an end. Knowing he had little time, he called Retheran to his quarters; telling him the news he handed over an ancient enchanted scimitar that would slice through but the toughest of armors, and proceeded to hand over a suit of grayish black hide armor that would make him as light as a feather and as silent as the calm breeze. On the night of Zilvdax’s unfortunate death, he had told Retheran to not to mourn and to move on and leave the tribe to where he would find his true calling of adventure and friendship. At the age of 76 he sent out from this lonely place and so the tale of Retheran the adventurer begins.