In Northern Alfheim little more than 100 years ago, the elf known today as “Al” was born into a small family in a small clan. His parents had been trying for a third child and were thrilled when they finally conceived. Immediately at his birth it was clear that this little elfling was different from his siblings. While no elfling child can be described as “ugly”, this one failed to elicit coos of adoration from the midwives. His parents took no notice and loved him, of course, but in time it became clear that this child was lacking something. The other children teased him for being plain, ordinary. They said he couldn’t possibly be an elf, with a face like that. At a very young age he began to spend more and more time alone, hiding in the woods. He would practice blending with his surroundings to that even the other elves did not see him when they passed by. He was an outsider, living in voluntary exile to avoid the pain caused by his mundane, “un-elf-like” appearance. But his parents still loved him, and he knew he would always have a home with them. Then, one day, tragedy struck.

While out hiding in the forest, the young elf noticed strange movement among the forest creatures. Soon it became clear that they were fleeing the approach of something that filled them with fear. Fear took over, and the elf froze as he saw hordes of monstrous creatures moving through the trees, and on the forest floor. The creatures passed, but it was some time before his fear subsided and he was able to move his body freely again. With his senses regained, his thoughts went suddenly to his family, and realized that the monsters were moving toward his village. Steeling his nerves, the elf-child hastily moved from tree to tree, running back toward his home, hoping that he would be able to warn his parents about the invasion. Long before he gets there, his keen ears and nose tell him he is too late.

The scene must have been devastating. The parting trees revealed that the entire village was destroyed. All of the trees had been felled and burned. The bodies of elves littered the forest floor. Many of them had been torn apart, others were shriveled and blackened. The elf found the tree that had been his home, but there was no sign of his parents or his two older siblings. He was finally alone. He fell to the ground and cried.

In the morning, with the smoke was still heavy in the air, he began to look around. He felt like he should tell someone, go for help! But where would he go? Who would he tell? He was far too shocked to even care for himself. For days he waited around the destroyed village for something to happen, finding lost bits of food, and taking stock of what items remained. One night he awoke to the sound of rough voices and saw the red outline of people standing over him. He opened his mouth to cry out, but he was quickly knocked on the head and then he heard nothing.

He awoke inside of a sack with the bright light of day seeping through the fibers. The jolting up and down rhythm told him that he was tied to some kind of beast moving at a hurried pace. He again heard the rough voices that he heard that night at the village, but nothing else was familiar in the least. In that sack he stayed for several weeks. Occasionally he was dropped to the ground, or dipped in icy water. Every couple of days the sack would open and someone would drop in a few scraps of food. Until one day, everything stopped.

The sack was dropped to the ground and left for several hours in the hot sun. During this time, the elf could hear the arrival of many new voices. Different voices, speaking different languages. He could tell that he had arrived at a crossroads where many paths were intersecting. When the sun in the sky was fading, he had drifted off to sleep when the end of the sack was lifted, and he was shaken out onto the sand, landing in a heap. Someone gripped his neck and lifted him high into the air. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into a grotesque dog-like face. Its large snout sniffed him once, and the creature let out a loud, whiney squeal. And then he realized, it was laughing at him. The dog-man paid the other humanoid, looked at the ugly elfling, squealed it’s laugh again, and dragged him into a tent where his hands and feet were tied with rope.

The days turned to years and the elf grew in captivity. He might have been killed outright, except the humanoids found the lack of beauty in an elf to be rather funny. Eventually, they removed the ropes, and gave him a name suiting his pale skin. “Kriiszhak”, roughly translated to “albino cub.” The elf traveled many places with his captors, quietly learning their skills and languages while earning their trust as a servant. Then, one moonless night, while at a camp nestled in some hills, the master was found dead in his tent, and the elf had disappeared.