The night-sky was overcast, with lightning striking the surrounding hills. The elves of the White Owls had closed their village gate and pulled up their rope-ladders. There was no rain that night, but the thunder was still enough to keep most inside.
After the thundering storm died down, Mother Pearl stepped out of her tree hut to breathe in some fresh air and listen to the wisdom of the wind. Instead, she was greeted by a newborn, wrapped snugly at her door. Mother Pearl realized this baby did not cry once while outside in the thunderstorm. She also realized that this baby did not belong to anyone in the village. Someone must have snuck into the village to abandon him.
Of course, the baby was adopted by the village, and given the name of Thunder. As the years counted on, Thunder was passed around as a foster child, never once settling with one family for more than a season. As a child, this began to wear on him, and he began causing trouble (as only a child can). With no real parents or family, he started to feel contempt for those in the village, since he felt that he would always be alone.
By the time that he could build his own tree hut, he did. With that, he began referring to himself as Plear, wishing to leave the name of Thunder behind. Most in the village assumed he was just trying to find an identity for himself. In reality, he wished to forget his upbringing, only looking toward the future.
The older he got, the more he avoided the other villagers. He took several trips away from the White Owls, and soon his trips took hem farther and farther. He was searching for his parents, looking for an identity, or looking for direction and purpose, but mostly just to get away from the village. He felt claustrophobic there. With few friends to come back to, Plear simply came back less and less.
If he ever came close to having a friend in the village, it was Mother Pearl. She didn’t try to befriend him – or push him away. She left him alone when he wanted, answered his questions with honesty, and rarely asked questions herself. He appreciated that.
During one of his treks he was ambushed by a small pack of orcs – orcs of the Iron Fang. Immediately, he noticed the leader carrying an intricate bow. Being something of an archer himself, Plear could clearly and immediately see that it was special. He had to have it. This bow did not belong to the claws of a filthy orc. Without thinking, he offered to sneak the pack of orcs into his village in exchange for the bow. Skog (the leader with the bow) agreed, and they sent off so as to increase their numbers.
Plear came through as he promised, unlocking the gates during nightfall, and then hiding in the bush. The village was overrun, and most of the villagers were rounded up for slavery. Plear had no trouble justifying his actions. Afterall, he didn’t owe the White Owls anything.
After the raid, Plear and Skog met for the exchange. Interestingly enough, Skog went to the meeting alone, and easily handed off the bow to Plear. The weapon was actually a Thunderburst bow, so when Skog (in his broken common) mentioned the word “thunder,” Plear thought the orc was referring to the bow. It wasn’t until a couple of hours later that that he realized the orc actually said, “Here Thunder, take your bow.” Plear never told the dirty orc that his childhood name was Thunder.
Disturbed by this, Plear went back to the razed village, gathered up some supplies, and set off to find Skog. Even though he now held the weapon that felt like home in his hands, he couldn’t help feeling that he was somehow part of something bigger, for good or ill. Whether he finds Skog, whether he atones for his crime against the village, whether he finds out what his real destiny is, depends on you…