The History of Shadar-Vaal.

Ranger in Shadowfell. Hunter. Shepherd. Keeper of the Raven Queen's Flock. Protecting her beasts from all who would prey upon them. Ranging out to neutralize anything deemed possible of becoming a threat. Guardian against intruders from other Planes.
On one outing, stumbles through a Shadow Crossing. "No, my Queen. Why have you forsaken me?"
(Was it an accident though?)
 
Dropped into Azure Sea area on coast.
Desperately seeks for a way back. (It's not time yet). Nearly dying of starvation.
Desperate, makes his way into a human settlement under the cover of darkness.
Stealing food. Notices, in the shadows, one moving like him: furtive, stealthy. Intrigued, tilts his head. Follows this adherent of the shadows. Follows through the alleyways. Down the alley. Sticking to the darkness.
 
Creeps up on her. Still, quiet and...Oomph! Bag over head, rough hands rough voices. She turns to regard him.
"What have we here? Drow?" Motions to the thugs, "take him back, I do believe Taras will be quite interested in what we have snared tonight boys."
Weak, dragged back through streets. Unfamiliar. Stranger in a strange land.
Bright light. Pain. Many faces surround him including her. Before him sits a rough looking creature. A 'man?'
"Well well well. What 'ave you dragged in tonight Val?" Cold calculating eyes. Dangerous. "A bloody Drow! What the fuck is one of them doing here?"
"Who you working for eh?" My Queen, only my Queen. Why have you forsaken me? "Speak up lad." Nods to one of the thugs holding him. Swift punch to the gut.
"I said, speak up!" Loud, too bright, confined, pain. Must find my Queen.
"Bloody ell! How the shit does he do that?!" Slipped into shadow to escape, but not far enough. More pain, bludgeoned. "Take 'im to the cells lads. He could be quite useful."
 
In the cells but not alone.
"Got you too eh?" Pulls back, against the dripping wall. "I know you're there, on account of these." Her ears. Pointed. Elf? But no, not an elf like him. A what then? What is she?
"Get away from me, " he mutters in a monotone whisper.
"You...you're an elf? She speaks his tongue....
 
The jailers come. Rough voices. Something shoved through the bars, rasp of metal on stone floor. "It's disgusting but I advise you eat it, lest you want to starve down here".
In the cells for several days and nights. Learns about this elf (not an elf?) Different elf. Different from him. She calls him a Drow. Warns him not many like Drow. Half Drow would be better hmm, yes.
"Ha you really know nothing about yourself do you. Nothing about us." Teasing, contempt. "The War. The Schism."
"Tell me. Please." The words he has to twist into an entreaty. Has to force inflection into them.
A time of great tragedy and loss. The worst the elves here have ever suffered.
 
At the barred window a Raven perches. Watching. Head tilted. Listening to the tale.
"Queen..?"
"Cawww."
Stupid.
 
He feels the memories from this tale of woe soaking into him. He can almost feel the weight of them.
"Caww"
"Shut up."
They tug at him and he feels some of his emptiness filling up.
He must find out more. But she is reticent. Untrusting of one such as he. A 'Drow' she calls him. Fine. Then he must tease the tale out of her gradually. And that means...
 
"Right you little Drow shit. You're gonna to do some work for us see?"
And so begins his work of thievery. And sometimes darker things. All the while chasing more of this story of the 'Schism'. All the while shadowed by his black feathered friend.
And when she had no more to tell him, he searched farther he realized he has to leave here. But he does not wish to abandon his life with these people. He is good at it. It keeps the emptiness at bay, just a little.
 
The next mission in another town he takes. He must take something precious, something that will undoubtedly be missed. He enjoys those jobs. He returns often to the scene of the crime. He enjoys 'feeling' their sorrow at what they have lost. It is important he bears witness to it somehow. But it does not fill the emptiness. Not like those first nights in his cell and listening to her voice as she told him the tale of the Schism.
Such longing. Such raw emotion.
 
(Several Towns later the trail points to a place called Salt Marsh, or something.)
 
The ship draws nearer and he can make out the outlines of....the tower. That tower. It resembles something. And the docks, that house, the coastline and and the rocks.
What is this witchery? This is not home. This is not where he has longed to be all this time. And yet it is too similar to be discounted. This place. This Salt Marsh. It is not Shadowfell. It is a cruel reflection of what he has lost. And maybe, maybe, the way home.....