Drogheda is the product of blood and violence. Her mother, raped by invading Orcs, died giving birth. And so, the girl was raised by her grandfather who moved out of the small village he had lived in with his daughter and built a cabin in the woods where he hunted and trapped to make a living. Trips to town for trade and supplies ended when Drogheda reached the age of 10. The villagers hated any reminder of the nightmare invasion and warned the old man not to bring the monster among them anymore. After that, Drogheda suffered total isolation whenever her grandfather needed to go to the village. He died when she was in her teens. A friend of her grandfather’s came to warn her that the villagers were planning to drive her away. Drogheda gathered what she could and fled ahead of the mob. After that, she traveled, never staying very long in any one place for fear that she would again be driven out. It was to satisfy that sense of staying one step ahead that left her shipwrecked on Smuggler’s Shiv.
On the island, Drogheda was not alone. She wasn’t driven away. She was vital; her ranger skills kept people alive, gave them direction. Things were going well… and then, they all fell apart. The group was scattered in the cannibal camp. She tried to hold the door, but there were too many savages. She didn’t remember much of what happened with Ioana or Yarzoth or whoever she was, but the others came, five expendable caravan guards. Dangerous and determined, they carved their way across the island, led the fight against monstrous mercenaries, and massacred the crew of a pirate ship to escape.
In Eleder, everyone went their separate ways. They all had connections to the rest of the world, and what did Drogheda have? She had Riley. She had a friend.