Born in a small village in the upper High Forest called Marl, Brand led a relatively happy childhood. His father Anorwin was an elven scout whose routine patrols took him all over the High Forest. His mother was a beautiful human woman named Sharra who was known and respected locally for her healing talents. Brand grew up traveling the forests with his father, and learning the ways of the wood. He would grow tall for a half-elf, reaching a height of nearly 6 feet, and had deep blue eyes with a mischievous glint. His hair would be a light brown until the day the Drow attacked, and ever after it was heavily laced with grey. Weaned on a great yew longbow and a curious set of wicked sabres he usually wore strapped across his back, the boy delighted in contests of fencing and archery which were always held at the winter and summer solstice fairs and was always at the top of his age group due to his uncommon combination of strength and agility. Little did he know how he would come to rely on these gifts for survival instead of fun.

Life continued along this vein for quite a while. The village was untroubled for the most part, and the increasing rumours of the Drow were never taken seriously, except by Anorwin. He failed to convince the village elders to think about their security, but at least was able to instill a sense of caution in his only son. As time moved on, Brand met and fell in love with a beautiful little elven maid named Elayne. She was the light of his life and his smile was quick and full of joy. Always an active young man, his exuberance now found an outlet in her. They had been engaged not more than a week, when he went out to find some gemstones to give her as a present; one to be made into a wedding ring. He new of a cave in the foothills where these could be found. He rode his horse there and out of habit carefully covered his tracks and secured his mount. This habit saved his life, as the Drow moved in after dark and did not pick up his trail.

After two days camping and exploring the cave, he was overcome by a severe sense of dread. He rode hell for leather back to the village, and as he drew near, the sight and smell of smoke made his heart sink. He rode into the village with both swords drawn, a crazed look of misery on his face. Villagers were everywhere, mutilated corpses rotting in the sun. Drow lay here and there, also. Seven lay at the feet of his father, who was pinned to the town's maypole by seven black shafts. His sword was split, and he had deep gashes on thigh and chest. Sharra lay at his feet with a bloody long knife in one hand and what appeared to be a burned-out torch in the other. Grief and horror swept through him, his horror consummated as he found Elayne dead in the school in front of 12 of the older children, his long knife in her hand and small blades in theirs.

He sat there for what felt like days, only rousing as he heard a small scraping noise. It seemed to come directly from Elayne, and he recoiled at first. Then, moving her ever so gently and saw the lines of a cleverly built trap door. The schoolhouse trap! Why he'd played in there years ago! He found the secret catch and opened the door, revealing the school mistress and 14 young children; all that the tiny space could hold. His revelation at what Elayne had died for caused his grief to let loose anew, yet he knew he had to take care of the survivors. Banding them together, he gathered what supplies he could and they set out for the nearest village.

He collected survivors along the way, although only two were fighting men, barely boys. They traveled carefully by day, he trying to keep up the spirits of the refugees, for he still had his sense of humor, even if the smile had lost its joy. At night would see the band safely camped and would go hunting Drow. It is a good night when he can find a lone Drow and slit its throat, or even better when he can feather one with an arrow in the full moonlight. These small revenges are not enough, however. Five decimated villages later, the ragtag band finally came across a village that had withstood the Drow rampage. A tall elf named Divad told him the tale of how the village was saved, and Brand's blue eyes flashed ice as he heard of the heroic exploits. This was exactly what he wanted, NEEDED, to do to those Black Drow. He vowed to meet these valiant warriors, or at least follow their example.

The village took the survivors in warmly, and Brand became part of the Watch. One night, he notices a form half hopping and half flying through the woods crying for help. Fearing a vile trick, he cautiously creeps forward. At the same time he realizes with wonder that the creature is a Pseudo Dragon, he sees a hated Drow pounce upon it. The Drow hisses and grabs his neck, falling to the forest floor, but not before 4 more hear and pick up the chase. Without hesitation Brand scoops up the wounded creature and makes a run for it. Hearing the unencumbered Drow closing, he begins to search for a place to make a stand. He spots a small hillock with a large oak on top and heads for it. He reaches it, panting, and lays the obviously dying dragon between his feet. Setting his stance, he draws both swords from his back and braces for the assault...