Born under a curious sign in the night sky, Zadhir was perpetually astounded by the inner workings of all his surroundings, even at a young age, a pervasive tendency that his fellows attributed to either blessing or curse in equal measure. As his burgeoning intelligence became ever the more useful to the roaming clan he called family, the elders sought to groom him for increasingly demanding Rites to prove his mettle as a warrior and worth as a leader. At times, his intuition was even taken as indirect guidance from the spirits, such was his group's devotion to the ethereal higher powers. However, this insight could only take the form of boons for so long. When their caravan came upon the sprawling ruins of what had since become known as the Forbidden City, it swiftly became the object of Zhadhir's complete and utter fascination. He was determined to explore its sinister depths and unearth the evasive secrets that Arethil itself had long since forgotten. His quest, however, was doomed for failure, and of the large impassioned retinue the sojourner led into the forsaken catacombs, far fewer made it out alive to tell tales of what indescribable horrors they encountered on the tenebrous journey. Their lives and their faith had stained his hands with a blood debt that would never be washed away, which led Zhadhir to forsake his own overzealous devotion as his own people cast him out in eternal exile, sending the weary wanderer on his way with but a lone cart to his name. Whispers of the Black Wagon and the cursed charlatan at its head still trail behind him like a twisted, meandering shadow, bestowing a less than reputable outlook for the Komodo not just among the other races that revile lizardfolk, but even certain segments of his own kind. Ever since that fateful excursion, its baleful turns impossible to cleanse from his memory, Zhadhir has been branded as al Hayim, the wanderer for whom no solace can ever be found.