Born to the members of the Shadow Falcon Tribe, Dasan was born to druidic parents. Therefore, it should have been no great surprise that his talents led him down the same path. However, just because he was born to such talented blood does not mean he would be able to know what that meant. His life from the moment of his birth had been marked by strange stars and demanding spirits - spirits that would lead him on a journey far beyond what his birth family would ever have expected for him.
The boy was taken from his parents before his first year, as there was a curse upon his particular bloodline. The eldest shaman, a woman by the name of Ehawee, knew this child for what he was: a carrier of burdens. Having never been given a name by his true parents, the shaman would call him Dasan to all and sundry. The boy would have a second name, though, known only to her and those whom could see the spirits as she could: Kestejoo, meaning "slave." Though not a slave to any mortal, but a slave to the spirits and to the gods themselves. He would carry his curse with him wherever he went - to be guided by the will and whim of the spirts that protected and gave strength to the Sheyka people.
At the age of four winters, Dasan realized he would never know whom his parents were within the village of the Shadow Falcon Tribe. He was forbidden to ask, and had been instructed by the village elders to never question their judgement upon him. Unbeknownst to him, the spirits were already having their way with his fate, using subtle means and omens to turn the village's scorn towards him. By the time he was six winters old, many within his community scorned him either in full view of others or in private. He knew he was not wanted, but could he never understand why.
He was always summoned by the shaman and the chief druid of his group to hunt down the most choice herbs and and roots for their work. He found joy in his work and learned all that he could possibly gain from them. By the time he was nine winters old, though, he had been traded to another Sheykan tribe - a nomadic one, never to see his original one again.
He did not fear this loss of standing, because at this time were the spirits being a little more... vocal towards him. Every so often when he would find himself lost, would he feel something that would allow him to find his way again. The Sheyka he had been traded to were the Dancing Waterfalls Tribe. They were well versed in the ways of the rivers, streams, and lakes. He never did learn how to use a map while he was young, but his feet would traverse the forest almost tirelessly until he would be where he should be once more. It would be with this tribe that he would be made to learn how to swim. (He was honestly shown this so the up-and-coming warrior youth didn't have to seek out and bring back fronds from silver water lilies. That, and other aquatic vegetation the shamans would demand for their rituals. His teacher was the War Chieftan's daughter, Wihakayda, who almost drowned him a few times out of spite.)
As he grew older, the now much taller youth started to learn the ways of trapping animals and skinning them for meat and leathers. He was taught this in his third clan and tribe that he had been traded to. Having had no close ties to anyone within the second tribe (which was essentially a travelling village), Dasan simply accepted this as his fate - exactly as the spirits wanted him to. His talent for such grew that once he was traded to the Clan of the Bronze-Hooved Antelope, the tribe that had held him last was demanding something akin to a "bride's price" for Dasan - and they acquired it. The young Sheykan knew he had value now, even if it was only something that people would trade in mehrials as if he was a slave. He refused to accept such thoughts about himself, and sought to improve his skill even more. Never once seeking out the hand of a fellow Sheykan maiden, Dasan would instead spend more and more time within the woods, keeping his own company and doing as the head shaman, druid, and artisans bade him. He found himself competing more than once against the lead tracker's twin sons Yahto and Goyathay for the best kills. However, these "competitions" were to impress the women of the tribe, and Dasan was having none of it.
Over the years that he spent being passed between various tribes of the Sheyka, Dasan would remember being sent to the Tribe of the Emerald Kitehawk one long and lean winter, deep in one of the mountain ranges. Here would be when he learned about the ritual of mortal combat, and why certain words should never be uttered in idle conversation. The scars the duel to the death left in his mind would haunt him for years, and forever push in his mind the knowledge he would never be a true Sheykan warrior. Such a battle he witnessed, and he did not know cowardice at the sight but sadness. Yet did he voice none of his hidden thoughts, for such would have been dishonourable to the combatants.
Years would pass, and now Dasan was an fully grown adult. Still unmated, he spent nearly all of his time away from "his people." He seemed to prefer the silence of the forest to that of the clan, and that suited many of the members of the clan just fine. Nothing can stay the same though, and it was brought to a head when the elders came to him. Giving Dasan the choice of coming back to them fully and taking a mate, or finding his way on his own as his ways were not theirs and they could not keep allowing him to do as he wished. (There were many times Dasan would disappear for days on end, only to come back with herbs, skins, and occasionally information to give to the spiritual leaders.) The elders knew that if Dasan were allowed to continue as he was, it would only lead to others thinking to do the same. He bowed to their will, not being a angry or violent man and collecting his things he left to seek a place where he could belong, or at least a land that did not care what he did.
It would be at least four long years before Dasan would come across the city known as Nanthalion. Not knowing how to read or write, his skills were just enough to get him food and shelter amongst other Sheykan clans for a few days. Travelling from place to place aimlessly, he would eventually come across more than one town that would welcome him for a time. Dasan knew that such time was short, so he would do what he could to remain as long as possible before he would be on his way again. Never truly earning any significant amount of mehrials, Dasan made it a point to never leave any debts behind him. He was not about to be enslaved for a missing copper on a bedside stand.
The hidden name within Dasan's chest would grow, and Dasan (or Kestejoo to the spirits that would call upon him), would find himself more and more drawn to places of great sorrow or significance. Never needing to do more than make some sort of offering, Dasan once more blindly accepted where fate was leading him. After all, he had never been horsewhipped or flogged, tortured with claw or raped by sorcery. He had managed to witness such things from a distance at times, which had always kept him wary of any place with spires. For him such towers always meant places of cruelty. Nature was not always kind, but there was rarely a desire to torment and horrify in the ways of the forest. And even with most of his time spent between the trees and the plains, did he never come across the more powerful mystic races of Belariath before arriving in Nanthalion.