The year the Moondale inhabitants gave over to the Sembians was a year of breaking. The once united people divided between those who agreed and turned to the Sembian side of the negotiations, aiming to strive in the current world with trade and business in their minds, and the ones who stood truthfully to their ancestors and history and hid themselves inside and near the rim of the Archwood. That year, they were known for the Dijauhi, "Shunned Ones", those who would not abide to become civilized. They weren't welcomed in the merchants' cities and were made to keep by themselves near the Archwood. As years passed, though, they did not even have that right. They were driven back towards the interior of the great forest, which diminished drastically in size as the farmlands ate the trees and the undergrowth. Hunt and plowing almost took over the forest, if it weren't for the fear of civilized men from what they didn't know. And the depths of the forest were avoided by everyone.
Inside it, the Dijauhi survived, helped by the fey and sylvan creatures, they learned the way of the forest kin, took for certain only what the rains brought, what they could gather from nature itself. Soon, they forgot about the ties they once had with civilization and became a tribal population, with a language of its own, a culture unknown to others and of unique aspect. They became one with the forest around them.
Kesendaran came to the world many years after his people became one with the forest. He was no different from his kin, brother and sister alike, one more to their numbers. Short in size, his dark brown hair was never combed nor taken care of, assuming the aspect of tree roots, tangled with leaves and dirt and the carcasses of dead insects adorning it. Even among his own people, he was frowned upon when he took his baths publicly - mud baths, mind - immersing himself in the humus and soil of the forest, pleased that he could feel the forest's soul and revel in it.
His outer aspect grew slightly different from his kin out of his odd habits, his skin getting a rare kind of mould attached to it, turning it Gray-greenish, with an odd texture at that. He often decorates himself with vines and leafs he finds fallen around the forest, along with his fur-lined clothes made of the deceased animals he discovers. Patches of rabbit, fox and mink furs, all stitched together to make a light cover of his skin, even with the animals' own heads jutting in the most weird positions, as if being born out of the Dijauhi son.
The law inside the ring of trees abides to the strongest and that one usually is who hunts. Thus, Kesendaran learnt the art of hunting by watching the other predators at their activities, mimicking their strategies and forming his own. He usually walks around with several small spears with long sharp tips that he uses for throwing and stabbing quickly, along with a longer one at his back and two hand-axes at his belt, for utility. Being known as a good provider of skins, game and concoctions, the other Dijauhi gave them the axes as offers for their services and occasionally gift him with something he asks for or needs without asking for something in return; he already does much for the populace.
Along with his hunting skill, something more came to him as he grew up in his seclusion of people of his own race. Attuned to the needs and whims of the forest around him, the spirits often came to guide him and teach, or just to hear him speak. Seemingly mad, he roamed the Archwood days in a row, not ever stopping, as if drunk in the sweetest of beverages, entangled in a tribal dance that took him through every yard of the forest, spreading seeds and plant siblings and helping the sylvan creatures in need if he found them. It took a tenday for him to overcome that thrill that filled him to the brink of explosion. When it ended, he could see much clearer. He had now a greater understanding of this world; and more. His senses were sharper, his mind keener. He discovered he could make seeds sprout just by touching them and, most fantastically, he discovered he could see the spirits around him, like will'o'wisps of bright colours, that moved erratically in an endless dance to the tune of life. He became their confider and speaker, bringing word to the earthen kin of the forest's mood. The other Dijauhi saw him as a messenger and accepted him, as they always had.
But now, a new path opens before him and the spirits urge him to follow. The forest can hold no longer what it has inside. It must grow. He must find a way to let the forest grow, to drive back the ones who harmed life. He is to be the messenger and link with the civilized world. With this in sight, he went to the elders of the Dijauhi, learning from them, the remnants of their memories, what could be learned from the outside world, before he ventured himself out of his grounds. His spirit was strong; the path unwavering. He would thread along its curves and see where it would lead him.