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Library: The Wrath of Darkness

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Author: smash
Date:Oct 28 2009


I don't know what possessed the foul creature to take my father's form and
return back to the villiage. I suppose it doesn't really matter to most but to
me, it consumes me with a rage. For though it caused my creation, in the same
breath it destroyed what my life could have been and left me entombed in the
blackness.

But I digress from the tale at hand. I am told we were a simple farming
village and my mother's husband was the blacksmith. An adventurer of some
small fame, he had given up the blade and taken up the hammer. He had seen to
much blood they say and stepped back from being one of the holy warriors
fighting for Justice. Who knows anymore really, he could have been a drunken
fool for all I know for I never met him. Another debt that shall be repaid one
day.
The village lied nestled in the hills underneath the shadow of the mountain.
It sheltered us from the cold winds of the winter, but still the growing
season was short. So when the dragon's shadow began to cover our lands the
elders began to worry. At first nothing came of it. Possibly it had lain
dormat in the very mountain that sheltered us from the fury of the harsh
winds. Ironic that the very thing that protected us from the elements would
cause our undoing. 

Loosing the livestock was the end of the silent truce that the elders had
hoped would be enough. Though large and powerful, the beast was typical of its
kind , lazy and malicious. Perhaps had it not eaten the sheep herders as well
nothing would have come of it, but who can say. They had tried to send someone
to the city of Brosna to request aid, but he never made it. The foul beast
mocked the village by leaving the charred remains of the scout in the village
square. Oh it was a cunning beast and like a cat playing with a mouse it must
have enjoyed the terror it instilled in us. 

The elders did not know what to do at this point. Cut off, isolated and facing
a foe which they had no clue how to deal with they were helpless as newborns.
I am told my mother pleaded with her husband to let things be. But in the end
perhaps he realized he could not simply run from who he was and live in the
shadow of fear, the very thing he once fought against. So he gathered his
things. Put out the forge. Neatly set aside his tools. And unlocked the trunk
that was kept in the study and closed the door. 

Later he emerged and as the story goes, it was like seeing a stranger. Gone
was the gentle smile that use to grace his lips. No longer did he stoop and
walk in a slow lurch. His eyes gleamed in blue fury they say and his face was
stern as if chiselled in granite. He strode with purpose, clad in armour of
the finest blue and white. In his clasped fist was a sword. It's edges gleamed
in the sun and it glowed with a bright fury that almost matched the sun's
brilliance. Saying not a word he strode northward, towards the mountains with
the hopes of the village riding on his shoulders. He was never seen alive
again...... 

Some would like to think that during his journey to find the wryms lair that
common sense had prevailed and he had kept marching and left the village to
its demise. However that was not the case. Who knows what goes through a man's
head when forced to come to grips with what he was running from and cast back
the cloak that he had shrouded himself in. Hopefully the years in the village
had brought some solace to his soul, but in the end one can not deny ones
nature. I can see that now and I respect him for it. Truth be told, those I
respect can be counted on one hand....though none of them are still in the
land of the living. 

So in the end he did what every good holy warrior should do......die. How do I
know this you may ask. Well who truly knows why but for some preverse pleasure
the beast that slew the man returned that night to the village , in the form
of the smith. Perhaps it was just another torture it wanted to submit the
village to, who truly knows the twisted mind of such beasts. Nevertheless, it
came to our home and took my mother as his and planted its foul seed in her.
At the time she knew not that she was sleeping with the beast and was just
overcome with joy to be back in her husbands arms after so many days apart.
Though in the morning he was gone and the dead body of the smith was found,
torn in half. It was only then did she realize what had happened. 

She never told anyone and I was born and raised as a normal child. Though I
sensed I was different from the others it was nothing obvious. When I was 15
my mother took ill and on her death bed she confessed to me that I may not be
my father's son, but that of the beast that slew him. I shall never know why
she chose at that time to relieve her secret. Perhaps its burden had hung on
her like a hangmans noose, choking the joy of seeing her child grow up before
her eyes and knowing it was that of a beast. 

I took it well I thought. Though perhaps things did get out of hand for truly
I did not intend to burn down the entire village.....well maybe most of it. I
left to the city with the ashes still clinging to my tunic and never looked
back. I knew I would return when I was ready,so there was no need to say
goodbye. With each step my rage grew and with it came purpose. Yes I would
return and the fires that destroyed the village would be nothing compared to
what I would do when I was able to face my father, the beast. 

I had dabbled in magic ever since i could read. It came natural to me I
suppose. I did not understand before but with my mother's words the secret at
last had been unlocked. Magic soon became my life. I lived and breathed its
sweet fragrance and thought of nothing else. All I wanted was to gain more and
feel its power course through me and twist it to my purpose. At first I joined
some of the schools in the city, yet there lessons fell on my deaf ears. Alas
I knew I could not proceed alone. Time was something I did not have patience
for and my rage would not alllow it. Some might consider the deeds I have done
dark and evil, but who cares what the dead think. I swftly consumed them and
moved on, leaving their dry husks behind me. 

Oh I could be charming when the need arose. To those that really did not know
me, I was a praticioner of the Arts who was always willing to help research.
Accidents do happen when conducting research of this sort and I am sad to say
my peers in the field did seem to have misfortune around me. Do I regret it,
no. The ends do justify the means and my purpose is of the most noble. The
stains on my soul are nothing compared to what I seek. To destroy the Wyrms! 

Though I have learned much and am considered to have few equals in the field
of magic, I know it still is not enough. Something is missing, the time is not
right to return to my home and find my dear father and consume his soul. I
have studied long, seen many things, done many deeds to further my studies in
the arts. 

But know only one thing remains. 

To truly know the beast, one must become the Beast........
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