Library: The Wrath of Darkness

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........ x x

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Library: The Wrath of Darkness