"So. . . You want to hear my story?"

"Come with me. . . I'll show you what true potential really is. . ."

Those were the last words I remember from that day. . . Before my life became this. . . This hell!

Let me start from the begining. My name is Curos Vern. I was born in a little village up the coast. As the eldest in my family I was to become a cleric to our Goddess, Shar. For six years. . . SIX YEARS of my life I devoted myself to the teachings of the Cleric. When the time came for me to choose my weapon, I decided I was going to keep the ideal of my family's life. You see, I was the first succesful cleric in my family. Every other member of my family's eldest lineage had failed the final test. I was different. I was superior to them. But they were my family. And I was loyal to my family. My family had meant everything to me. . .

My weapons had come straight from the honor of my family. My father had made for me two beautiful Kama's, a farmer's tool that could be used for brutal purposes in battle. My grandfather though. . . He had a different plan for me. To me he bestowed a tattoo of the shadow plane, something he called a shadow cache. I had no idea what it was. . . But my dreams from that night on. . . I dreamt of a distant field of black grass, almost like they were made of shadows. In the field sat a scythe, the blade as black as the grass surrounding it. It called to me somehow. . . As if it was meant to be wielded by me. But every time I got close to it. . . Every time I got to brush my fingers against the beautiful oaken staff. . . I would wake up in a cold sweat.

It was a year after my graduation from the Cleric Academy. My family and I were rejoicing in a nearby tavern for the slaying of a rather pesky wolf that had been terrorizing the town's live stock. The door opened and a cold chill ran across my neck, never a good sign. I turned in my chair and fixed my sight on two men. . . Atleast I thought they were men. The smaller of the two was shrouded completly in shadows, his features hidden, even his body. The only thing you could see on him was a silver ring. The other man was so tall that he filled the doorway, though his aura chocked the entire atmosphere of the tavern. Everyone's eyes were fixed on that titan of a man. Suddenly, he spoke, his voice carrying the lyrical tones of a murderer's lullaby.

"I will ask this only once. . . Who of you killed the wolf. . ."

Something dug into me, as if telling me to answer the strange man. I could hear the voice of Shar in my mind, screaming at me to stop, that it would spell the end of my life. But I couldn't ignore the digging feeling, I had to answer the man. I stood from my chair, stepping up behind my mother and father, my hands finding their way to their shoulders. Despite the cold feeling I felt in my spirit, my heart was warm as I embraced both my mother and father

"I was the one to slaughter the wolf. He had terrorized the live stock of our village for to long. In the name of Shar, our goddess, I took it's life"

"Excellent."

A soft breeze blew past my waist as I locked gazes with the titan, a feeling of wetness coming across my hand, as if something was dripping over it. I looked down and finally I understood the reason behind the terrible feeling. Blood dripped down the tips of my fingers, cascading down onto the bossom of my mother. Her jaw was missing, muscle sinews and bone grizzle falling onto her lap with a sickening plop. I screamed in horror and tried to pull away from my parents, only to be held in place by a vice like grip. I looked to my other side to see the withering hand of my father, what remained of his fingers digging into my wrist. I screamed for him to let go, for him to let me save the rest of my family. He only shook his head as the sound of water splashing filled the room. Only it wasn't water. The floors began to run red with the blood of not only my family, but the tavern folk as well, each killed in a different manner, almost artistically. I pulled my eyes from my slowly decaying father to cast my gaze over the doomed tavern folk. Some were choked by long vines of bramble thorns, black roses blooming of their hearts as if in irony to their death. Others had their bodies turned inside out, the veins of their bodies wrapped completly around their necks. Some were sliced from hip to shoulder, others gurgling from slit throats.

I looked back up to the evil man, his chuckles finally reaching my ears. He was tossing something up and down in his hand, the remains of my mother's lower jaw.

"Not to enjoyable watching something you grow up with die, is it?"

I could do nothing as I stood rooted to the spot, my father's grip keeping me in place. It wasn't needed though. I was broken. Despite all of my training, I was useless. I sunk to the floor, what remained of my father's arm snapping off, the rest of his body crumbling into dust, as if aged so far that his body dried up from old age. The ashes slowly wrapped around my hand, taking form in the shape of some strange tattoo, similar to the one bestowed upon my by my grandfather.

My head turned back up towards the Titan, watching him with dull, lifeless eyes as he turned to leave.

“Come, Jekkus. Our work here is done. . .”
“Yes, Master Ravencross. . .”

Jekkus, and Ravencross. . . I will never forget those names. Those are the names I have sworn eternal damnation too. I will kill them with my bare hands. . . How will I do it you ask? Very simply. . . You see, there was a survivor other than myself to the slaughter. My grandfather had stayed behind at the house that day, and perhaps we should have listened to him as well. . . The only thing he could say all day was The evil returns to us, it hungers for revenge. As I returned home, somehow dragging my broken body back towards the pathetic excuse I now owned as a house, I saw my grandfather sitting on the front porch. There were two packs set next to him. He raised a hand to me as he spoke.

“There is nothing left for us here. Come with me, if you want to know what true potential really is.”

The man telling the story suddenly began to stretch, picking up his goblet to finish off the last bit of wine “Well, that’s my story. Sorry, but it seems that I’ve. . . Upset you a little bit. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go see a man about a debt he owe’s me.” The man tugs the hood of his cloak over his face, though it wasn’t necessary. His face was already shrouded in shadows that seemed to radiate some kind of unsettling aura. He turned from his chair and slowly left the tavern, his back turned to the carnage that lay out over the floor. Necks were sliced open, blood pooling onto the floor and onto tables. The bartender himself had his heart cut from his chest, his body placed in a comical manner, as if he were listening to a story being told.

One man in particular was mutilated rather strangely. He was left completely naked, his arms sliced open all the way up to the shoulder, the cuts so deep you could pull out the bones within. His lower jaw had been sliced from his face, the cuts so clean that it looked artistic. The only thing left on the man’s person was a silver ring.

Outside, Curos picked a few bits of flesh and grime from his scythe, the black blade humming, almost purring, as if the carnage had pleased it somehow "Not to enjoyable watching something you grow up with die, is it? Now then. . . Off to Eldarus. . .". Curos laughs wickedly, almost insanely as he walks off towards the edge of town, leaving the tavern behind him. The sign above the establishment read Ravencross Tavern and Inn.

... Woah.