Embers

[korwrath]

"Who am I? What am I? Who was I? What was I?"

"There is nothing one can be certain about when one serves the Changer of Ways. Even his name is one of great discussion. For me, I am known as Korwrath the Soulscourge, the Blackheart. I remember many things, some are my own memories, some are not mine yet I still remember them as if they were. What is clear is my early years was growing up in distant Troll Country, or what the soft southrons call it. To me it is home. Home amongst the Iron Wolves of Aelfrik Cyenwulf. We are Norse, but not. We are Kurgan, but not. So what breed of northmen we call ours is not important. We serve Tzeentch, I grew up knowing this. I do give credit to the other powers of chaos, both great and lesser. To do less would be foolish..."

"I sit here, fire in my gaze. An apt symbol of the Changer. It gives life as well as takes it, it cares not. I remember my youth in the nomadic villages we had. I was the child of a blacksmith, whom they were no longer is important, only that I killed them. I was stigmatized as a babe. My tribes-people say that blue eyes are a sign of blessing, so with my slitted feline eyes I was not. I was given to bouts of muttering to myself, and arguing with people who did not exist. I could not be taught, our shamen found me intractable and 'troll-brained'. But I was not stupid, I heard the myraid of whispers of the great Sea of Souls. But I was still an outcast and I knew it. From one seeming madness to another I was barely tolerated, and who could blame them? I could not, I would not. For a time one of the tribal elder's daughter took an interest in me. She would bring me food, though I think she thought of me as more of a pet then of the tribe. This relationship lasted many years, until my rite of ascention to manhood. I was denied even that, and in a fit of rage I killed my parents. She happened to walk in on the scene of carnage and to keep myself alive, I strangled the life from her. An act that would echo and repeat many more times. I fled my home, my tribe, my people and into the formless wastes, there I was visited by a herald of Tzeentch. I was told of the greatness that could be mine, should be mine, would be mine. It was like sweet honey on the tongue. I gladly accepted what was offered, without asking 'why'. I was give a suit of chaos armor, one that seemed to writhe and change at a moments notice. I cared little about that. But once I donned it, I realized my mistake. The armor, known as the Soulscourge, was semi-sentient and it hungered. I learned soon that the price to pay was steep. It could never be removed, ever. I could die, but it never lasted. Many times i've been struck down, only to awaken shortly after, whole again. At least in form. The armor did this as a gift, but It also takes the souls of those worthy enough, and adds them to the shrieking chorus that exists within. So I hear them near constantly. They beg, they curse, they cajole, they lie, they whisper... always whispering... back of the mind... I am the only one who can hear them. Loud or quiet. At times it drives me to distraction, as I attempt to master within. There is far more to this then the time allows here. Again I hear the clarion call to battle, my hand twitches over my chaos rune-blade's handle. I know clarity will be fleeting soon. Time to reave, reap, and harvest. For the conflict is eternal, and I am but a piece in the game."

[CzarRedwall]

Frostmourne hungers... sorry couldn't resist

Nice stuff

[Glorian]

Aye. Good stuff.