Tears of blood stream from the heavens as the birth of our kind come forth.
My memory is fading from my transition, but what I remember of my mother and
father is fierce and vicious. Both of my parents were skilled with the blade,
but they enjoyed to take advantage of the weak and toy with their pray. I
remember on one particular dark day, my father shot an arrow at the back
of a man's leg immobilizing him. In a flash my mother appeared with dull
rusted knife. She snatched his coin purse and began to skin him alive, taking
bits of him as trophies. Oh how they laughed and motioned for me to join in.
I took my spiked mace and bashed it again his hands, as the blood splattered
on my face and his screams filled my ears. A sense of peace overcame me and
I could see more clearly than ever. I raised the same mace and brought it ever
so closely to his neck. With a whimper his heart stopped and he slumped over dead.
I took my sword and cut his ears, nose and tongue from his head and stuffed them
in my sack. A voice from the heavens could be heard laughing saying keep them for
me, for one day I shall collect your trophies.
A presence of darkness and death surrounds this man before you. He is
completely covered in blood and various body parts cling to his frame. A
strong stench emanates from his core as you see active wounds fester with
various stages of gangrene. Small beady eyes stare back at you lifeless and
without emotion. His scalp is cleanly shaven, displaying a brand of a
pentagram on the center of his skull. His nose has been broken several
times and with each breath he takes you hear him wheeze. Thin arms and legs
sprout from this being with oddly shaped fingers and toes. A deep guttural
growl begins to feel the space around you.