Child of Darkness

Zhen was born as a slave in a complex on the outskirts of Darkhaven. He was never once shown love or affection as a child. From the time he could walk he was forced to compete with the other children for food, water and bedding. Everyone in the complex had ashen white skin. Zhen was the only one with darker skin and thus he was simply called 'dark one' by the others. When he was five years old he was put into the fighting pits, put into matches against children of similar age. Despite their small muscles and incoordination the battles would often end in great pain. By the time he was seven years old the children had settled into clear groups. There were those that were a head taller than the rest and excelled in the pits. There were those that were average sized, who could hold their own against others their size and pummel the smaller children. And then there were the runts. Being small and weak they were at the mercy of the others. Zhen belonged to this group. Constantly beaten and humiliated, with no end in sight, Zhen was nearly ready to give up on life and resign himself to the fact that he would only ever lose. Whether through fate or happenstance, he found something that would change everything. During a routine beating in the pit, he was sent sprawling onto the sandy floor. As he braced himself to get up, he felt something hard under one of his hands. It felt like a stone but it seemed carved, like a small statue. He kept the small stone gripped tightly within his fist for the rest of the battle and once enough of his blood was spilled he was allowed to return to the communal pens. He huddled himself alone in a corner and slowly opened his hand, revealing a small statue. It was a perfect carving of the God of Blood, Davairus, made out of pure ebony. Either by a trick of his mind or in reality it felt as if it was thrumming with power. Simply focusing on it seemed to bolster his strength and firm up his resolve to look to the next day and the next. He tightly gripped the small statue every night as he slept, and hid it every day when he had to leave the pens. Whether through divine intervention or sheer luck he started to grow rapidly and his agility quickly improved. It was not long before he ascended to the middle rank. By the time he was nine he had ascended to the top group. He had never asked anyone about the statue before because he feared it would be discovered and taken away. It was not until he was eleven years old and when he was one of the strongest children that he asked another if they knew any gods that looked like a dragon. By luck or destiny, they did and they told Zhen of the God of Blood. From that day on, any time Zhen clutched the statue in his fist or went into battle, he would send a silent prayer to Davairus in his mind, to strengthen him in order to spill the blood of his enemies. Zhen remained a slave until he turned seventeen. It was then that the compound was raided. He didn't know who was attacking the guards or why, but he didn't care. He and all of the other children took the opportunity to flee, killing their oppressors in their wake. Once Zhen was free, he decided upon his own name and sought to learn more of the God of Blood. He found a secluded monastery in Dankbark wood. Within lived a single monk, a devotee of the God of Blood, and they took Zhen in. There he trained in the art of the monk, all the while strengthening his devotion to his God. Once he felt he was competent enough in the martial arts, he set out from the monastery with a goal to gain honor and to spread the faith of his God, whether by word or blood.