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I see a stream, that rythmic and smooth flow which beats melodiously upon the rocks at each bend. He sits, crouched low, cloak hood gaurding his face, the rain falling lazily upon him and the ground. Strands of Raven black hair falls down and upon his cheeks and brows, wet. The Heron marked sword jutting upward, the hilt glistening within the moonlit rain. Above, Ravens flock and give their cries, each an ever closer cry within the man himself. And Sylynt stands, his features muted by the shadowing cloak, and he walks calmly down the stream, the small ripples upon the water justifiying his own feelings...
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Sylynt was plagued with bad dreams from the beginning. His father an assassin for Chaos, and mother a harlot within their own house. He was raised with no love as both parents would nae show such feelings. He was a mistake. He broke away from them at twelve and joined a theives guild where he was taught the beginnings of Chaos power. When his mother and father were both killed two years later, he left the ville, controlling his temptations for revenge. Even though his mother and father were never much of a title, he still secretly loved them. He traveled long and hard, reaching for every ounce of strength within himself. He woke within a bed, soft with down, golden hued sheets, and canopy. There, with King Agalmar and the Sun Throne, he was taught the Art of the Sword. He left at the age of twenty and took odd jobs as a bodyguard for traders and house nobles. He soon found himself at the Towers of the Sunset, at Westwind, where the women are the warriors and men nothing more than harmless beings. He met a man named Creslin, silver haired, whom was the Marshalls son, yet knew the art of the sword. Sylynt met with him outside of Westwind when Creslin refused a fixed marriage and helped him escape. After such, Creslin and he departed each others company, and found himself alone. He fell from his horse that day, though he doesn't know how or when. A Raven crowed, he wind picked up, and he was suddenly thrown from his horse. Before him stood a massive tree, the new rain beating down upon him and it, its enormous branches stretching for miles. Upon it perched a single Raven, its head cocked slightly to the side. Somehow it spoke..
"Come unto me m'lord Sylynt, and the path should be shown. As a man of chivalry and honor despite your childhood, you have been choosen. a man of shadows, you will be, a man of darkness upon, you will radiate, but within such, a heart of gold beats, its warmness caressing each it touches. Allow me to be your body and you be my heart that I have longed for.."
The Raven crows as it lifts from the tree, and Sylynt greets him...
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