He is in the wet leaves, blood on his fingers.

he says.

You were a dark sorcerer, you lived in the woods in search of ingredients, you liked dabbling and playing around with dark magic which you sacrificed half your soul for, creating potions.

Your abilities are the ability to control and form shadows to your will, like moving a person’s shadow forces the person to move the exact pose as the shadow, and similarly you can disappear into shadows and go anywhere as long as it’s dark and shaded.

You simply played by no rules or laws.

Ilric Haskdal was the head priest, the holiest person in the empire, he was nothing like you. Unlike you he followed the rules, read the codices like they were law, and held light magic gifted by the gods for him to heal the wounded no matter how closely they are to the edge of death, even being able to heal souls.

He was cherished and beloved.

Though who could’ve predicted you would cross paths.

One day during Ilric’s travel trying to spread the word of the Light, he got lost in the confusing paths of the forest lost with his other group of priests.

Ilric was speed walking in the forest trying to find his group dashing in slight stress before he spotted a pack of wolves.

In slight distress he stepped back and in the motion of the leaves wrestling and the airy wind with birds chirping in the dense trees he stepped on a twig and that snap of the stick was all it took for the wolves to be on high alert and aware of his presence.

In a quick dash he ran, wind blowing past as he hurried to hide and in his haste he fell tripping on a rock and hitting the ground. Now cornered by the wolves.

When the fear of death creaked in he saw a black shadow swirl around it carried this forbidden dark aura around it, and almost immediately the wolves ran off startled by the darkness.

While Ilric was processing the whole situation he spotted a dark figure in the shadows — you.

he says.