A/N: Naturally this is where I throw out the disclaimer that Wakfu, the World of Twelve, Katar, and Atcham all belong to Ankama and not to myself. The OCs appearing in this prelude belong to myself and a friend, and are a partial plug for a separate fanfiction in which those characters are the main focus (and will not appear again afterward.) A lot of the story is headcanoned and made solely for the purpose of I selfishly wanted to give Katar his own story prior to being possessed by Médoroziam and killing Goultard's family, so there you have it.

Not all monsters of the darkest design are born colored so, but fall under shadow without warning...

The young Iop knight looked up at the faded, crumbling mosaic on the wall, her green eyes wide as she read the red-and-black inscription. Something about the art gave her chills and it wasn't just the words "remember the Forsaken, lest he rise again." The Sacrier warrior depicted in the mosaic looked crazed, euphoric with bloodlust and a frenzy that belonged on a battlefield, not at the slaughter of innocents. Avis shuddered; it didn't feel right.

"Hey, what's wrong, Fire-ball?" A kind voice said softly nearby, trailing off as its owner drew near and looked up at the mosaic in horror beside her. Avis couldn't bring herself to tear her eyes away from the sinister art, not even to regard the Eniripsa she valued as an elder sister figure. The image of the wild-eyed Sacrier was somehow too mesmerizing, even as horrifying as it was.

"Jadir," Verenia found her voice, raising it to catch the attention of their two other traveling companions, "What is this...?"

As one the two women turned, glancing over their shoulders at the Sadida and the Sacrier as they inspected a rare plant growing in the ruin. Cypress looked up first, blinking in surprise as he turned away from the plant, cradling some of its seeds in his palms. Jadir tensed visibly before half-turning in their direction, his fierce eyes immediately locking onto the wall. Slowly he straightened up and marched resolutely toward them, Cypress hesitantly following in his wake.

"It's a monument." Jadir spoke much more calmly and softly than normal, a thickness of emotion in his voice none of them were familiar with. "A reminder, and not a nice one."

Cypress tipped the seeds from his hands somewhat clumsily into a pouch as he stared up at the mosaic and murmured, "It looks warped, twisted... and sad."

"Not to mention just plain wrong..." Avis added.

Jadir nodded slowly, gaze never wavering. "It's supposed to be that way, so we don't forget."

"Forget what?" Avis asked, turning to look at him.

"Katar the Forsaken." He replied, and the words seemed to echo and whisper around the old chamber unnaturally. "He's not quite passed into myth, but he's a legend out of my people's history, and not exactly one we enjoy remembering. His evil is a stain on my people's honor and we all have to carry the shame in our hearts. The mosaics of his story are few and scattered, but every one of us makes a pilgrimage to learn the story by the time we enter adulthood."

"And what is the story?" Verenia asked, looking back up at the wall, her doe eyes studying the shape of Katar.

"A lot of the details are either unknown or lost to time." Jadir replied. "But we know that Katar was born to a small village ruled over by an ambitious lord, and he was an orphan. He had raw talent as a fighter even when he was young, coupled with a very strong sense of justice, and when he entered adolescence he was recruited to the guard of the lord's family. In fact, some people who retell the story put him close in age to the lord's son, and say that Katar bonded with him like a brother. Others say the boy and Katar grew to be enemies and there were things occurring behind the scenes to spur the hatred. Issue is, nobody's certain about whether it was one way or another; Katar made several notable enemies and rivals. But he was with the guard from thirteen years on and gained a reputation as a loyal and vicious fighter eager to prove his worth and protect not only the family he served, but also the people of his hometown."

A quiet settled over the companions as they absorbed the story, each looking up at the wicked image of the pale Sacrier and trying to see if they could spot hints of this person he used to be hidden somewhere in his mosaic. Unfortunately the artist appeared not to have concerned themselves with the beginning of the story, and thus left no traces of such an upstanding young warrior in the piece. Cypress continued to look on in bewilderment until it became evident Jadir was no longer forthcoming with the story, and the young Sadida turned to give his friend an inquiring look.

"So then what happened? What changed?" He prompted, only to get a helpless shrug.

"Nobody is totally sure." Jadir murmured, crossing his arms as he bowed his head. "At the most we have vague guesses, but none that our historians agree on. We just know that one day Katar started ruthlessly slaughtering everyone that had known him. It was a complete about-face, and many people think he was possessed. He killed almost the entire town with some unholy relish, and the stories say he especially took his time with the deaths of the Eniripsas he could get his hands on."

Verenia immediately shuddered in fear and took a few steps back, her eyes wide.

"Jay, that's not funny!" Cypress snapped as he placed himself between her and their Sacrier companion like a shield.

"I'm not joking." The reply was cold and edged like a sword. "From what we do know, much of the tale of Katar's life before he started killing was told by an Eniripsa, one who had known him as a child. Nobody knows how or why she survived, but she was the one who told the tale, so perhaps the goddesses both intervened directly to save her."

"The goddess Eniripsa and the goddess Sacrier?" Avis asked in surprise. "I didn't think they ever really saw eye-to-eye on most things?"

"If that's truly the case and yet they both saved her, then they must have wanted to ensure history wouldn't repeat itself." Cypress remarked in awe before returning his attention to the mosaic. "But then... did Sacrier disown Katar? Is that why he is so...unmarked? Is that why you call him forsaken?"

Jadir didn't look up but grunted and gave a near-imperceptible nod.

"But if the goddess disowned him," Avis spoke up again, clearly perplexed, "shouldn't she have taken away his powers?"

"His hemomancy, you mean?" Jadir prompted. "That's become as much a racial gift as it is an endowment from Sacrier. But at the same time, I think she may have chosen to strip him of his marks but still leave him with some of his power; she's the goddess of pain and mortality. All things live and die, and all things both feel and inflict pain. Maybe she planned on him suffering somehow for his sins after she turned her face from him? I don't know, and I'm not sure it's my place to know; I don't presume to understand the whims of the gods..."