Prologue : the nightmare.
Running, that's how it always began running through the woods towards his home. Oakvale was burning the legions of the shadow court draining the life from the town.
He hadn't wanted this. As he reached the edge of the wood he fell to his knees in the wheat field "WHY" he screamed his voice breaking with grief joining the howling chorus of death and despair. As his home was ravaged then the screaming reached a crescendo and above all the others one scream. One earth shattering cry. One final chord of a symphony of dark terrible murder reached him. Hers. Then silence. "The silence" he thought "was worse than the screams" he curled up in a little ball on the floor of field, before suddenly realising cold stagnant water was weeping from the ground, the trees suddenly twisted and died their leaves dissolving to corrupted slime joining the foul mixture that formed around him. Then weeds sprang from the ground tearing through the houses submerging the dead in dark twisted shapes.
Standing on dead legs he took 3 steps forward before tripping over and landing in a puddle of mud, blood and that ghastly stagnant grey water "crawl" his mind told him and he did. Grasping the dead roots and weeds he dragged himself over them the thorns bit at his gloves but he still continued. He came to the middle of the village, coated in oozing mud his hair a damp shaggy mess he found her cold dead body in the door way the roots pushing her down her neck utterly and totally broken.
Reaver opened his eyes and cursed. Every night. Every night the same nightmare from a mistake he had made over 300 years ago but still it kept coming a brutal assault to his sanity every night.
he stood up and promptly got dressed. Pulling on his trousers, before he put on his shirt however he walked over to the mirror and smiled. He was immaculate his hair, recently had turned coal black, was perfect. His eyes deep blue with flecks of green and a smirk he had perfected over all of his many centuries of existence so that it folded his genius, his skill and more importantly is incredible sexual prowess all in one. In the mirror you just could see the faint outline of his ribs however he was also muscular with long arms and legs and delicate fingers
the smell of sea water bought him back from his admiring of his perfect body. He quickly pulled on a shirt and a cravat before looking at his cape he decided he fancied a change and pulled out a long white silk coat with a most gorgeous midnight black balverine fur collar to complete his new look he decided upon a top hat and goggles. Much more befitting of the role he intended to take of a business man and political advisor.
His days as an active pirate were over in fact he decided with a sad thought that piracy itself was over its great captains long since slain only he remained "Reaver the last pirate" he mused "I like the sound of that". Stepping onto the deck of his most marvellous warship the Vengeance. He looked about the small coast facing him " Aaaaaaah Oakfield " he whispered " moor up my good hooligans we are now in the kingdom of Albion" with a dramatic flourish towards his crew "I shall be seeing you all as I have a rather urgent conversation to attend to enjoy yourselves you poor uneducated rapscallions tatty bye" he said walking down the gang plank as his ship came to the dock.