NOTE: I don't own any of the characters from Ranger's Apprentice! This is a fanfiction based off one of my other fanfictions: A Shadow and a Warrior. This story follows a character I created who is dark and deadly, a polar opposite of Will and whom tries to teach the young Ranger apprentice to become his successor. Any more context is given in that story.

Now tread lightly, all who dare to follow Raven's history and to walk in his footsteps. His heart and mind are black with evil and darkness. Discover how this deadly warrior, assassin, leader, and father came to be created!

Raven's Story Chapter 1

(Groan)

Stop shaking me, you idiot!

"Come on, Teller! Wake up! Mom promised to take us into town today!" cries the cheerful young voice he knows all too well.

"Henry…get off me you big toad," Teller growls playfully.

The shaking stops. Soft footsteps on the wooden floorboards recede. Teller sighs and pulls the blankets tighter around his shoulders. It's a cold morning as spring pulls away from winter. Father kept him up most of the night fixing the plow and tack. The footsteps return, pattering quickly. Something hard hits his stomach. Teller hits the ground on the other side of his bed before he can think. Green eyes now wide open, he looks up at his bed. The little blond head and blue eyes of his little brother peak over the edge.

"I'm going to get you for that!" Teller shouts, throwing his blankets off.

Henry cries out in mock fear and makes a run for the door. Teller easily vaults over his small bed in chase. With a squeal, Henry goes down under Teller's weight. Teller holds firm as his baby brother squirms desperately. Taking a deep breath, he leans over and blows bubbles into his brother's soft neck. Henry cries out and struggles all the more. His brother's grip was firm, however.

The door opens, making both boys look up. Standing there, hands on her hips, is a medium sized young girl with sparkling green eyes and long brown hair. She is younger than Teller but older than Henry. This did not make her any less terrifying to Teller, especially when she was mad. Today she was smiling at the scene before her. It's a beautiful smile, one that you have to return. Teller smiled broadly at his sister as Henry giggled under him.

"Teller," Quince said in a mock-reprimanding tone (something she learned from Mother), "Do be a gentleman for one day and let your brother up."

"Yes, ma'am," Teller said with a slight bow, putting more weight on his brother. Henry grunted in frustration. Still smiling at his sister, Teller arose and let his brother up. Quickly darting behind a curtain, Teller changed into more appropriate clothes than his hand-sewn pajamas.

"YOU THREE GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!" bellowed Father as Teller finished.

Instantly the three raced down the stairs. Father was not a nice man whenever he was angry. Beatings often followed his anger. The only one who never got touched was Quince. Verbal abuse was her life. To Father, she was a slug and useless until a man chose to marry her. Where they lived, the husband would have to pay the father of the bride a sum of money. If another suitor wanted her, he had to pay more money in order to get the girl. The father always gave his daughter to highest payer with no ceremony whatever. That's how Mother had married Father and that's how Quince was going to be married. When the time came her daughter's would be married off in the same fashion. Henry got the lesser end of Father's wrath, usually getting "the stick", a long wooden branch that Father had taken off their apple tree, trimmed, then cleaned. It was the worse punishment that any of them could receive…

As far as Quince and Henry knew.

Reaching the living room first, Teller stepped in and saw Father playing with a blade. Such blades were always sharp and ready to be used. Heart in his throat, Teller came forward and presented himself to Father. The man was of medium height, the shortest of his family line. Brown hair circled a bald spot in the center of his head. Two brown eyes glared at Teller as if he was a piece of bad fish. A scar cut across the man's upper lip, the result from drinking too much and getting into a fight at the tavern. His opponent had lost his life, not that anyone in their district really cared. The man's wife had been remarried in three days to a widower. That had been three years ago and already she had a boy and now has another on the way. Rising from his seat, Father strode towards his eldest son. His beer belly (appropriate name given how he got it) swayed as he walked. Being a farmer did little to help him lose weight. Teller and Henry did most of the work while he sat nearby, drinking beer and whiskey.

"Good morning, sir," Teller said politely, dipping his head. Best to always show Father respect.

Father simply grunted and shouldered past his son. Quince curtsied, earning another grunt, while Henry stayed back and hid. Father did not even register his existence. Not surprising, seeing how most of Father's attention was focused on Teller. Having Father's attention was never a good thing. Being the eldest, Teller was expected to work harder for longer time periods and was beaten whenever Father felt he was not living up to the expectations. Most of the time it was with "the stick" because Quince and Henry were around. After they went to bed, the story was very different. Those sharp blades became a constant threat, ready for blood.

In truth, Teller tried his best. He was strong and fit, unlike his father, which made him a valuable member to the household. Always ready to help, Teller should have earned his father's love and pleasure. His father, however, only seemed to take pleasure in watching his son squirm on the ground as he punished him for something. Green eyes resting on Quince and Henry, Teller knew that he was willing to suffer a lot worse for them. Being the eldest meant they were his responsibility…

A responsibility he would not fail at.

Town was bustling this morning. People raced by as they headed for work or doing household chores. Mother walked forward through the crowd. Father had ditched them the entrance to town. He had some supplies to deliver to a customer. Then he would head for the bar, Teller knew. The tall young man walked behind his mother. Quince was on his right, a basket under one arm. Henry was holding Teller's left hand. The young boy had so much energy and excitement in him. Today was no exception. It was his first time in town. Quince went with Mother every time she headed out. Teller came on occasion with Father.

Not that Teller really cared.

The town, Rzeka (meaning "river" in Polish), was situated only a few feet from the ocean. Any closer and the sandy ground would give out under the weight of the buildings. Several docks stretched from the town to the sea. Teller knew that the ground dropped several feet almost immediately after hitting the water. Storms were rare in this area but the water carried by clouds made the inland fertile for farming. The buildings were not special by any means. Mostly wood harvested from the nearby forest. The older buildings could be distinguished by the amount of rotting that could be seen. Przystan (Polish for Haven) is the town inn and bar. Besides that there were a few shops, mostly for the few ships that came in. The rest was homes and a small makeshift hospital where a healer resided. Despite the small size but thick population, Rzeka was clean town. Most people here desired a clean living space and worked hard with their neighbors to keep it up to standard.

A happy voice suddenly cried out, "Teller!"

Turning, Teller saw three boys coming towards him. He smiled pleasantly at them and waved in return. Quince curtsied to them, making them laugh and blush with embarrassment. They cared a lot about Quince as a friend but it was proper etiquette for her to do so. Taking Henry, Quince left to catch up with Mother. These were the times that Teller liked coming down. He got to see his old childhood friends and hang out with them. Father would never let him but Mother always did. She had once sent Father to the far side of town just so Teller could run off with his friends.

Teller's friends were Joseph, Gorgon, and Smit. Joseph is the oldest, being eighteen years old, standing a little over medium height with broad shoulders and powerful arms. He worked side by side with his father as a blacksmith. Thus, it was not unusual that his light brown hair was made black with soot and smoke. Still, his mischievous hazel eyes glowed brightly. Beside him was sixteen year old Gorgon, known as the fastest runner in the district. Ironically, he is short and plump. However, his legs were powerful enough to give him leaping strides as he ran. His mother had come from farther east, giving her son her lighter complexion and flaming red hair. His eyes were a dark shade of brown like his father, the town's tanner and tack-maker. Lastly was Smit, the son of the carpenter and seventeen since the day before. Like Teller, he is tall but is far more powerful. The young man had been working out since he knew what the term meant. His blue eyes always scanned the sea with a wistful look. Brown hair was neatly cut around his face and kept short by his mother, a woman sought out by people wishing for a better hairdo. He was not the brightest of the group but he was quick thinker in times of trouble. Such wit had come from his overwhelming need to eavesdrop of every private conversation he came by. Thus, in their little group, Joseph was the comedian, Gorgon was athlete, Smit was thinker and eavesdropper, and Teller was leader and brains.

Smit now stepped forward and embraced his best friend. Though tall, Teller still towered over him. Shocking how most of his family was relatively shorter. Even old grandpa, a tall man in his days, was short to his oldest grandson. Joseph clapped his youngest friend, fifteen years old since last month, on the back. Gorgon teasingly punch Teller in the arm and laughed. Teller did not mind being the youngest because they all treated each other as equals. In most of the social groups, these four were weird ones but they were not weird to each other. Together the four walked down the street. They knew to keep close to Teller's family, just in case Father ever appeared. Not one of them had any love for the man and these three alone (besides Mother) knew that Teller's father punished him with the knife. Teller was happy again, forgetting about Father's rant the night before…

If only fate was not so cruel…

In this world, Teller/Raven would be of Polish descent. That's why I get use my love of the Polish language! (Happy dance! – though I don't really have one…)

Anyways, now you get to look into Teller/Raven's original family. I'm told being the oldest is tough (I can't say because I'm an only child with an older sister who has lived in another state my whole life). Though I'm sure none of them will have to go through what Teller/Raven does.

I know I created him but I hate Raven as much as I love him. He's had a hard life and it's only going to get worse. However, I love to know what all of you think of him! Knowing someone's life can change opinions or only reinforce them. I like say "Don't judge until you've heard the whole story".