Title: Prince
Character(s): Those Irritatingly Gossipy Villagers
His armor was splashed with blood, they noted, and no matter how long he stood in the fresh air, it never stopped glistening in that malevolent crimson colour. It never dried, permanently marking him as a killer, a hunter. It told tales—in more words than they could ever utter—of the scores of people he presented to his god.
Skorm whispered to him, they said, the moment his dark boots first touched the floor of the Chapel. It was as though it were meant to be, needed to be. As though some force like destiny or fate had mesmerized the young hero and brought him to the deepest recesses of Darkwood.
He could have gone either way, they thought. From the massacre of his hometown that spurned him to become a hero, he could have become Avo's light if only… if only he had overcome the hatred burning within his heart.
But Skorm claimed him first.
Skorm whispered sweet enticements into the hero's susceptible ears, coaxing him quietly into the night with promises of vengeance and power. Some said the young hero grew to be more than even Skorm had anticipated, gleefully killing in the name of his master.