[Darkmane]

It seemed like an age had passed, since Darkmane had arrived in Drokkburg. He felt at home here, it´s grand buildings and winding, cobblestone streets had a comfortable familiarity about them. While he enjoyed his new life as a tailor in Drokkburg, with a room at the inn and a job down in the harbor, he felt that a part of him was missing. Since the night on the ship, nightmares no longer plagued his sleep, but there was always a deep emptiness he couldn´t shake.

The sun is slowly setting over the city, bathing the streets in red, as Darkmane takes a walk out past the walls, his mind wrapped in thought. He thinks about the life he has here, the dreams that would wake him from his sleep and his strange arrival in Evervale. Oblivious to the world around him, his feet carrying him down the track and further from the city.

[Listru]

*From the eyes of the spider*

He had first caught a glimpse of the dark haired man some time past on the isle of summer. The man while seemingly undistinguished save for a scar spanning the right of his face would not have been given a second glance, but his appearance was not what drew the arachnids attention.  The darked-haired man was “incomplete” , the threads of his mind were a tangled mess of broken and frayed strings. This sight was abhorrent and utterly corrupted to his own eyes, his weave was broken and mangled through unknown means. This simply would not do.

The man had hardly noticed Enny, most tend to simply miss him while he walked as a man. This was just fine for his purposes.  With the patience that comes with the nature of an ambush predator he followed the man at some distance.  Boarding the ship just after the man he now had a name for the broken weaved person “ Darkmane”.

After some days aboard the ship watching this Darkmane mostly kept to himself in the ship’s hold constantly writing by the meager light of a candle, this suited just fine. Some nights into the journey he awaited the man to sleep, he let his natural form burst forth from the man-form and crept down into the hold keeping to the walls and ceiling of the ship’s interior.

Settling his rather large but far more dexterous form as close to Darkmane’s head as he possibly could while still facing an exit. Affixing all of his eyes and sight upon the broken weave surrounding Darkmane’s mind. Studying the corrupted weave this close it seemed to almost be severed. Awe swam through all of his body causing an involuntary chitter of anxiety as it dawned on him what was wrong, this was a single very long weave of this man’s memories. Pitty replaced the awe as he traced the beginning of thread to the first cut, this would be the hardest part in the mess that was the weave of Darkman’s memory.

It was nearly all night to trace it back to the start, and the moment he  delicately used his fore-limbs to tie the ends together Darkmane began to twitch and move in agitatition. Retreating slightly as his arachnid eyes picked up the weave began to frantically reconnect itself mirroring in Darkmane’s thrashing.  Suddenly the repair stopped and Darkman sat bolt upright  glistening with sweat, panting heavily as if he woke from some nightmare. Backing up as the man fumbled at a lantern for light he dropped from the ceiling, assuming a man-form mid air and landing behind some crates hoping he was not seen.
Darkmane looked around the hold’s shadows eye wide with fear of something, but not truly seeing the hold around him, he rushed up out the hold as the sun crested the sky  the words “Drökkburg port” were heard above.The next few days in this Drökkburg passed uneventfully watching Darkmane mill about and get himself situated within the city. Frustratingly the weave had only partially repaired itself and would need to be set into motion once more.

Darkmane had found lodging and settled though seemingly passing through his days in a daze. Enny hoped he could help the man, and not make it worse tonight he would attempt this.
Scaling the wall outside Darkmane’s bedroom he gingerly crept in the slightly ajar window, squeezing his arachnid bulk sideways through the opening.  He slowly positioned his body on the ceiling looming over the unconscious Darkmane who even in this state seemed tense with agitation, affixing his sight on the corrupted weave once more.  It seemed to move of its own volition either eager to be whole or be removed.

His pedipalps twitched with anxiety as he worked through the night, this time taking more concerted effort to bind one end to the next preventing it from abruptly connecting as last time. As the progress went on Darkmane’s body began to relax  some as his two eyes moved rapidly beneath the closed lids.As the work came to a conclusion faint snoring could be heard from the form on the bed. Satisfied with the work he had done he moved out the open window in a similar manner to entry.
His arachnid body made it know he has not eaten in some time and requires sustenance, realising he had forgone food since he noticed the repugnant broken weave now it was time to eat.

  Parting thoughts, he hoped he helped the man and not removed all of the mans mind….

[Darkmane]

A cold darkness now surrounded Darkmane and strange noises came from all directions of the forest, a symphony of nocturnal wildlife. Since waking up this morning, he felt something was wrong, his mind had been racing, unable to to focus on one thing for more than a few minutes. A vague recollection of packing his things and leaving the city, sunset seemed like a distant memory, mixed into the soup of his thoughts. 

The scream of a fox snaps Darkmane back to reality. 

The forest road was unfamiliar and the soft glow of Drokburg had vanished from sight. How far had he walked? In this brief moment of clarity, weariness took its opportunity to sink in and Darkmane found himself barely able to move. "I need to rest," he thought, sliding himself down against a tree, barely touching the ground before sinking into blackness.

"Valentis!" A beautiful young woman stands in a green field, a small farmhouse behind her. "Valentis!" She calls out, the sun bathing her lightly tanned skin. A young boy, no more than 8, runs out from the tree line towards the woman, his face beaming. He giggles as she catches him and spins on the spot, his legs gliding through the air. "Now where have you been?" Her voice is warm and soothing, with a soft accent. This beautiful, watercolour moment suddenly comes crashing down as riders approach from the road towards the farm. "Andru!" She shouts running towards the house, but the riders are too fast and she is struck down with a club. The young boy can see a man appear in the doorway moments before a bolt hits him in the chest, Valentis screams as a black-clad arm scoops him up. Through tears, he can make out his mother crawling towards her husband as the farm disappears into the distance.

In a foul smelling, Port Blacksand tannery, a 12 year old Valentis goes about his duties. Life here is hard, with work running from dawn to dusk and the knowledge that no one is your friend. "Come here boy!" Shouts a rough looking man, dressed in a black leather armour that had seen better days. Valentis walk over, knowing to stay silent and keep his eyes on the ground. "It´s time to begin your training lad. Gonna learn to earn your keep". He leads the skinny boy, dressed in ragged clothing, down below the tannery to the headquarters of Blacksand´s Assassin´s Guild. 'The Brotherhood of the Knife' serviced many of the city´s wealthy and influential people, including it´s tyrannical ruler Lord Varek Azzur, who often sent a lot of work their way. This was to be Valentis´family, his home, his entire life for the next 26 years, until something happened that would change his world forever.

Off the hall of the merchant´s fancy town-house, Valentis hid behind a curtain, one of many small alcoves lining the marbled hall. An hour passes, maybe two, when Valentis hears footsteps on the marble approaching him. He peeks through, hand sliding down to his dagger, when suddenly a young girl runs from one of the side rooms, whom the merchant scoops up in his arms. Valentis watches them spin and play and suddenly it´s not them but him in the arms of his mother. Lush green fields and laughter, as he is spun in circles by a lady with flowing black hair. The memory fades and the merchant disappears down the hall with his daughter. For the first time in his life, the life-long assassin can´t do it, he leaves the house via the rooftop and off into the night. Valentis heads to an Inn on the other side of town, there´s no going back to the Brotherhood now, he will have to lay low.
 
A few days pass, everything is prepared, he has passage booked on a ship leaving the city just before dawn. Valentis lays back on his pillow, one last night, and slowly drifts off to sleep. There´s a creak and in a split second from waking, Valentis´dagger finds the heart of an assassin sent to kill him. It was Sam, someone he had grown up with in the tannery and trained with at the Brotherhood. Sam stares at him, shocked and confused before crumpling to the ground. An unexpected tear rolls down Valentis´cheek, there´s more noise in the hall, he didn´t come alone. Making his way through the window, Valentis drops down into a small yard and runs off into the misty night. “There´s bound to be a few small boats tied up along river,” he thinks, turning into a small alley and up a flight of steps onto the street above. “There it is, almost made it,” there´s a sharp pain as a crossbow bolt sinks into his back.
 
Valentis lay there close to death and oblivious to the cloaked figure that approached and began to drag him off the street. “It´s not time for you yet,” the figure says softly and smiles.

---

He wakes suddenly, his past had come rushing back to him, bringing with it a flood of emotions. Memories of Blacksand, The Brotherhood and that fateful night were all clear to him now. "Did he die? Or was he saved by a strange old man in the night?" Images of his mother and a life before Blacksand flow in, Darkmane begins to sob into his hands, these memories where the most painful to bear, he had suppressed them well since he was a child. 

Hours pass in which Darkmane cries, rages at the sky and for a long time, just stares into the distance. 

He pulls himself up from the tree and takes in his surroundings, still shaking but much calmer. He hasn´t a clue where he might be, but notices a sign on the road pointing towards Karrandal and decides to follow it. After many days walking, stopping to make camp and every so often, an emotional breakdown, Darkmane spies the walls of an old keep up the track, through the woods. The gates are covered in vines and left ajar, making his way into the moss covered courtyard, he realises this place must have been abandoned a long time ago. A thought strikes him, he will repair it, restore this once proud structure and finally have a place to call home. "I saw a village back down the road, I shall head there and make inquiries," he thinks, a slight weight lifted off his soul at this new found purpose.