Light in the Storm
The Beginning of Sylar
The farmer made is way along the rugged trade road that wound its way through the thick forest on his heavily worn cart. He whipped at the reigns of his equally old pack horse. He looked up through the canopy to catch glimpses of the light blue sky, his mind focused only on the good harvest and the bag of copper coins he had made with the surplus of crops.
The workers mind also strayed towards darker things, like the kind of vicious monsters that liked to prey on unarmed caravans and foolish travelers. He surveyed the line of trees for anything out of place. The farmer remembered the time when all the races, young and old, held prosperous empires of vast amounts of land. But the empires had fallen. They crumbled to leave only sparse settlements of mostly human origin for the races to cling to. Huge, untamed wilds slowly began to constrict these bastions of civilization. Now it was a time of violence and fear, lives were constantly threatened by Ork raiders, Hobgoblins armies, maniacal necromancers, and corruption undermining even the most virtuous dukes.
He then heard what sounded like distant wailing. The farmer stopped the cart to make sure he wasn’t just imagining things. He definitely sensed a kind of inhuman scream echoing through the foliage. It was almost melodic in sound which made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Even his tired steed seemed ill a ease.
The farmer climbed out of the cart, recalling all the tales of savage beasts that lurk in the forest. Despite fear, his curiosity overtook him. He comforted his horse and walked off the trail, following the eerie call.
After searching for a while, the farmer took a step back from the sight that assaulted his senses and he gagged in revulsion. There was a massive spider, the size of the horse, lying on its back. Its hairy black limbs curled in upon themselves like a hateful diseased fist. Oily green ichor leaked freely from its carapace onto the spongy earth. The farmer clasped his hand to his mouth and tried to focus again. Next the worker saw something moving inside a bundle of pure, silken shadow. A strange jagged dagger affixed to its front. The blade had a hilt made to look like a obsidian spider, the legs had hair angled down to serve as barbs. Eight sparkling rubies made out the eyes.
The farmer knew the wailing was coming from inside the bundle, and he fought down his fear to uncover it. He tentatively picked it up, feeling the slight movement on the inside. He pulled the wicked dagger from the knot and could tell it was weighted strangely. When he moved the cloak away the innocent face of an infant stared up in wonder at him. Except it was not human. It was not full like the face of a human baby either. It had leaner more handsome features. The swaddled youth had deep purple skin, almost black. His ears were pointed and despite his age, it had a full head of white hair. But worst of all his eyes were solid orbs of the bloodiest crimson that gleamed with vicious intelligence.
The farmer knew what it was, it was a Drow. An accursed Dark Elf race that live in their depraved cities in the Underdark. The Underdark was a sprawling network of tunnels, natural and unnatural, that is home to the some of the most evil races and monsters.
Even though the farmer knew what it was, he could see the baby’s innocence. It had not seen the world, or all of the love, pain, and struggles it contained. The worker had already decided.
The boy’s name was Sylar
Sylar was perched in the tall branches of a great oak tree at the edge of forest that crested the hills flanking his city. He had been given time off from the monotonous work of the farm in which he lives. He saw from his vantage point the whole city nestled in the valley. Sylar saw the fields surrounding the city walls. The taverns, game houses, and brothels that filled the less prestigious area of the city where travelers and mercenaries frequented. The flowing battlements of the individual villas in the wealthy district. His eyes were always drawn to the elegantly carved stone of the white wizard’s tower that dominated the middle of the city. Sylar spent many an afternoon in thought about the secrets the almost natural looking stone walls the tower contained.
Sylar’s keen ears picked out the sound of other children coming up the hill, breaking his pensive state. Sylar dropped down silently from the tall branch and looked over the hill. There was a brown haired human boy with a few missing teeth. Keeping up with him was a little blonde girl with braided hair. Even though she was half the size of the boy she was probably the same age. She belonged to the Halfling race, a race of small, plucky river folk. Charging ahead of them was a towering dragon-like humanoid child. His skin was a layer of thick red scales covering his body. He had horns growing from his snout and thick rope like horns swinging from the back of his head that served as hair.
The party stopped and the brutal, serpentine eyes of the Dragonborn bored into those of the Dark Elf’s.
“what are you doing here?” The Dragonborn demanded in his harsh voice “This is our spot.”
Sylar glared and barely controlled hate passed over his beautiful face “I was here first.”
The Dragonborn shoved Sylar savagely, “Get out of here, we don’t need your kind.”
The Halfling tried to cut in, “Maybe we should just-”
“No!” The Dragonborn interrupted “I’m going to teach this filthy Drow a lesson.”
Sylar was furious now. He clenched his fists together and crouched into a fighting stance and the Dragonborn approached. The Drow could feel an incredible power awake within him. Almost like he was drawing power from a lighting bolt. His red eyes began to glow with elemental light and mystic fire played around his fists. The Human and Halfling turned to run but the Dragonborn stayed in place, his eyes wide with fear.
Sylar hurled the deadly energies at the dragon child. One fire bolt slammed into his chest, the other into his leg. The Dragonborn was sent smoldering down the hill. The power drained out of Sylar and he was left to gaze at the moaning heap of his target. A strange mixture of sadistic pleasure and overwhelming guilt filled his heart. Soon guards from the gate came to see what happened. Sylar disappeared into the forest and the embrace of his only friend: the shadows.