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zdmlo > Tales of Verden: the Black King > 1 the boy with black hair
The first thing the boy could remember was being empty. Hungry. Cold. Directionless. Running from one dark alleyway to the next, the young boy with the black hair would ravenously devour anything that he could get his hands on. Practically a beast. No thoughts swam about his head aside from the urge to fill himself with food and to find warmth. He would spend his days hiding in the shadows of the stone buildings within the town, staying out of sight, as the townspeople always had a boot or a cane ready to strike him on sight.

One could sometimes catch whispers about the strange street urchin from the denizens of the town; "That boy is cursed, he has the angel's look about em'. Best to keep your distance else you'll bring down death to you and your family...", "He looks so eerie, like a specter or a doll! I swear that he isn't human, he never shows any emotions", "When I shoo him away from the store, though I can't see his eyes, I know he's staring at me. It's like he stares straight into your soul!", "I wish he would just do us all a favor and die before he brings some great calamity on us". They were right. This small nameless boy with pale skin, raven black hair, and sapphire blue eyes will eventually kill them all. But at this time, he was still but a child.

Darting down dirt alleyways away from the crowds and the town guards, the nameless boy with black hair ran with an armful of fresh warm bread. His breath creating white clouds as it rasped out of his lungs. Shouting and cursing could be heard behind him. The boy sprinted away from the baker who was slowly being left behind in the busy streets unable to track his quarry. The pitter patter of the boy's bare feet on the grime and dirt slowed as he frantically looked for anyone who meant him harm. After ducking behind a crate and calming his breathing, he finally looked at his prize. A fresh loaf of bread taken from the bakers but seconds before. The boy nervously eyed the street he had just arrived from, seeing no pursuit, he greedily began scarfing down as much of it as he could. Completely engrossed in the filling of his stomach, the young boy tuned out the noise of busy streets and foot traffic.

The boy was jolted out of his bliss as a cane struck the right side of his head. "You little bugger, think you could escape from me?", the baker angrily struck the boy in front of him. After releasing his anger over the course of a few minutes, the baker grew bored and left grumbling. The boy laying on the dirt of the alleyway stared up at the sky, he could feel bruises forming on his skin. Those who passed by swore that he was dead, an unfortunate dreg of society. But he would not die. The strange boy finally moved.

Looking up and down the street weary of possible aggressors, the boy began limping away. Passing through shadows like a ghost, the boy began to wander. He watched the city guards flog a man whom the king had deemed guilty. The man's wife and daughter bawling but powerless to stop them. The boy slinked past a dwarven tradesman with thick powdery black hair who kept a keen eye on the passing waif. He glided past the back door of the tavern as a battered drunken half-orc was thrown out cursing and stumbling as he collapsed on the dirt. The boy crept about, not wishing to raise the ire of two heavily armed dragonborn as they stood guard at a back door of a shady establishment. He was used to staying out of sight. He was used to being an outcast.

After walking and avoiding others for half of the day, the boy found himself at the edge of a crowd. He could here happy shouts and gleeful laughter. His curiosity got the better of him and he made his way around to another alley to get a better look. "Ladies and Gentlemen! I, the great Lewellyn, have journeyed far and wide to bring you great tales from abroad!", the charismatic half-elf shouted with a melodious voice and began his performance. The face of the young boy did not flinch away from the usual de

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