Ahhh yes, twas a fowl stench in the air that
cursed stormy night when the jackal raised her hind leg a spat out a blood
drenched loathsome reaver. The black clad priests whom encircled the howling
beast raised there chalices of crimson brew in the celebration and the success
of their dark incantations and vile spells. "Beith he BLACKWOLF. Forged from a
thousand sorrows and bane to all humanity!!!" (Twas my birthday song) And from
that dark eve, he had grown and served all of which is hated and feared by man.
His art and skill was death , from which he sired many a masterpiece. And then
in time when his bloodlust had eased, he sculpted his black art into music
creating his dark, hideous ( and in a demented way humorous) chanteys. This
amused him for a time. But battle, babes, and booze could not fill the entirety
of his soul. Then one day he found a quiet Shire and was instantly surrounded by
beautiful maidens and kindly folk whom frolicked and danced around him in
circles. He tried to resist their guile, but their smiles, love, and soothing
words had penetrated his dark callused heart. He finally dropped his sword and
embraced them all as his family. His sisters and brothers grew in numbers, and
as time passed he became a fixture in their society and the dark shadows of his
past were shattered by the rays of their eternal joy. Although he still
does have the desire to decapitate some poor sod now and then, for the most he
is happy just quaffing his ale and singing his loathsome chanteys to their
amusement. And on this very day, the anniversary of his cursed birth, he lies
and basks in the warmth of their undying love for him. Huzzah my brethren!!!
