This night suits me. The rain falls heavily against the walls of my shelter. Thunder rolls across the heavens as I write this. The road I walk is a lonely one. Many set foot upon this path; none wish to return to it. But, those who tread this path are a hard lot. They are determined. Each and every one is linked by one drive, one goal, one motivation: revenge.

Should I fall in my struggles, or should I succeed, I wish this to be set to record. I was not always this way. Once, I belieed in justice. Once, I believed in peace and harmony. Once, I was a true elf. Once. Never more. I have discovered the world. I have seen its evils and they have wrenched my crying soul from its mortal abode. No longer do I feel. I only am.

Let those who I stalk tremble with fear and fall to their knees. I, the Dark Stalker, the Incarnation of Vengeance, shall reach into their bodies and wrest their hearts from their dying bodies.

Once, many years ago, the Dark Wars swept the land. Led by a dread leader, the savage humans ravaged the once peaceful land, destroying everything in their path, and enslaving all they did not kill. I was born a little before these wars, but I was still a babe. A mere twenty-five years had passed before my eyes. The humans settled down after enslaving the dwarves and butchering the elves. My village, Analaith, was one of the few small villages spared. We were one of the few villages who still believed that inter-racial peace was possible.

I was Tavis Moonbeam, born to an affluent family, but my cursed ill lick struck as soon as I was born. My mother died during childbirth. My father was the world to me. He taught me everything I wanted to know about. He also taught me never to steal or cheat others. I still cling to those morals, though probably not as much as I used to. When I expressed an interest in becoming a ranger, he sponsored me, and enrolled me into the Forest Guard. I trained my hardest during those years to please my father.

I trained for several years, and finally the day of testing came. In swordplay, my longsword and dagger dipped and swayed, never once letting my opponent's weapons slip through. Never once was I found during the games of hide and seek in the forest. I was tested extensively on the subtleties of the forest, and answered every question with cool confidence. I had proved that I had the physical abilities of a ranger, now I had to prove that I had the heart of one. The final test came. As I walked deeper into the forest, I noticed my father's closest friend and advisor, Arilis, staring at my father with an odd glint in his eye. I sat down in the middle of the glade and waited, worrying about that look. As I waited, a deer entered the glade. Trying to push the doubts out of mind I softly beckoned towards the deer. It seemed to pause for a second, then, as if sensing the unease in the back of my mind, it fled.

How could it be? My world crashed around me. Years had I trained to reach this point. Years of hard, rigourous excercise, long strenuous studying, and meditation, yet I had failed. I was a disgrace to my family. I blame everything that followed on my ill-begotten luck. All the mishaps that followed I blame on myself. Had I not failed, none of this would have happened. And so the fall began.

As it happened, not too far away, another elven village prospered. Its name has been blotted from my mind, and even if I remembered, I would never honor its vile name in my histories. This village believed that we should strike back a blow to the humans that drove us back into the deepest forests. Had we not needed the trade between the villages, we would have left them alone. Instead, the communities became closer, and a few of our villagers began to agree with the other village.

One night, I awoke at the sound of footsteps. I quietly followed them until I was outside my father's bedroom. Silently, I watched with horror as Arilis slipped a needle-thin dirk between my father's ribs. "With you dead, I will rule your house and command the soldiers to attack the humans. Long have we suffered under their imposed solitude, but now we shall march to join our compatriots in freedom. Long live the Resistance!" he cried in triumph.

With an evil cry, I launched myself at the traitor. Quick as a snake, he swung his hand about, knocking me in my face. I fell back, dazed, as he made his escape. When I regained my senses, I realized that my father was calling to me. He was still alive! I stumbled towards him. "Tavis," he gasped, "I'm dying. You must leave. Take what you can and leave." I refused to leave him. Nothing could break us apart, not even death. I had to believe that. Nothing. I cried as his head fell back, eyes blank, body breathless. I lay him gently on the bed, vowing to avenge him. And so I set foot on the bloody path. Three tears. That was all I allowed myself. That is all I allow myself still. Three tears on midsummer's eve. Three tears for my sorrows. One for my mother. One for my father. The last is saved for me.

Gathering up nothing but a sword, I went in search of Arilis. I found him alone in his room, readying for his crusade against the humans. I found him alone, as did the guards the following morning. The difference was that he didn't have a hole in his back when I found him.

I fled after I finished the deed. I fled far into the night. Somewhere along the way, I had lost my sword. I lay in the forest, numb, playing the scene over in my mind. Why had I not reveled in it? Why did I not feel the triumph of revenge? I felt nothing, no, I felt a loss, an emptiness, a hollowness in the depths of my soul. But nevertheless, the sword had slipped easily, so easily, into his back.

Days I spent in those woods. I had to make peace with myself. After all, I had killed a man, and I had barely passed adolescence. I had been through much, and my heart needed to mend. Fool that I was, I still believed in my father's precepts.

Several fortnights passed. I prepared to return to civilization, to my loved ones, to my dear Analaith. Upon my return, disaster greeted me. My dear village had been laid to ruins. Bodies of friends lay entwined with the corpses of humans among the dirt. Something deep inside me snapped. I saw red.

For more than four decades my body roamed through the wilderness. I say 'my body' because I was no longer part of it. I had been taken over, possessed. I was no longer an intelligent being. I was the hunter. I was a creature relying on instinct, on the baser, more animalistic feelings. I was more than a creature. I was the creature. I lived merely to survive.

One morning, I awoke next to a spring. I could not remember what had happened, but slowly, memories drained back into my mind. I looked down at the tatters, barely recognized as my sleeping clothes, that ringed my neck and waist, at the dirt encrusting my body, but mostly at the dried blood smeared across my hands and face. None of it mine, but I could see the source. At my feet lay a great cat, a panther. I remember wrestling it, strangling it, then ripping into its flesh with my teeth. I vomited a few times, then I jumped in the pool to wash myself off. It was then I realized that I was marked. Three diagonal scratches lined my right cheek where the panther had clawed me. I knew that they would leave scars, but that did not concern me. I already had several scars to carry, buried deep beneath my skin.

By pure chance did I stumble upon my old village. Grief rose, but I stifled it. Ignoring the decaying bodies, I sifted through, finding few valuables that I could sell off for money or trade for goods. The hood from a shredded cloak would protect my elven heritage from the prying eyes of the thieves and cutthroats in the places I knew I had to go. Grief rose up once more, but was quickly replaced by rage. I screamed up into the heavens. I screamed for revenge, for help, for mercy, for anything, but the gods did not answer. Then, I swore revenge against those responsible for my pain, and the winds answered my cry. They blew up a furious tornado, one that centered on me. As I stood in the eye of the storm, I saw the remains of the village swept up by the hurricane, swirling up, up, up, only to disappear into the night. I screamed once more then fell to the ground.

When I came to, night had passed. In the morning light, I saw that my peaceful village had disappeared. The burning rage I had felt in the night had turned into a cold hatred. The rising anger I had felt had turned into a deadly, unnerving calm, one that nothing could break. I randomly chose a direction and began to walk. I came upon a small caravan willing to sell anything to anybody and purchased the supplies I would need to survive in the world. No longer was I Tavis Moonbeam. He had died in the fury of the winds. I was reborn. I was Tavis Analaith, the Cold Fury, the Sword of the North. I was to be feared. And so, my other foot had been placed on the winding path, so slippery with blood, and there was no turning back.

Remember the words I set down, for I do not wish to be forgotten. I embark upon a road of death and destruction, and nothing will stop me. I fear but two things: firstly, that I could fail at any moment, and secondly, that I could once more give in to the hunter. I could not bear to become that entity again. Should I slip back into him, I fear that I may never return. And now I set off on my quest of revenge, but, please, oh please, remember fondly the brief life of Moonbeam, and pity the husk that he has turned into.