Kaijos sat, huddled in with himself, on a small stool under the stone overhang of an old weapon smith's shop, hidden from the biting night wind, nursing a bleeding scalp and feet, his clothes torn.
"Those Pendroin, those things out there, " he muttered to himself, "they will pay, they will bow underneath my power, the power of my revenge." A spark lit his eyes, a small flame that began to burn a nearby rock, a rock that burned in sync with his ignited temper, a temper that is drenched in the oil of his painful memories.
Kaijos, shortly after fleeing his family's home, was exceedingly hungry, the amulet sucking strength from his fragile form to charge its power, a power that had been dormant and bleeding energy in the hope that someone would be able to sense it enough to find it after 500 years.
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