Cazador

Fear is ever-changing and evolving
And I, I can poison the skies
And I, I feel so alive

No one knows where he came from.. what all had happened to make him how he is. But one thing is for sure. He is feared, and he is avoided at all costs.

His egg had been abandoned, by two of the first Imperials in Sornieth. Dropped on the edge of the Ashfall Waste, it was left to hatch alone with no aid. Some say it was because of this he came to be the way he is. But no, there is only one way it is told.

It was said that a beast clan found the egg, and in an attempt to gain some kind of control over the hatchling inside to use to their advantage they created a monster. They had attempted to use a dark magic, to try and make it their minion. But instead, the resulting hatcling was dark. He was a deep idea of evil. He was ruthless, his body touched with a dark and bloody marking over his back. The monster they made, began to kill and hunt them. Even as a hatchling, the ones who created him were hunted over the course of a week. Only a few remained soon enough, and they began to spread their tail. Warning of a blood stained Imp.

They called Cazador.

The strange curse the hatchling had was hard to control at first. His level of intelligence was insanely high. He started out so ruthless, killing anything that wandered in his path. As he grew so did his targets. He began to stalk around Sornieth as he aged, and grew stronger.

By the time he was full grown, he was a story told to hatchlings to keep them in the nest and safe in the clan. His markings kept covered with his clothes, he worked. He hunted as he felt the urge, as with age he had learned to control himself. He had learned to put on that charade of kindness and socializing individual. He could fool many, and once he had you there was no getting back.

Soon his game began to evolve, and he found himself deep within the Rockrot Rim. Here he had began to construct his home. Massive fences, made of the nasty things that scattered the landscape. Over top there were nets woven of a rope like substance that was saturated with some kind of sticky poison. Making an attempt to fly out impossible, and leaving one trapped inside the hunting arena of Cazador.

He would fly across the world, hunting and gathering his toys. Then releasing them back into his arena. He would leave them inside, sometimes for weeks before starting his hunt. He was always hunting and gathering more and more challenging. It was the game he played, and very much enjoyed.

So he settled into his life of hunting those he had seen fit. Dragons who were wandered off alone, or strayed too close would fall victim to his wicked ways. The blood stained Imp was a myth and a curse, for very few have met him and lived to tell the tale.
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