Mask

Sheth's egg was found, not by a dragon, but by a Death Seeker.

Perhaps the savage bird foresaw an opportunity brewing within the pulsing sphere of shadow energy, because it fought ferociously to defend the egg, to keep it hidden from encroaching dragons and beasts alike.

"No, it is mine, it is mine. You cannot take it, I found it. It is ALL MINE."

The little tundra emerged a tiny ball of darkened fur, colored to match the egg of his origin. When the newborn first opened his eyes, a pair of dead, useless eyes stared back at him.

"Oh yes, oh yes. You are mine! You belong to me, and you will be perfect! You will do everything I say, everything I am not strong enough to do! You will be my weapon. Yes, yes. Finally, they'll all bleed for me!"

So the devious creature raised the tundra, teaching the youngling to savor the sight and smell of blood by abandoning him to near starvation, then, when he was finally moaning and pawing the ground for desperation, adding the crimson liquid to the food Sheth so desired. When the bird was certain Sheth firmly associated the smell of blood with reward, he led him out into the wilds, showing him all the best ways to hunt and kill prey. Small things, at first. Mice. Baby birds. But slowly, bigger and bigger creatures.

"Oh, yes. This is good. Very, very good."

Over years, Sheth learned to follow the strange green eye on the bird's chest, and do his bidding, lest he be punished with a sharply hooked talon to the face. He came to love the bird who taught and cared for him, and adorned himself with his master's fallen feathers, eventually making great feathered wings, even a tail. When he killed his first wolf, Sheth draped the midnight pelt about his back, and, gazing at his creation, the bird was pleased.

"Oh yes, oh yes. Finally. My shadow stalker."