The figure of this scrawny specimen is humped, claws sharp, and skin texturous like that of a sea star. His armour made from age-old rubberous hide made ever stronger by long submergance in salt water. A skimitar in hand and a shield on his back, he proudly carries his weapon of ancestry, encrysted with, now dark and unremarkable golden handle, his father, the great elder of his city once gave it to him as a sign of exepionality, of wisdom higher than the rampant mob, for he had many children running about in his palace. Vik'richir was never running, perhaps, he never was a child, always lost in thought, never bothering enougth to as much as look ahead. He liked stolling on the seas beach, it filled his spirit with joy and his exeptionaly large brain with oxygen.
Wisdom grew with time, as did detachment from his relatives. Finaly, his father, not contempt with many of his children, sought out others of his kin to begin the ceremony of adulthood early. As a stroke of luck, or misfortune Vik'richir was chosen to participate.
It didnt work, he didnt transform, but on the less murky side, he was not dead as the others.
His mind changed, his body changed, becoming more like that of an elder, a tentackled one at that. He finaly understood what he needed in life. Friends, thinkers and philosopers, those that could at least understand his philisophical ideas. Who he could tell about the Glow.
It was everywhere at first, but then gradualy faded, as his normal vision returned. the Glow was like a drug, he wanted to see its glory once more, he needed to learn.
Now independent of his elders, he found an ancient sunken library, to which countless generations of druids contributed, the greatest of which was Darvini. He whould spend many years there, also fishing, he picked up fishing. Then he really started reading in. Days and nights passed on like nothing, his eyes darkening and his skin becomming more and more white. He decided to find the source of the Glow, and so he became a Blight Druid. It spoke to him in a dream that night. It told him to go, for he will fint It in his travels.
So he set out, passing many great places, but he never saw It. Then, one night, It spoke to him a second time, it taught him of itself, of the world, of how it molded all the peoples of the world into what they are today. He wordshipped it in silense.
But he sensed trouble brewing somewhere, and he answered the call.
