I am he who walks the solemn path, treachery and the darks arts plague me. Speaking not of where to go only of how to get there. The defiler of man, speaker of tongues, the plague known only as death himself are some of my names. None know what pain I know, the torture of my existence is crippling yet sacred. I am the one who comes when no other will. I am the one when all else fails, when people forget who they are and what they can do, I am he who comes. I am beseeched, hated even yet I come to thy aid when thy needs it most. I am not wished to exist. I am not wishes to help and save. Yet it is my duty. In my terrible painful existence I will always be there to protect those that need it, those that wish never to lay eyes on such as myself. Draped in my shoal of midnight, my face never seen yet the souls of mortals scream from my hood. My weapon. Arduous. Steel folded for thousands of years, hard oak wood bears witness to that of which I must do. My duty is that of the unknown. My duty is to bring you to he who judges.