A Raven Knight, clad in dark armor, walked along a dirt road at night. A greatsword, made of black metal, was strapped to his back. His path was aimless, and his convictions unknown, even to himself. The clouds parted somewhat, letting the strong beams of moonlight blanket the area before him. He passed through without a glance, his armor making no glint or shine. He was unbothered by the moonlight, though some found its light piercing. 

Along his misty path stood dead trees, tall yet decaying. Soon they would all fall, turning to dust. Such is the way of life in The Circle of Law. The knight pressed on, unbothered by the grim sight all around him. His world was one of death and evil. He was not a light in the darkness. No, he was not a light at all. For he himself was made from the darkness, cursed to prey on darkness itself. And should he complete his quest one day, he knew, that would be the day that he was no more. This did not bother The Raven Knight, for he was made aware of his fate long ago. 

A small cottage appeared out of the mists ahead of him. A dim light was glowing in the window, casting shadows on the ground before the hovel. He slowly made his way to the front door and, with a large armored fist, knocked upon it. A moment passed before an aged woman opened the door. She was wearing an old dress with a cooking apron, and a bonnet clutching her head. She looked as frail as anyone did these days.

"H-hello?" The frail old woman asked, concerned at the stranger's appearance; the stranger that now stood at her door, capable of anything she knew. 

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"What can I do for you sir knight?"

Before another word was uttered, a large greatsword of black metal impaled the old woman straight through the abdomen. With a quick and effortless motion, the top was separated from the bottom, blood splattering the cottage walls.

The Raven Knight stood in the doorway, sword in hand, silent as a shadow. The blood dripped from his greatsword before turning black, then hardening and crumbling away. He looked at the woman's two halves. They began to shrivel into a grotesque site. It's skin was a very dark and leathery green, and it's head bore many razor sharp teeth. The Raven Knight knew that had he stepped foot inside the cottage, this creature would have attempted to rip out his throat, excited to use the new vocal cords to lure in it's next victim. He knew that no human, still left within the darkness, would dare disrupt the silence of the shadow. Those still alive knew what lurked outside, and knew that light attracted everything. For even those birthed by the darkness craved the light. To most, the light was all anyone could ever live for. But not to The Raven Knight. 

The morphon lay before him. Though this one had been cursed by the darkness. He would have killed it either way, cursed or not. For it was still created by the darkness, cursed or not. And that was his calling. Slay the darkness, purge the restless shadow at all costs, and bring back the calm, quiet darkness. He yearned for this and this alone. He slid the greatsword back into its sheath upon his back, then without a word, stalked off into the night. As the light of the moon crept through the doorway of the cottage, it rested upon the two halves of the now gored morphon. The creature's withered corps began to burn, and, without setting ablaze, burned to dust. The Raven Knight did not bear witness to this. He was already on his way once again. His way into the darkness.