This is a back story for Cyric.  Just something I posted in my RP!!  Thanks for reading!

Cyric sat calmly, waiting for the rest of the noble spies to arrive. He perched on a rock, his long violet hair pulled back into a long braid. His eyes were closed. The first spy stepped into the area and promptly vomited. The clearing was covered in carcass, blood staining the rocks, trees, and even the boy that sat on the rock.

"What in God's name happened here?!" the spy cried. He looked to the boy, judging correctly that the boy was only seventeen years old. "Boy! Answer me!"

The boy in questions eyes snapped open, revealing a pair of crimson eyes. The spy quaked, backing away from the now standing teen. The boy unsheathed a pair of wicked looking daggers. His voice came across calm and cold, in a way that only the farthest reaches of the North should be.

"You couldn't tell by looking, but these blades did it. I did it. It was a simple matter, elimination of those that failed the Lords. So I was sent..." He smirked evilly, his eyes glowed rather evilly. "You have failed the Lords. Now, you must pay..." He swung one of the blades and nicked the spy's shoulder. The man screamed out and ran.

"Not so lucky..." he replied as he looked at his dagger, the blood of his opponent glistening in the moonlight. He muttered a charm and began drawing a symbol in the air. When it was done, the distinctly Asian rune glowed to match his eyes. He looked after the running man and said a simple phrase, "Rape of the Soul"

The man screamed again as his blood began to boil. His heart, already beating fast, began aching. The blood began running from his fingernails, his eyes, his ears, his mouth, from every orifice. He collapsed to the ground, his blood pooling and soaking the soil. Within a minute, he was dead.

Cyric smiled and turned to those that were standing behind him, fear in their eyes. He walked back to his rock and stood on it, turning back to the group of assembled spies and soldiers of the Shadow. "I am Cyric Ryendon, the Blood Mage of the Highlands, and the Blood Dragon of the Lords. Know my voice, my face, and my mannerisms for you report to me now. Fail and you die. Run and you die. Betray the Lords and you die."

The men nodded dumbly. The young boy smiled evilly and nodded, passing out orders and taking blood samples. When the men vanished, he memorized the bloods and placed the small drops onto parchment. All he had to do was burn the paper, and the man would die.

He sighed and looked up at the stars, his eyes softening. If anyone ever knew he was like this he would loose all credibility. It was well known that he preferred men, but it wasn't know that he was always lonely. He sat on the rock again, listening to the far off sound of rain. He sighed and looked at the ground, his bangs hiding his eyes. A single tear drop fell to the ground, clearing away a small area of blood. Maybe there was a soul in this boy after all...