Sometimes what you look like determines what you are going to be in life. Being a black panther was the factor that drove my father to have me follow in his foot steps to be become a Necromancer or a practitioner of the Black Magic. This was solely his choice and not my own. I was in a fine litter of brothers and sisters where life would have been much more enjoyable, I am sure. But at an age where play is still the norm I was pulled away to begin my teachings in the black arts. My father was not cruel, I don't want any to think that as I and he are part of small group that not only study the black magics but use them against those who use the black arts for evil purposes. I have been taught to sacrifice all, including myself if need be to stop the actions of others.

When I walk through a town and people look at me and shutter. I find myself quiet and withdrawn from them. When I see the cubs of someone more fortunate then myself and I see those in their enjoyment of play I have to stop and watch to try to capture some of what might have been for myself. This only lasts until the mother comes out and grabs her young to take them away from someone as scary looking as myself. I find myself retreating to the shadows of loniness.

My father also taught me the magicks of Thaumaturgy to round my skills and hone my magic experience. Our existence was always meager as both my father and myself were always secluded. I always found myself hungry, always. I could have been a good size leopard I am sure like my brothers or even my sisters. But I was denied that. I look at my brothers and sister from afar wondering if they would remember me the brother who one day was gone. But I am far too afraid of the possibility of rejection from them.

I travel from town to town listening to the tales of others, never really talking myself. Hoping never to hear the tales of undead lurking out there and having to prove myself in those skills of Black magic. I am happy to make my living from using the Thaumathergic magic here and there. It isn't much but I am sure it is much better then to use the black. At least this magic has a reward as compared the words my father has told me of the rewards of using my Black magic to help someone or a town. To be captured, Burned, skinned, tortured or worse? Some incentive to want to assist. Such are the flaws of duty my father tells me as he shows me his scars of thanks from the townsfolk. I sign deeply and keep my comment to myself. He gives me a gun and little instruction on how to use it. The bullet which he shows me how to load it may not for an opponent but maybe for myself.

I don't know if I am brave enough to kill myself.

Ironclaw and Jadeclaw are copyright 1999, 2002 Sanguine Productions, Limited. Used with permission; all rights reserved. Sparks are a trademark of Cumberland Games and Diversions. Images and artwork on this page are copyright by T. Jordan "Greywolf" Peacock. Beauhaugen Dane and this "journal entry" are (c) 2002 by Draconis. This site is not official, and should not be considered representative of the quality of products of Sanguine Productions, Ltd.