Oryn Windbruk sat at a cafe table outside a small bakery in Gelmaar. The dwarf he was supposed to meet would be along anytime now. Then he could get what he needed and be on his way.

Tory's was supposed to have the best sweet rolls in the capital city. He wasn't going to be here long enough to try one. It wasn't like he would be able to find out anyway thanks to his old master, Lord Ferrun, or his new master for that matter. She had gifted him sustance throw eating people's dreams. 'At least it not blood anymore,' he thought to himself. But the sweet rolls did smell good. He sighed, he had lost any hope of living the normal life of a Cleric of Corvus. He though back to that fateful day in his early 20's. 

***

He had just left the Corvan Temple and was hurrying home to change out of his junior vestments before the spring rain soaked them through.  It had been a long day and he had been promised a glass of wine and a date from his potential love interest. 

As he rounded the corner onto Market Street he watched as four men surrounded a wealthy looking man. 

"...all of it or we'll take it." The one with the beard said. 

To his benefit the wealthy looking man in black was very calm. "I don't think you will. It would end badly for all of you."

Before Oryn could could stop himself he yelled out, "Leave him alone or I'll get the guards!" He regretted it instantly as the four thugs turned. 

" And what's this now? A cleric looking for a fight?"

"I think so. Best him boys then we'll deal with Mister riches. Don't go nowhere." 

Oryn did all he could to fight them off, but he was inexperienced and young, and there were four of them. He felt their fists and feet hit him and break his body as he fell into the mud. 

He could hear the clank of someone running in armor. 'The guards...' he thought to himself as the beating stopped and the thugs ran. He felt the world slipping away. He felt something sharp in his lung as his breathe came more and more ragged. 

"Are you okay young sir?" The man in the black coat stood over him looking down at him. No emotion in his face, just a look of interest. 

"I think my ribs tore my lungs." Oryn gurgled as blood seeped out of his mouth with every word and ragged gagging breath. "I'm dying."

Oryn had dedicated his life to his Goddess Queen, coming to help the dying pass to the next plane. Now here he was dying. A life wasted he thought. 

"Oh, I don't think so young man. I could use someone like you." The man in black but his own finger drawing blood, leaned down, and dropped blood into Oryn's mouth. It burned like acid as Oryn lost consciousness. 

***

Oryn spent the next seven decades finding victims for his Lord Ferrun. Then on another fateful rainy day, a misfit group of mercenaries broke into the Lord's manor and killed Ferrun. Then killed Oryn.

As Oryn laid there bleeding out on the stone floor he laughed. 'Finally' he thought to himself as his vision blurred and faded. 

Then... He woke up. It was staring at him. Immense and powerful. He tried to look back but could only pull himself to a kneeling position. 

It spoke to him. " You have cheated me of what is rightfully mine for too long." 

Oryn knew. 

" You will pay me what is owed. You will champion my cause and bring me what is rightfully mine." The voice booming yet feminine. Full of authority but someone compassionate to his plight. 

***

Oryn could hear a commotion near the alleyway. A dwarf merchant was clutching his chest as he fell to the ground and writhed. 

"That's my queue." As he got up from the small table and began walking across the street. No one noticed him. As he walked he fidgeted with the  silver raven feather char. That hung from the leather strap across his chest. 

He knelt down next the the dwarf and locked eyes. The dwarfs eyes widened in fear. 

"Time to go my friend. She's been waiting for you." As Oryn reached out and grabbed the dwarf by the hand they passed into the realm of Corvus, the Goddess of Death. 

End