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[Tay Thormear]

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"You must give up your desire to fight, and your lust for battle. You will take an oath, and if you ever break this oath, you will lose what you desired most."

"Your kidding me right? I'm asking for my youth so I can be an even better fighter." Beowulf replied, slightly irritated.

"A better fighter you will be, but only when you must. Do not attack just any body. Unless you are threatened, a person close to you is threatened, or the virtues you stand by the most - Justice and Sacrifice - are broken before your eyes, you will not fight."

"What about training, sparring?"

"Those are obviously fine. But your nack for attacking some body out of hatred or an argument, will happen no more. Attacking somebody because someone else decides to, is not a reason. Only fight if it is your fight, only fight if you must."

Beowulf nodded, he quickly decided this was a fair trade. After he understood the instructions he saw them through. He bathed naked in the pool of life, water created only by the tears of Ki-rins and Unicorns. The man aiding in the ritual casted several spells, and spoke a series of words.

Beowulf emerged from the pool a while later. The color that was stripped from his hair because of a curse, had once again returned. The bags under his eyes disappeared. His muscles once again tonned and visable. He lept out of the water, and bounced quickly on the balls of his feet.
* * *

Locking his fingers together and placing his hands behind his head, Beowulf laid back against the head of his bed. Roughly five months ago he made a deal with the arcane order in Wind, with it came youth. That was than, this is now. Over the last few week's Beo had been losing interest in what he strived for all of his life, being the best combat mage. He seemed to only care about wisdom, rituals, hidden secrets in Sosaria, and blackrock. Beowulf knew he'd always have the soul of a soldier, but it mildly attracted him anymore. He sat up on the edge of his bed, using both hands he rubbed his face rapidly. As he rose from his bed he could hear the sounds of the miners preparing for the work day. Beo made his way to his study, he pushed open the door and went directly to his desk. Than, he began to write.

Dear Journal,

My study's on blackrock have proven to be very time consuming. It's taken much out of me, I grow most exhausted and seem to have less patience as the days go by. With each test I do make on the blackrock comes something new. I'm not quite sure if I'm growing mad because of it, or if it's the lack of sleep. Sometimes during the experiments I hear voices. Often times I forget what I'm doing and trail off onto other tasks. It feels as though a part of me wants out, the blackrock is just stirring it. I'm not completely sure what to make of the situation. I hope with more experiments and with time I can figure out what's happening.

I heard rumours about Spawn when he was experimenting with the Blackrock. Some claim they heard explosion's come from the Spawn Manor, some cliam they heard nothing. People whisper around the streets that he heard voices, voices that tainted him. Perhaps this is what brought "Dark Spawn" upon the world. It's argued whether or not he was driven completely insane by the blackrock. He was looking for something more from the rock though, he seeked power. I, however, wish to learn, discover secrets about the rock. With the rock comes uncontrollable power, this is what I hope to use to further my knowledge of Sosaria.
Sometimes I worry I'll lose control while practicing with the rock...

* * *

A loud knock disturbed Beowulf from his writting. Quickly he closed the book and put the quill back in its holder. He rose to his feet, almost like he was as light as a feather, and made his way across his living room. His eyes caught a familiar figure at the door way. A dark green robe draped down to the floor nearly covering his black sandles. A half-apron tied tightly around the waist, and a quiver -filled with reagents- strapped around the shoulders. Dark black glass's, nearly as dark as his skin, covered the eyes. Boyishly light hair was sprawled around. Beowulf approached the figure, who was slightly shorter than him, roughly 5'8, with open arms. The figure lifted his arms for the greeting and the two hugged.

"Good to see you boy." Beowulf spoke softly. "What brings you to these parts?" he asked curiously.

"Can't I visit my father without a reason?" Grigori smirked

"Mmm, I wish that were the case. We both know you don't visit me without a reason."

"Your right, we'll worry about that later! This is a fine new house you've found." Grigori said, trailing off the the original question.

"Well thank you. I'd like to add that I had a hand in the construction of it. Still not done all the interor work, as you can see. I've been busy." Beowulf muttered.

"Let's have a look around shall we?"

Beowulf lead the way through the main floor, showing off his study, bedroom, and balcony. From there the two made their way upstairs, Grigori following in Beo's wake. "This floor is still unorginized." Beowulf pointed out. Finally they made their way to the roof, his garden.

"Impressive, fine contractors." Grigori complemented. "Tell me, what door was your herald blocking?" he asked cautiously.

"Ah, just junk. Don't worry about it." Beowulf demanded, his tone stern.

"I think I'd like to see this junk." Grigori's eyes followed Beo's. Grigori had intentionally came to visit his father due to rumours he'd heard. He didn't trust the blockrock, nor his father with it.

After a few minutes of debate the two headed to the basement. Beowulf motioned for his herald to move and the father and son followed the stairs down. Grigori's eyes scanned over the room, stone tables, chairs, a kitchen, nothing out of the oridinary. There was one more door however. Raising his hand the young man pointed towards the door. Beowulf muttered and made his way to the door, revealing a room of secrets.

Grigori's jaw nearly hit the floor upon entering the room. Tables full of blackrock, sizes of all kind, shards pretruding from the floor, and alchemist bottles everywhere. A cauldron bubbled off to the side.

"What the.. Father I demand you stop your experiments."
Beowulf chuckled quietly. "The boy is going to ruin all of your hardwork. Stop him before he destroys your experiments!" a voice demanded in his head.

"Son, I ask you forget about all this. I've been experimenting for important reasons. I'm using the blackrock to discover many secrets about our world. With this I can cure many, save lands, stop plagues, grow stronger..." Beowulf trailed off.

Grigori couldn't believe his ears. He didn't think the blackrock was this powerful, it was already taking over his father. "Grow stronger?" He asked.

"ENOUGH!" Beowulf screamed. He made a move to grab his sons arm to direct him from the room. Just as quick, Grigori moved, quickly he enchanted spells and flames shot from his hands towards the bottles. Beowulf screamed loudly, frightened for his work. He shoved back his son and rush to recover his work. Grigori continued shooting spells towards the rocks and bottles. Beowulf screamed louder, nearly crying, his precious blackrock, all of his hardwork, his future was being burned by his son.

Beowulf grabbed a small piece of blackrock and yelled, facing away from his son. "You want to see what I've learned?" Before Grigori could reply, Beo spun on his heel. Using his index and middle finger he flicked the piece of blackrock towards his son. "Vas Kal An Mani In Corp Hur Tym!" The words left his mouth so quickly it sounded like gibberish.

The rock collided into Grigori's chest, exploding on impact. His body blew through the stone wall and fell limp to the ground. The robe burnt all over, blood and bruises covered the body. Beowulf rushed over, cursing loudly. Slowly the color faded from Beo's hair, bags and wrinkles appeared under his eyes, past scars covered him. His oath was broken, his youth was no more.

"What have I done?"