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[Randall Flagg]

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Ice, snow, and wind howled in the black and white night. Randall sat shirtless at the edge of his bed, the only light coming from a single candle. His back and chest was riddled from scars of battle over the many years. He gently re-wrapped the self-inflicted wound on his left forearm. The cut was already nearly just a scar. The curse did have some positives to it, such as healing at a fast rate.

Dozens of scars criss-crossed up his arm. It is what kept the beast at bay...they were gifts from the gods and goddesses to him. Earlier that night, while at a tavern in Umbra, he had to contain the curse once more. It had been years since he had an episode this bad...and the fact that now the smell of blood could trigger it scared him...

After tying off the bandage, he ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. He was still sore from his battle with the two vampires in Britain much earlier that day, though his wound from that were completely healed even before he went to the tavern that night. At times he felt he should just become a hermit...to stay in this cold and icy place...a place that was very much like himself...

Randall laid back on the bed, starring at the ceiling. He played it over and over again in his head. He had played it in his head for dozens of years. He would destroy them, and the gods and goddesses would repay him with salvation. And if they did not...well...Randall didn't want to think about that...

He leaned over and blew out the candle, leaving him in pitch black with only the monstrous sounds outside as his company. He closed his eyes and prepared for another night of nightmares...
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