Moskov

Once a valiant and fearless desert warrior, Moskov met his end on the battlefield against his rival Khaleed. But in death, his soul encountered a great vortex of darkness buried beneath the sand by the desert tyrant Khufra. For centuries, the Vortex incited discord among the desert tribes and harvested the dark energy borne from their bloodshed. Though the Vortex's insidious influence trapped the desert in a cycle of strife and anguish, the Vortex itself sought to be freed. Tempted with the promise of revenge, Moskov extracted the core of the vortex, the Spear of Quiescence, and was reborn in the power of the darkness. Now he roams the sands, seeking revenge upon Khufra in the name of the desert. 512px|center Are you awake, lamb? I guess you are an exception among this pitiful flock. Do you wish to know why you're here? Then remain silent and listen... When you were still among the living, your name was Moskov, though it hardly matters now. Yes, you're dead. Countless spears pierced your innards as your enemies pinned you to the sand. Your blood flowed freely, seeping into the earth and staining the sands a dark crimson. But there was defiance in your bones. Even in death, you refused to crumble; unwilling to admit failure. Yes, you failed. That battle was the end of your tribe. Your rival, Khaleed, brought a force three times your own, if not more. Yet you did not flee, for the blood feud between your two tribes had reached a point of no return. Quite the tragic hero you are. 512px|center In your final moments, you must have thought that this death was befitting of a desert warrior. You fought for your tribe with your life. Surely the golden sands will carry you to the halls of glory and etch your name in the annals of history... Pathetic. Look around you. This is your so-called golden halls of glory. There is nothing here but a great vortex of darkness. It lurks under the desert's surface, voraciously corrupting every single grain of sand, turning everything profane. Beneath your feet lies a mountain of bones, the countless remains of your ancestors. Above you, their tortured spirits wail in agony, filled with pain, despair, and resentment. Yet, they can never escape this all-consuming vortex. They are doomed to be devoured by the darkness; to be sustenance for the insatiable. In the end, they become a part of me. Who am I? I am a weapon. A weapon of pure darkness. It is not difficult to explain. In this world, where there is birth, there is death; where there is light, there is darkness. I am the core of this vortex of darkness. War, death, and anguish are what I feed upon. Deep down, you have already known this for quite some time. Due to the incessant feuds between the desert tribes, you were taught from a young age to be a fearless warrior. Everything you knew pertained to battle, and you and Khaleed were destined to fight to the death — but have you ever wondered why? I can see the rage in your eyes. It's all dawning on you now, isn't it.