I awoke in a crypt, full of broken bones and hazy near forgotten dreams. I am sentient. Why I am here you or I might ask, because of my death at the hands of an element shaping spellcaster. I was a hopeful and rather powerless recruit of the Scarlet Crusade. I wielded my broadsword with the finesse of a drunken dwarf. My dwarven friends liked to point this out to me whenever we fought the scourge and anyone else in the way of the Crusade. As I recall all of this, the image of my slayer suddenly appears in my mind. Torrent, a enemy of mine from the training days of our childhood. I had once embarrassed him in front of our peers when I had pushed him into the mud after his spells backfired. He was what we called an Aspect Conjurer, or Mage in your lexicon. His Arcane Blast had struck me in the back of the head, ripping it asunder. This is my last memory as a living human. His blast, however, imparted some of his arcane abilities within my blood, thus giving me the talents he possessed. Unfortunately...
