All was dark, all was quiet, and the only sound was the rustling of leaves in the faint and gentle breeze. Then, suddenly, a cry split the silence, shattered it like a stone would glass, a scream of agonizing pain that would rend even the heartiest of men's resolve in two.

The Raven was out and about on that night, as he would be on any night, and so took it upon himself to locate the source of this heart wrenching cry. Black wings lifted, feathers ruffled, and he tilted a touch to the left, dipped down and soon fell into a swift dive for the small bundle of hovels and shacks.

As he neared the ground, the Raven changed, took on the form of the Man. The Man, preferred to be called Naven. Naven, was tall, standing at a height of six foot six, and was surprisingly pale skinned. His cheeks were gaunt and hollow, the skin stretched too tightly over the bone, giving him an all too convincing skeletal appearance. His hair was not hair, but feathers, raven feathers, long, ruffled, and black. He wore a cloak, a cloak that was blacker than the void, darker than the darkest night, it seemed fit only in a realm like the Underdark or the Plane of Shadow. The rest of his body was similarly clothed, all black, all monotonous, all imposing. The cloak would often billow outward as he walked, giving the vague impression of wings, and his shadow, was always that of the Raven, a not too subtle reminder of just what he was.

People feared and respected the Raven, with good reason, he was a man...a thing, of great power, shrouded in mystery, he was a being of darkness supreme, yet there was no evil in his will, no ill intent in his actions. He was not a being of malice or hate, he simply lived, did so without regards to what others would think, laws were foreign things, rules meant little, manners where human things, something he didn't feel the need to bother himself with.

It was with said impunity that the Raven, or Naven, as he liked to be called, walked toward the small run down hovel that he landed in front of, following the incessant cries of pain toward the door. Long skeletal fingers uncurled and reached out, wrapping around the handle and just yanked the door open, nearly tearing it from its hinges.

Normally such an act would?ve had the residents jumping and screaming at the Raven, but they knew he?d come, he had said he?d come when such a day occurred, said he?d walk in, and would do what he was born to.

The hovel was just a small, two rooms home, a front room, and a backroom. The backroom had no door, was connected to the front room by door sized hole in the wall. The Raven walked toward the hole in the wall, and into the backroom. The backroom was dimly lit, just a few candles and a small window to allow the moonlight in. Set at the base of the window, was a cot, on this cot, was a woman, one who was pregnant, and by all accounts and appearances, about to go into labor. Next to the woman was a man, her lover, the ?father? of the child, even though he was sterile, and she could bear no children, yet there she was, obviously pregnant, and going through contractions that were sure to lead up to the birth.

It was with the arrival of the Raven, that all went silent; even the woman?s incessant cries of pain suddenly came to an end. The Raven approached the woman and the man stepped in front of him.

?Stand back Raven, we don?t want or need any of your foul magic here!? the man shouted at the Raven.

?Move,? the Raven responded in a tone so soft spoken, yet so demanding, that the man all but fell aside as the Raven approached.

The Raven stopped in front of the woman, and placed his hand on her round stomach, closed his eyes, and chanted softly. Energy coursed down his arm, surged through the Raven and into the woman, or more importantly, into the baby within her. Then his hand plunged into her stomach, through the skin without a drop of blood being spilled, and yanked back, ripping an orb from her stomach, an orb that was actually the child?s essence. The birthing stopped. Suddenly there was no baby, just the orb, and the black orb of spiraling shadows.

The man, the woman, and the nurse present, all stared at the Raven wide eyed, in horror as he lifted the orb that was once a child into the air, and whispered into it.

?Viggtu Yah Tluin D'Faer Draeval Lu'Vhid,? he said in a voice of pure chaos, and all the light fled the room. All present, save for the Raven, let out a startled scream, then just as suddenly, the light returned, but the Raven, and the orb was gone.

The Raven stood in the topmost spire of the Blackcrown Citadel, holding the orb of swirling shadow and chaotic energy up to the figure draped in living darkness. The figure reached out with boney hands, and took the orb, whispered into it the words of life the spell of creation, and the incantation of preservation.

A blinding flash filled the spire, a flash that could be seen from all over the land, and when it subsided, the figure held not a black orb, but a small newborn child, with ever changing eyes and strikingly dark hair.

?Raven, you?ll deliver the boy to his ?family,? the figure draped in darkness commanded of his servant.

Without a word, the Raven bowed and took the infant from the figure?s cold grip, then in a flutter of black feathers, vanished.

The next day, that same couple woke up, with a baby lying in bed between them, their baby, their child, their son, his name was Viggtu Yah Tluin D'Faer Draeval Lu'Vhid, but they named him Mailum.