Backstory (though only a few will probably read all of this):<br/><span style="color: red">WARNING!!!: Viewer discretion is advised.The following page contains subject matter that is not advised for viewers with a faint heart, weak constitutions, or are pregnant or may become pregnant. Continue at your own risk!<br/>You have been warned!<br/>Seriously, turn back now if the above applies.<br/>This is your last warning.</span><br/><br/>A long time ago there was a massacre, no . . . a genocide. An invasion on Glaive's village and the slaughter of his people. They came without warning and without mercy. Beings with hooded cloaks of darkness barged into his home. His father fought them to give Glaive and his mother the chance to escape. They two fled into the tall grassy fields for cover. They were safe for awhile until something unexpected happened. A fellow tigerwolf stabbed his mother . . . repeatedly. The memory of seeing his dead mother soaked in a pool of her own blood still burns inside his mind. He would of killed him to had it not been for another tigerwolf that stepped in and attacked the first. Glaive was confused and terrified. His legs refused to move an inch as he watched his fellow people, people he knew well, fight as if they were bitter enemies. He was seven.<br/>He remembered escaping them and hiding out in the plantations. He couldn't even scream or cry out for help for he didn't know who was a friend and who was an enemy. Eventually he was captured and sold into slavery by the cloaked strangers, along with a handful of other tigerwolves. One of them was the one who killed his mother. Every night, in the middle of the night, one of their cells would be opened and the unlucky individual inside would be killed on the spot or tortured. One hundred cells would turn up empty each morning. And filled again that afternoon. It sickened Glaive to no end. For they weren't killed for crimes, but for entertainment and sport. He was filled with anger and grief and he wished that they would kill the one responsible for his mothers death, but that fantasy never came true. Instead in the morning he was privileged with the honor of seeing people skinned alive, sawed in half, eyes plucked out, fingers bent back, and tongues cut out. Those that were lucky died instantly.<br/>It was common to see people walking around without limbs or see trails of blood leading to someone who chose suicide by biting into his veins. If Glaive feared death before, he did no longer. Living was much worse. Glaive never got the chance to exact his revenge because the traitor had managed to escape. Glaive sought to do the same.<br/><br/>(( I'll stop here because I'm tired so I think I'll just sum of the rest of his story in a short compact list. ))