Padric al'Calellis was born in a small Two Rivers village called Deven Ride. His mother was a widow who swore an Aiel spearman had left her with child in the final days of the Aiel War. Marked from birth, Padric was born with seven fingers on each hand, seven toes on each foot, and hair red like flame. Small and slight, he was a good boy who honored his mother and worked hard tending to their sheep.
One Bel Tine, a gleeman spun tales of heroes of old: Birgitte Silverbow, Rogosh Eagle-Eye, and the lost glories of Manetheren. These tales ignited his desire for adventure. Despite being barely old enough, he packed his crook, gave his Ma a farewell kiss, and walked to Emond's Field to join the Red Eagle recruits.
On the green, he found boys playing tip-cat with sticks, trying to see who could hit it the furthest. Amid great shouting and excitement, Padric dove in with his crook, his speed and dexterity allowing him to hit the smaller stick so far that it disappeared into the Westwood. The tallest boy, Ladwin, roared in fury: You puny, small, weak little boy! How dare you interrupt our game! Get 'em, lads!" Five other boys piled on top of Padric, striking him with fists and sticks.
"What is the commotion, lads?!" boomed an authoritative voice. The boys scattered, not wanting to see the fury of Master Jorran Burdal. "Little runt thought he could just sneak into our game, Master Burdal!" Ladwin spat. Jorran eyed the bloodied and battered young boy. "Speak, lad."
Padric rose, with shoulders squared. "I am Padric al'Calellis from Deven Ride. I've come to train as a Red Eagle and become a Blademaster."
Jorran chuckled. "Bold words. First, seek their protection, and you're in." Jorran pointed to the group of boys.
The young boy nodded, asking it formally. The other boys accepted gladly. But as Jorran turned, another commotion erupted. Like a whirlwind, Padric was throwing boys to the dirt like chaff. "They must seek my protection now, or I'll drop every last one of them!" The boys begged Padric's protection quickly, and he let off them.
Padric's training flew by quickly; his skill outshone his size, though the teasing lingered still. One day, some of the boys bet he couldn't wrestle Ironjaw, Jorran's massive prized guard hound, into submission. With enormous pride, he accepted the challenge. He grappled with the fierce hound: hold, reverse, hold, until a fury overtook Padric. In the frenzy, he snapped Ironjaw's neck.
Hearing the racket going on outside, Jorran stormed out. "Ironjaw! My hound, dead! Who guards my manor and village now, boy?"
Padric knelt solemnly in the gore: "I will, Master Burdal. I am your Shae'en, your hound, until you train a replacement."
Jorran nodded. "So be it. No more Padric al'Calellis. You are Shae'en al'Burdal, Hound of the Two Rivers."
For two years, Shae'en guarded the Manor and slept at the threshold. He patrolled the village, driving off wolves and brigands. When Ironjaw's replacement proved ready, Shae'en was freed from his bond, honorably, but now adrift. Not yet a Red Eagle (due to not being able to finish his training), he roamed the plains of west Murandy, slaying bandits and ferocious beasts. But rumors of Shadowspawn pulled him back to the Two Rivers: Trollocs in the Westwood, Fades in the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Gleemen told tales of the Last Battle dawning, and the imminient turning of a new Age.
Alone, Shae'en stalked the Westwood, killing many Trollocs. He even chased a Fade into the foothills of the Misty Mountains. It was here in the foothills that he remembered a tale from his youth, a tale of the ancient nation of Manetheren, situated in these mountains, and their valiant last defense. Even to this day, there were still rumors of treasure troves of Power-wrought blades, impenetrable armor, and strange items that would blow Trollocs to bits in an instant. In his search, he found a stone arch and door carved with vines and leaves. He touched it, and the carvings began to glow. He thought this was a vault of some kind, opened it, and entered into the darkness. The stone door shut abruptly behind him.
He wandered for seven days and seven nights, seeking the treasure trove. Instead, Machin Shin found him. The Black Wind howled at him, revealing his fears: Small, weak boy! Ma will die alone! Ironjaw's blood is on your hands! It twisted him, both his body and his soul. "Seven fingers... seven toes... seven paths to doom... hound no more..." His eyes broke into seven pupils of brilliant color-shifting hues: crimson, sapphire, emerald, gold, amethyst, silver, and ebon black.
At once and not remembering how he got there, he burst onto the Plains of Maredo. A lioness saw him and fled screeching. He was no longer Shae'en, he was the Shadow Twisted Hound, rage incarnate and slayer of all: man, beast, and Shadowspawn alike.
In the wake of his rampaging, his tainted blood seeped into the earth, hatching emerald veined serpents from the dust. These horrors swarm the world with shimmering green scales.
Tales whispered on tongues of many throughout the world say that the Shadow Twisted Hound of the Two Rivers now roams the world, with unconfirmed sightings in the plains outside of Lugard, all the way to the forests of Saldaea and the hills of Cairhien!
Hunt and scalp these emerald veined serpents! In the plains, the roads, the Blight, the forests: in snakeholes and snakepits. Some of them might even drop a lucky clover.
Turn the emerald veined serpent scalps and shamrocks in to the mysterious young woman traveling with a band of tinkers camping in the Caralain Grass.
Prizes for those who turn the most in!
Report bugs or odd loads to Aquinas.