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An Illyrian son born a bastard, despised for his birth by a family only related to him by blood. He was locked away in the darkest of fates, the shadows his only friend to a growing boy. But it wasn't long before the darkness itself began to speak to him.
He became the ShadowSinger.
At only eight years old, the fickle fingers of fate pulled a cruel strand of fire and oil upon him. His hands scarred beyond the limits of his healing and his ears ringing with the sound of his endless screams. It was only the intervention of fate's fickle fingers once again that saved him from a horrible fate, but what was worse than the nightmare he was currently living?
He became burned by fate and by hatred.
At eleven years old, he was tossed into the frigid range of the Windhaven training camps. Endless pain, hunger, and agony in his friend once again until he found a new bond in the form of two others, at first from hatred but then by brothers in arms if not by blood, and something that had been so frozen in him had started to thaw ever so slightly.
He became a survivor.
His skills in stealth and shadows were unsurpassed, his tactics unique to his position as the Night Court High Lord's very own shadowsinger. He waited for the call of his lord's freedom from the scarlet haired she demon born from the very depths of hell while he monitored the security of the hidden city of Velaris, seeing only through shadows and mist the consequences of the entire land of Prythian while under her rule.
He became the Spymaster.
ShadowSinger, Survivor, Spymaster, wielder of the enchanted blade Truth-Teller, and valued friend of the High Lord and High Lady of the Night.
He is known by all these names and one more.
He became Azriel.