Igor was never a remarkable man.
He was a young man with a plain face, work-worn hands, and a mind far too curious for his own good. He was born in a cold, isolated village where secrets were better kept than grain. His mother taught him the names of herbs and the phases of the moon, and though she did so lovingly, she always whispered... far from prying ears.
When his mother died of a malignant fever, Igor tried to save her with ointments and prayers that no one wanted to hear. The villagers blamed him for her death, whispering that his hands “are guided by the devil”. They cast him out into the forest on a winter night, with nothing but his coat, a sickle, and a hatred as cold as the frost that covered him.
That was when he heard the voice.
It was no god, nor a benevolent spirit. It was a presence that delighted in injustice, that knew the metallic taste of resentment.
-Do not seek justice, Igor- the shadow whispered -justice is a lie the strong invented so they could sleep soundly. Seek balance… in your own way.-
That night, the fire of resentment kindled in his chest, and the first pact was sealed. In exchange for his bitterness, the voice taught him the secrets of curse and suffering. He learned to turn sickness back upon those who wished it, to twist cruelty into weakness, to make shame and fear devour their masters.
In time, Igor returned to his village.
Not with an army, nor with cries for vengeance, but with a polite smile and weary eyes. He healed, advised, and listened. No one noticed, at first, how the cruel began to sicken without reason, how the guilty were driven mad by their own guilt. Igor never lifted a hand against them. He merely watched… and let resentment do its work.
Now he wanders from town to town, offering his services as a healer, exorcist, and counselor. But his true mission runs deeper: to punish hypocrisy, to return pain to its source, and to ensure that no one ever again believes they can wound the weak without consequence.
His power does not come from love, but from grievance.
And in the whispers between his thoughts, his patron laughs… each time Igor remembers that forgiveness is a luxury he can no longer afford.