Once he led the revolutionaries against a tyrannical lord.

Once he had a beautiful wife.

Once he was a hero.

But that was before he got caught, beaten down, nearly killed, and sold into slavery.

Now he has nothing but hate and the chains of his bondage: the only weapons he has with which to escape.

This scar on my arm is the mark of the thin man's sword.

These on my chest, the barbarian's gyrspike.

This, on my shoulder, the woodsman's axe.

And this rasping whisper, all that is left of my voice, it is the scar of the Lord Singer's jealousy.

They took my voice and my life and left my body for the crows. But not all who die rest in peace.

It was the best thing that ever happened to him.

It was his god's blessing.

It was hell.

Vell was content to be a mere warrior in the Thunderbeast tribe, staying behind on the hunt to guard the camp.

But then something alien awakened deep within him, the spirit of a behemoth that he could not control. With it came attacks from the sky, visitors from far lands, and a mysterious command from their ancestral totem: Find the living. And this time, no one was going to let him just stay behind.

They are the half-bloods, the broken, the unforgiven. They failed themselves and their people.They are outcasts.

Then, in the bitter wilds of Rashemen, they receive a desperate plea they alone can answer.

If they succeed, it could mean their redemption. But if they fail, a troubled past will be the least of their problems.