Kinslayer

Midgard does not impose many rules on her dwellers, choosing to let them live and love, eat and sleep, kill and die as they choose. Their lives are their own to govern.   But a few things are unforgivable. Crimes so heinous, so against the laws of nature, that the powers that be, the faceless gods who watch over all, cannot let them stand without reproach.   When these crimes are committed, their perpetrators must be forever marked, that everyone they meet would know their shame.   Although they may never be formally named, these punishments earn their own titles. Bestowed upon their bearers in hushed whispers, spoken in dark pubs, only after furtive glances are cast about.   One such crime - the spilling of familial blood. That which is yours to protect, cherish, honor, and pass on above all else. The spray of your bloodline’s life essence offends Midgard to her very core, and she is compelled to respond.   Perpetrators are cast out of the light, cursed to dwell forever more in shadow. No, not Nesuferit, for even they may learn to feel the warmth of the sun upon their skin once more, may mingle freely amongst the common folk.   It is far more pronounced than that. These beasts are given a living shroud, shadows draped around their shoulders, oozing into every pore. Their family, be there any left, their friends, strangers - anyone they gaze upon will be overcome with horror. Not a one shall desire to meet their gaze, instead preferring to depart by any path available.   Never again shall they know the embrace of love and companionship, instead destined to wander the earth alone for all their days.   And how are these poor souls demarcated amongst their peers, what title is bestowed upon them, though they may never know?   Well, dear reader, I would think it obvious.   These are the Kinslayers.