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"...And whatsoever thou wilt venture in this life or the next, thy kith and kin shall see no good of't. Inasmuch as thou essay to see the end of an enterprise, so too will its catastrophe be the greater. I curse thee: Failure." The boy's mother wept beneath the touch of the accursed despoiler, wrapped not in the visage of bull or satyr, but that of a demented hellspawn, and in vain the efforts of woman and husband to evade his lustful approach. All their designs to deny the unholy union unraveled as if cast under a dark moon, for their foe was none other than the architect of impotence, a dark God whose dominion was the ruination and failure of the designs of men. Such was the strength of his power that the attempts of the woebegotten pair to end the life growing in her womb were foiled. And when the Godspawn first drew breath, they knew not its fate, till the Dark God appeared once more, dark, terrible, and spoke the curse above. So he was named. The child was frail, and grew lacking the light of hope, or a kind touch to temper a broken heart. Everything he set his mind to do fell away from him, just as the Demon God had ordained. The boy yearned for the love of his parents, but garnered only hatred and scorn. Cast off into the snows, just as a weird and twisted fruit falls more quickly from the tree, he survived only through a deep despair, a desire for oblivion that was never to be satiated, and the cold, erstwhile favor of Fate, that most Demi-gods possess. Before long, eight years of his life had past, wandering from house to house, never finding a home, nation to nation, though never escaping the realm of Defeat. He is destined never to find happiness or peace, and such spirits as may grant the former or the latter seldom seek out and find those as wretched as our little Failure. Never truly understanding his curse, precisely because he always tries to do so, Failure has come to Khazan in an doomed attempt to find those strong enough to help him, or to finish his miserable existence. He cannot hope to find solace in an Age of Champions. He cannot hope. It is better, then, that his quest is a futile one - for the day when he truly learns to live will be the day his life ends.
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A Road Well Traveled
 Phasing: Standard
The child strode purposefully through the camp, walking through palisade, building, and even slumbering soldier as they appeared in his path. To his idle chagrin the boy found himself much ignored, more a victim of negligence than a beneficiary of any great amount of stealth. If any of his foe's hirelings and clansmen had attempted to meet and attack this interloper, however, he would have met their gaze steadily and invited the doom they would surely have offered. Straight lines, a fast track to disappointment - Failure knew no other way to travel.
Immunity: Tactician
 Immunity: Standard
The lanterns cast a wan light over the small ivory pieces, representing infantry, archers, horsemen, laying stolidly across lambskin etched with detailed maps of the surrounding terrain. I rubbed callused hands together to ward away the cold, though I knew my insides were better warmed by thoughts of impending glory. My plans were nearly complete - I would have been the first of my clan to slay a Godling - when he entered my tent, strode through the meeting hall, a small foot knocking over one of the figurines - a general. He stopped a pace from my throne. I know not how he passed my sentries and guards, but there he stood. No plan to capture or inconvenience the childer was necessary, as this young Daniel had walked straight into the lion's den! Sadly, my joy quickly fell to confusion when the youth spoke, in a gentle, quiet voice: "Kill me."
Sins of the Father
 Lucky: Ultimate
Failure's demonic father had the power to make the efforts of any mortal fail to come to pass, and his son has inherited a twisted version of the God's abilities. Whatever Failure truly desires in his heart, and whatever he consciously tries to accomplish, must never come to pass. This is his curse, and the origin of his strange power. Woe be to those that would help this young child achieve his goals, be they his own death or a fleeting sense of happiness as yet unknown. As Failure's typical wish is for his own death and/or defeat, any foe of his must contend with divine forces which seek to prevent such from coming to pass. Anything that can be imagined to prevent Failure's wish can happen, and often does. The powers of the Gods can be subtle as a buckle breaking or overt as a stroke of lightning, coincidental when possible and downright Hellish when such is called for. In short, as long as Failure wishes for his own destruction, it will take a grand champion indeed to bring it to pass.
The Greatest Skill
 Force of Will: Ultimate
My mind raced as I advanced, sword in hand, and bent my arm against the young one. My sword turned in my hand, defying my grip, and clattered to the ground, falling inches before my swing would have separated the fool's head from his body. I had heard of this fiend's nefarious power, and came prepared. With one swift motion I flipped out a dagger strapped to my forearm and slashed the blade across the boy's chest. It slid across his skin as if the boy were made of mythril. The blood pounded in my ears, but still I could hear his voice, solemn, even regretful: "Please, try harder." I swore, and threw the useless weapon aside and curled a fist behind my head, ready to finish the job with bare hands. Abruptly, I heard a snap above me. A beam supporting the massive tent fell, and I was crushed beneath its weight. I could see the silhouette of the child standing above me. I spat at the creature with what strength I had left. This was not to be my end... My guards would come, and they'd finish this Godspawn! I wheezed as the heavy plank sunk lower into my chest, quickening my breath. It is said among my people that Luck is a skill. This young one is a master.
A Parting Gift
 Hyper-Senses: Standard
His father was not without humor, though it took shape more often than not in a bitter sense of irony. Failure is cursed not only to feel defeat at every turn, but also to feel more than other men. A burden more than a power, Failure feels the weight of his fate more acutely each passing moment, feels the knife of pain twisting in his gut grow ever sharper even as he struggles to make his suffering end. It is almost impossible to convince the child to resign himself to his fate: his heart is too full of bitter memories and forgotten dreams to entertain the notion of giving up.
The Ties that Bind
 Web Creation: Superior
The world grew darker, and the boy's whisper seemed even more distant than before. His words reached my ears though, too mournful to be anything but mocking, "I'm sorry." I swore at the wretch again with my last breath, and mounted a final struggle against the beam that was crushing my chest. To my surprise, the boy had knelt down as well in an effort to remove the killing plank. He looked weak, but there was still a chance... With our force of arms combined, I could feel the beam lifting itself off my ribcage, listing slightly to the side as it rose an inch above my breast. Suddenly, the boy's arm faltered, and seemed frozen in place beyond his ability to break free, unable to support the beam. It collapsed down on me a second time, and I felt my hold on life slipping. I saw my men charge into the collapsing tent, weapons drawn. I wanted to shout at them to kill the boy, to grant his infernal wish, but I had no wind to give life to my thoughts. They remained motionless, as if caught in the same web of pity, fear, and doubt as the young Godling before them. My eyes felt heavy - I let them shut a final time. Darkness, silent and implacable, beckoned; I was never one to deny its call.
The Vigilant Disaster
 Telepathy: Supreme
The dark forces that stalk Failure are not bound by the trappings of mortal life or the limitations of mortal perception. They originate from the very essence of Failure's being, and as such, there is no desire of his that can remain secret. They know his thoughts; his silent and waking nightmares are their domain. If he can dream it, wish for it - it is theirs to deny. There are no surprises left in the world; the hopes of others are also laid bare, spreading out across the battlefield like a fragile lattice. The blood of his father runs strong within him, it is his nature but not his will to thwart the designs of others; and when his wish matches theirs...
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Hall Of Fame!
Survival - 8 Wins!
Brutal - 2 Fatalities
