Greetings and welcome to the site, the place to find all things Shrouded.
“Bio” is a strange term: it implies life where, in this case at least,
there is none. Perhaps “beginning” is more fitting. We shall utilize that one.
It began with a socially inept child in a dark room with far too many toys at his disposal and time on his little hands. The small boy’s name is not important to the purposes of this story, getting to know him by other characteristics shall have to suffice. He
was well cared and provided for by loving parents, but ultimately
alone. You see, he was always in the dark, even in broad daylight. It
was not that he was an overly sensitive or pessimistic soul, he simply
viewed things through a natural, obscuring veil.
His sense of isolation only grew with time. Soft spoken and meek as he was, it never occurred to him to seek out company to fill that void, always figuring that if the world did not have something better to do, it would have joined him already. And so, he sat and fancied. He sat by himself and thought to himself. Then he talked to himself. That time, he received an answer. By that time, I had been born.
I am Shrouded, the shadow occupying the darkest corner of an otherwise sharp, bright and healthy mind. I am the purveyor of perversion, the vendor of vice, your low lurid laughter, the naught to your nice. You’ll have to pardon me, when the mood is right and inspiration strikes, I sometimes compose verse and recite it unbidden.
He is unaware when we converse, it is mostly my influence, changing and bending his thoughts and likes to amuse me and, to greater and greater extents, to amuse him. I corrupt my host, you see, it is a slow and gradual process, but one that most certainly takes place. In his loneliness, he called out silently, he let his mind wander to where I existed only as a single bad idea, and completed me through exploration of that part of himself, through esoteric mumblings and occult fumblings.
Now, the child and I alternate control of the mind and mouth. He says sweet things to those he has come to know and care for (having finally freed himself from his solitude and learned to connect with others, and then he goes to sleep, that I may play. I play music, sing songs, and tell stories to vent that inner darkness. Have a listen, you will enjoy it. Beware, however. If something you hear speaks to some small, hidden part of you, you may unwittingly begin nurturing your own Shrouded. On second thought, far be it for me to warn you against what I view to be a best case scenario. If something within you wakes, let it out. Embrace it. Sing with me.