Once a kind-hearted, earnest, and hard-working boy hailing from a tribe of desert dwelling mercenaries called Aderajio, Icetios no longer feels empathy for others. When Icetios came of age, he was taken to the armory, trying every sword but failing to find any that suited his grasp, that felt right in his hand. Dread mounting, he was lead to the last sword anybody wished to wield, the one named Cursed Vow - and it suited him like an extension of his own body. Intiating a blood contract with this sword, Icetios bound his soul to Cursed Vow, granting him access to the power sealed within from souls of his past ancestors that had wielded the weapon before him. Formerly named Righteous Vow, this old sword had its power increased through successive forced contracts with people, who were then immediately executed to feed the weapon. The sword is incredibly powerful, however, the souls trapped inside it are... not happy.

With his mind filled with the whispers and screams and laughter of Cursed Vow's trapped souls, and Icetios' tribe shunning him because of the nature and history of his chosen sword, Icetios withdrew into himself, eventually abandoning his tribe to wander the world alone, with nothing but the cacophany of hundreds of anguished souls for company. Over time, his sweet nature was eroded, replaced by a wilder, violence-hungry temperment. With his will broken, and his humanity in tatters, Icetios is merely an extension of the sword, rather than the sword being an extension of himself, essentially leaving him as just a puppet of Cursed Vow's denizens.

Icetios raised his sword; pointing it into the sky he rasped, "ancestors, I invoke thee." The white blade turned black, shadows gathering around him, inky black spreading across his eyes. Shadows coiled off the blade in a mist, dripping from it, and leaked from his eyes like tears. Where they impacted, shadow splashed and rippled outwards in a widening circle, all plant life within its growing radius withering as the shadow reached it. A chorus of whispers started, screams and laughter and snarling and hissing. Icetios laughed, black tears streaming from his jet black eyes, dispersing into shadowy mist where it fell onto his chest. He lowered the sword to point at the enemy. He grinned. "Perish."