I pour my life into these books, to hold my power so that it may be restored by those who seek to find me. May they be loyal allies, or suffer my scorn.
I was born in a travelling settlement in the desert. It was little more than a village, by the name of Auspah. My parents were farmers, and I spent my early childhood helping them to the livestock. However, the highlight of each year was a festival.
It was a celebration of life and freedom, and it is where all the young of Auspah learned the skills of the elders. The festival lasted a week. Each year passed so quickly, but I will always remember the delights it held: my father and the other men raising great, burning beasts from the bonfire, sending them stampeding across the desert to simmer away, or my mother and the other Auspah dancing, with flames twirling around their bodies like the lightest of robes. For the rest of those years, I relentlessly plagued my parents to teach me their skills, and I spent every spare minute practicing so I could hope to be in the next festival.
When I was still young, my village was destroyed by raiders. My parents led the defence, but we were a peaceful community, they had not trained their powers for fighting and were easily overwhelmed. I tried to help them, conjuring pathetic sparks that singed the raiders trousers, but it was no use.
I saw my parents come to bloody death before my eyes, failing among the villagers littering the ground. As the carnage continued, I was knocked unconscious. Some might call it a stroke of luck as the raiders left me, assuming I was dead, but when I awoke in the aftermath I wished they had taken me too.
My saviors found me a week later, starving and dehydrated, Benedict, who spotted me in the desert, always said how amazed he was that I survived. They took me in and raised me as if I was their own, and I grew up to be a strong follower of the god Zaros.
I found work as a dancer, and my talents did not go unnoticed. Word of my performances spread, and I eventually caught of Zaros himself. In his own way, he enlisted me into his forces, keen to use my skills for more than just entertainment. I was keen to revenge against those who had wronged me as a child, and I quickly showed prowess in battle. Then came the day I will never forget.
It was only days ago, though it felt like years. The poison must be slowing me faster than I had anticipated. Zaros called me to him, his voiced ringing around my head, booming yet soft. He was curious of the activity of the ‘goddess’ Seren, hidden away in her crystalline city, and wished to send a party of the most trusted followers to scout the area, or so he claimed. When he told me, something seemed wrong, Zaros was troubled, I could feel it.
I was to lead the party, along with Zaros’s trusted mahjarrat, Zamorak. I had worked with Zamorak before. He is one of the longest-lasting generals, and is greatly respected. When he spends time with Zaros, no one may intervene.
In truth, I was jealous of him. However, I also regarded him with great suspicion. Not only is Zamorak a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, he is very clever. He can twist words and bend almost anyone to his will. Rumours had been spreading about him, and he had been leaving the empire, often for weeks on end, I could not ignore my feelings about him, but I had to trust my god Zaros.
The party for the mission was mostly made up of Zamorak’s ranks, who all followed him devoutly. We were also accompanied Perjour, Zaros most valued scholar, eager to learn more about the elven lands. His strength lay in knowledge, I knew he would not stand up to Zamorak if threatened. I would be lying if I said I was not afraid.
The worst happened sooner than I expected, I thought Zamorak would at least wait until we had completed the mission. We were on our way towards Prifddinas, when we were ambushed. They were elven out-riders, no match for us individually, but we are heavily outnumbered. The battle was arduous, but it became clear that we were going to be victorious. I could not have expected it at that point. In the middle of our enemies, I turned to see Zamorak. He was not fighting, but walking serenely towards me, with a twisted smile. There, amid the blood and struggle of the fight, he stabbed. I had no time to react, it was so quick. As I fell to ground, he signaled to his troops. The elves were finished off quickly.
Zamorak did not join the remains of the fight. He crouched over me, and whispered, explained that he had poisoned the dagger he had gored me with. It was a special concoction of his. I was not to die, the poison would, in fact, extend my life, but I would be barely strong enough to move.
He commanded his troops to seal me in these caves. Only the scholar showed any signs of regret as they shut me in, to live out centuries with the pain of knowing I could not stop Zamorak’s plan.
What a fool, I am quite proud to write that Zaros must have shared something with me that he did not share with Zamorak, I had always had a great interest in learning more than my fire skills, so Zaros agreed to teach me some of his ancient magic.
Just days before the mission, Zaros showed me this. By reliving my story into these journals, enchanted by Zaros himself, I am able to store my powers within them. It is not an easy task, the poison is still seeping through my veins, stinging every inch of my body. I think this text will be enough. Soon I will sleep, until Zaros comes to awaken me. He will come...