How to begin such a tale? I would start, if I could, by telling you of my previous life. Alas, I have no memory of that existence. In truth, I could not even tell you how long I have been in this phase of life… life… if you could call it such a thing.

  So, I shall start with what I know to be the beginning, the first true thing I remember…

  Upon my awakening, I wandered the land in which I found myself. The forest that greeted me with its dying entourage of flora was easily traversed, opening to a mountainous yet empty horizon devoid of any signs of civilisation save for billowing columns of thick, dark smoke to the north-east. Loathe as I was to follow them, for they had turned the air putrid with some foul kindling. I forced myself onwards in the hope that a landmark I recognised may emerge.

  My bare feet scraped in weary fatigue upon the barren soil, hard as stone. Every step was wounding, no matter whether I ascended or descended the hills and valleys before me. Every step drained me a little more. I could only be thankful for the thick clouds overhead that dampened the skies, preventing the blistering heat of the sun from landing on my pale skin. Regardless, I pressed on with my travels; however, the tiredness was such that I'm unable to say how long I walked.

  It felt like many hours before I encountered my first look at anything even remotely resembling civilisation. It was not a pleasant sight. A crossroad, although I hesitate to call it one, for the road had been long forgotten, it seemed, but the wooden post was of relatively fresh placement. I wish I could speak the same for the poor wretch left to mummify in the iron gibbet hanging from said post. A horrific sight for those unaccustomed to such displays. Had my stomach not been empty, I’m sure I may have lost it there and then. The tortured individual had been left to rot on perhaps a day much less obscured by clouds. His skin, or what remained of it, was blackened and had dried in the heat, it clung to his meagre bones so tightly. There was little meat left on him, even a passing raven who happened to take a rest on the beam did not bother with the frivolity of picking for scraps. As morbid as this all was, I felt some relief in finding this icon of capital punishment. It meant wherever I was; I was nearing people. I stumbled onwards.

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  Initially, I thought I was hallucinating, but it became clear this was no mirage as I drew closer. I neared a grand building, shining white against the dull landscape, and beyond it the signs of several large communities, possibly even citadels. I made a final push towards the white walls of whatever structure lay ahead of me. No guards stood outside to hamper my progress, and neither was the portcullis with its eager teeth dropped. I ventured in, happy to at last support myself upon the walls. The epic murals depicted on them, and the language inscribed in decorative fonts meant nothing to me. I could not understand their significance, even if I had given pause to take them in.

  At last, with heaviness upon my chest, I came to a large hall which opened up with great splendour all its own. First to catch my tired eyes were the ruined remains of nine pillars, so tarnished and damaged that it was a wonder they still stood. Beneath them, a throne of glimmering bronze, almost seeming to depict a grasping taloned hand, and sat upon it, the first true thing I recognised.

  He sat up on his throne, his eyes wide at seeing me. In his shock, he uttered only a single questioning, “You?” He rose as the look of confusion turned to fury in his eyes.

  I lifted my trembling hand, and gave the only response I could offer him, “Kain…” before I fell into unconsciousness in his arms.