Awakening
The dread isle, a cold and desolate land rang with the howling of wolves. The rank smell of decaying flesh filled the air, the morphs or rather the foul mockeries of life lay as a grotesque decoration for the already twisted island. Down the path, enshrouded by the malevolent woodlands lay a large structure, a giant prison, kept to protect Elibe from darkness.
Within the labyrinth, decorations and ancient totems lay lined across the walls. The sickly green hue that coloured the labyrinth only served to illustrate a darkly cloaked figure lying dormant on the ground. A powerful magician he was known. Powerful he had called himself, wise beyond any other he had shown himself to be. In reality though, he was among the follies of mankind. He had in haste believed himself to be divine, a god, and in consequence had felt justice delivered upon him.
They had thought him dead, but fate plays its cards strangely, with the oddest of people.
Presumably dead, the sorcerer's eyes opened.
In confusion, the man heaved himself off the cold floor. He gazed frantically around, curious as to where he was. Turning to his side, he noticed the chilling eyes of a morph. The sorcerer yelled in surprise and backed away quickly. He closed his eyes and ordered himself to be calm. He let out deep slow breaths, and began rationalizing the situation. Flashes of memories entered his mind, most of which were incoherent and held no worthwhile information.
Upon regaining his composure he surveyed the area and felt a small twinge of curiosity. Slowly but surely, the sorcerer accepted his surrounds in faint recognition. The place was definitely familiar, but nothing surprised him, for he could not remember what had actually happened.
The area was decorated oddly. It had symbols; drawings of ancient reptilian creatures. The hallway was dark and unforgiving. The passageway was littered with corpses, and disturbing images lay, as if to enhance the evil of the area. To the sorcerer's dismay, none of his surroundings disturbed him in the least.
His mind, nonetheless, was littered in confusion. "What is this evil place? What was I doing here? Why am I so weary and pained," were among the many questions that littered the sorcerer's mind.
He finally looked down upon his calloused hands.
"Who am I," the sorcerer mused, amid the unyielding dark.