Yours truly have gone and returned from slumber extensively beneath the Mogron Pass. People who belonged to me, fearing the powers yours truly contains, snatched me from my sovereignty and secured me into the depths of the land. Confined in a sepulcher, perpetuity, or so my people contemplated. My people who did treacherous actions. Yours truly would have never touched or mistreated her subjects but alas my city was struck by enemy forces during our darkest hour. There was yet one measure I could potentially take to restore peace among my people. We were fatigued due to the lack of agriculture. The golden ball of fire within the sky, so hot , no traders would come to us. The grounds so bare and lifeless. A perfect opportunity for our opposers to assault us, while we were at the bottom of our pit. Despite our unkind position, I still was required to safeguard my citizens.
They named me as Queen, the superior of Shurima and I shan't move them astray. A perilous procedure however the single action one can take to resuscitate my terrain and take part in a violent struggle against the marauders. I shall ascend to godliness to protect my citizens. And I was triumphant. With immense aggregations of vigor from the operation, our sandy land turned green, water fell in droplets from the space above us. My people's thirst quenched. I arose in a new skin and with a gesture of my forelimb, my adversaries fell ill and perished within just a few moments of time. The full, undivided armies laid before me as corpses. The person I call myself was brand new with new capabilities and talents . But ascending was forbidden for the almost forgotten but old spiels informed us, though greatness is achieved, it would cause immense issues to arise. This is why they rooted me, not even beneath my great city but in the mountains in the close proximity. They ostracized yours truly from my rule. Several shakes of the earth arose over sands of time but with each one, miniscule fractures formed within the structure of my prison. The arcane runes that kept me in check only maintained a proper working order if they stayed intact. But one large earthquake convulsed my penitentiary and one rune fell out of place. One rune slipping from proper arrangement was enough to shatter my slumber.
I climbed from my imprisonment cavity and made a short navigation back to Shurima. All things were not how I left them. I could not fathom the length of my slumber. I found that many new leaders lived and died, some ascended. But they were all hundreds of years after myself. I glanced over a detailed drawing of the lands, I only recognized a few other places they were called by different titles, The Voodoo Lands, Mogron Pass and The Great Barrier. Nothing else was recognizable. When I was ruler of Shurima, it was not nearly a third of the volume as it is today. No one recalls my rule. No one retains any information on my sovereign of this land. The lot is not as it was. There are these metal contraptions they call machines. Magic metal sticks that shoot projectiles. What is the length of my absence?