Hi, my name is Adriticus. I have a last name, but I haven't used it in 3 years. I'm a warlock studying the element of wind; my family, who are all fierce and feared lightning warlocks, are not necessarily brimming with joy because of my element. And by not brimming with joy, I mean they tried to sacrifice me in some crazy ritual in an effort to "purify the bloodline". Not exactly what I like to call a supportive family, but I like to believe that it is not our past that defines us; rather, it is our future. I know, pretty deep for a sarcastic teenager. See, I can be a little sentimental, even empathetic, at times. My family doesn't necessarily celebrate that either.

Let's get something straight; I'm no protagonist. I'm not a hero. I'm a killer. I've read a lot of books over my short 16 years (that, surprisingly, ny family does condone), and I've studied history well into the night. One thing I have learned is that there is never a good guy, neither is there a bad guy. I've witnessed many drown in fairy tales and fables of happy ever after; such tales destroy them. It sends then into a hopeless spiral of perfectionism that only ever ends one way. No, my story is not one of heroic proportions or wicked ambitions; but rather, it tells of the blurry line between good and bad.

I was born to a family of fierce lightning warlocks native to Tiberra. A tribe would be a better way to describe them. Patriarchal in nature, we were ruled by a tyrant of a man that I refuse to name. I will name none of them, it would do no good. My father was an abusive drunk that reached the 13th degree in lightning. My mother, who married into the family, was usually quiet and submissive, even though she had reached the 11th degree in lightning. We lived off the land, feeding on wild beasts and the occasional grain or fruit. The family was filled with fierce contention and hatred; such rigid abuse that we never dared to speak out or be different. Like I said; when I displayed talents for the element of air, my family was outraged and became incredibly violent, and came to the conclusion that I must be sacrificed to the unnameables for my blasphemy. I struggled, and had to use wild arcanery to escape. That's all I will say of the encounter, as I find it difficult to discuss.

So, I ran. I obtained my first degree for a hefty sum from a greedy warlock residing in Dramask, the Tiberran capital. I then met my wonderful mentor, an 11th degree air warlock, who served as a captain in the Tiberran army. He was the first person that ever treated me like, well, a person. From him I learned the next 7 degrees, obtaining my 8th degree a month ago. I will not discuss my time with him right now, as we have a more interesting tale to tell: the Legion. They have been steadily marching into my kingdom, and now my mentor and I accompany what remains of the Tiberran army into a battlefield 20 miles west of Dramask. This brings me to the present.