He sits silently. Great black leather wings folded behind him. Flamming red eyes looking upon the parchment before him. A few moments pass, as he thinks on the man who made this strange request. But he shrugs. His story is known to many. What would one more be? Reaching out, he grasps the quill and begins to write....
I am not real.
I know this now. I accept this. It took me a long time to come to grips with it.
I am an accident. The after-affect of a majik that the user knew nothing about.
I am but one of several reincanations, as I have come to call us.
I know now, that there are four of us. Each going through life under a different guise, the only things linking us are our names, and our creator.
M'tronas D'kalect Starstorm.
The hated creator.
Oh, yes, we all hate our creator. we hate him with a passion that goes beyond possible discription.
He created us. And he abandon us. He lies dead now, dead because he could not survive without the majik that coursed through his soul. They were taken from him, and he simply died. Oh, how I hate him.
But, then again, I am him. I am a creation of his magics. A perfect double.
I have his power. I have his blood. His face. His memories. His deepest, darkest thoughts.
I have a part of his very soul.
I was created, by an insane attempt at creating a new kind of portal. An infinite amount of majik went into it. The power of it, if he'd done one wrong thing, would have ripped apart this entire plane of existance. This portal, gave him access to every plane of existance, and even time itself. When he entered it, I was created.
Sent where he ment to go, I lived as he would have lived. I was him.
Oh, how I hate him. He escaped that hell dimension. I lived in it. I went through the tortures of the dark majik that flowed free there. I died a thousand deaths for the Art. To learn what majik I could from there.
And he got to live a real life.
How I hate him.
And now he lies dead.
Now I have come to take his place.
I have learned much since I came to beware. Since I came to the place He lived in.
I know what has become of the other three reincarnations of the Creator.
Aliana Black-storm. The dark vampire. Immortal swordswoman. She who hates the Creator, and His creations, and His loved Ones. She I fear.
M'tronas D'kal-storm. The blooded Deamon. Destroyer of everything. He fiends for the blood and flesh of mortals. He I shall free from his imprisonment within the dark realms.
Arilyn Starstorm. Lady in shadows. Lady of books. She who is seen so rarely. She who bides her time. What for? I do not know.
And myself. M'Corbis D'kal-storm. Mystic Vampire. The Dark Enchanter. Closest in perfection to the creator.
I know there are other relations out there. A daughter from before my creations. How I remember her when she was young.
Ephiny Elven D'kalect Starstorm. The Princess of Swords. Queen of a land she destroyed and rebuilt. Alone in a darkness of her own creation. A failure as a daughter. She shall be a failure as a mother.
Dresdan D'kalect Starstorm. The Elven Queen. Mother to Ephiny. My wife The wife of the Creator. She will be my wife oncemore. By the bond upon my arm, she shall be with me.
Cai-Nina Starstorm. The daughter of Ephiny. A wild elf. She shall be second only to me, once her majiks come under her control. It should be, interesting, to watch her grow.
And now, I am here. I know who they are. I know thier strengths, and thier weaknesses. The creator failed in everything he did. I shall be better than Him. I shall bring the family together oncemore. A family of Light, Dark, and the ever present neutrals. Power in blance.
I am not real.
But I am here.
M'Corbis D'kal-storm.
He re-reads his words. And seals the parchment in an envolope, then sends it with a word of majik to the strange man. Perhaps the man's questions would be answered, perhaps he would be more confused.
