My tale. Those who wish to hear it, listen. I shall only say this once. And please, no questions.

My grandmother, Destailia. She withheld a power so great, it directed the course you life took. She held a power named after her. She could see destinies of those other than herself. She could change it, give you a new one, or simply tell what it was. She told all that asked. This lead to her eventual demise. My mother, her daughter, had the destiny of passing down the power. She gave it to me and I hated it. The lantern on my lock is the symbol of Destailia. It grants my the ability to see what cannot be seen, even within the darkest of souls.

As time passed, I grew close to only one after so many left me in the dust from their heels. His name was Ivoreaon. His ways of wandering were like mine. His knowledge was emense. When I tried to see his destiny, it was blurred. I could make out only to shapes. Who or what they were, I do not know. For some reason, it was like looking into old memories instead of the future. We ran together, to a land I had known to be peaceful and gorgeous. It had been destroyed before our arrival. Flames of destructive fires still flickered as we exited the woods. It was just as many before. Something or someone didn't want me to feel joy. It wanted me alone and grieving forever. It still does.

Word came to me one day that a shaman had died. Only one shaman was known to me. Ivor... Why would someone tell news of this sort to me about a stranger? It had to have been Ivor. Saseru confirmed my fears. How he died, why, when, none of that I knew. He had passed on and I was once again alone. I consulted the ancestral spirits of my clan. They were silent as fireflies upon the wind. Why had they stopped answering my calls, why did they leave me behind like so many others?

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Following content maybe rather disturbing to some readers.
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I decided to end my torment. Thinking of the only way out. The only way to know the truth. I fashioned a note and left it on the ground below me. I was tired of seeing people walk away. I gouged out my eyes with my claws. I was tired of breathing the foul air of the lands destroyed that I loved so dearly. I tore my windpipe from my throat. I died there by the note. I was tired of living.

I thought that was the end. I figured nothing remained to hold my spirit behind. As my soul left my body a felt a tug on my heart. Something was holding me, keeping me from leaving this world. Was my work as Destailia's heir left undone? Why am I still here? Why must the ghostly glow of my lantern never burn out? When will I be free?