Hero… That is what they called me. Perhaps to them I was a hero, but I see now that it never was, in truth what I did was not heroic, I fulfilled my base desires and my need for vengeance and nothing more. Here in the prison of my own making I write my tale of woe, perhaps the truth of my tale will save others from a similar fate.
I remember the taste of victory well. The invaders of our lands lay dead or captured at the city gates. Our corrupted King who had bled us, his own people, of all that we had now joined his eldest son in the fires of hell. His younger child who had come to our aid when we needed it most now took the throne. A promising young lad, he began to rule as the kings of old, with compassion and kindness. Truly he was the one who should have been praised as a hero, his kindness his willingness to turn on his own father all came from a desire to do good. While I just wanted those who had killed my family to fall.
Yet the King, who ordered the death of my bride and my adopted father, along with the Pale lizard, who had personally slain my true father before my eyes as a child had not been slain by mine own had. My revenge felt incomplete. So my eyes turned to another, the mysterious Black Sorcerer as he was known, it was he who had led this last charge against the city, and it was his dark words that convinced the Pale Lizard to lead his people to war, and his magic that had corrupted the heart of the king. I thought that perhaps if my blade tasted of his blood then my inner demons would at last rest.
What a fool I was, for it was that hatred that led me to a fate worse than death.