Too often confused, the desire for placement and the love for others, many lack the rational thought to distinguish the two oppositions in favor of justification. I was once the later, being that I too believed that most formidable of lies, that I was doing good on the precepts that I, like the work I was doing, was good. Years spent I amidst such conceptions, loosing a battle of wits that I was too blind to understand, and the cost of it, had it been mine own life, would have been, I would like to think, a fair price to pay, but alas it has not been so for though I thought I was helping my them, i have learnt since that I was wrong.

I was born in world of little science and even less literacy, and into a station of great rarity, for I had gift of power, for, I was a magician - a man who could will the world around him into being, into power, into magic. I learnt to do good, not knowing for the reason I was selected from the many to be one of the few who could cast spells and knight kings, however, I was. Not only was I a magician, I was a shaman. I could, though never by my choosing, commune with those mysteries of the beyond, whether they where the spirits of those who had passed one, of those to come, or where some other entity entirely, I know not, though, by them I learned wonders.

I learned to heal, and to mend, and to casts spells of protection, using the guidance and the powers of those beings I was let to see, and in all my time as a healer mage, I could never have guessed the horrors that would be inflicted by aid. It wasn’t until a great many moons went by that I first heard word of the tragedies only just beginning.

There was an illness - a disease whose origins perplexing, bade fear into the hearts of men, it, spreading far and spreading fast throughout all the lands, was described when first seen a most terrible cursing, causing those whose fate it was to die by it, to do so at the hands of a most horrendous decay. Their skins would grow pale, then grey, and then blacken to a dark so abysmal the light itself would not dare even glimmer off them. They became shadows whose being was tortured with as they could describe before their final descent into madness, as a hellish burning, a scourge that inflamed every last part of them - a pain so severe that for death they beckoned, and wailed for, and gnashed their teeth over until their minds so displaced and distraught from their miseries, their bodies disfigured, that lose themselves they did until their ability to rationality was left from them forever, and not one of them succumbed before this point. There was no cure nor a way as to end their suffering, and as I would soon learn, not even a magic that could help them.

I, as were the other mages, was summoned by the kings and lords of the land for to address this most abominable plague, only for my dismay of learning that all the ill fallen, had been once subjects of my healing magics. We formulated spells and concoctions, all of which, though being the most powerful we could imagine, availed to us nothing. The otherworldly beings, not sharing their secrets, I became intrigued, as I should have always have been, as the the nature of their being and to what end where they using me, and not I using them.

So remained in seclusion I many years, scouring the lost knowledges of the past in myths and legend, reading every time of magic I could steal, borrow, and buy, all the while the cure to their state of existence ever far from me, as it had always continued to be. The things I learned I shared with the others of our order, us as a whole, making advances into magic never before scene, and yet, it wasn’t enough. I cursed those wicked spirits and vowed to never again take part in using their knowledge and practices. Yet even with this conviction I was too in fear to directly aid others by the use of magic, and so became I the foremost expert in natural medicine in the lands where I resided.

Now finally, to the matter as what had happened: a shaman though I was, a necromancer I was used. These spirits, every time I used my magic to heal or to aid, cast there own spells in with mine, affording them a dark source of energy, being gained by the spending of the lives of those afflicted by their sore cursings. And yet, as it was by their powers I could wield magic, so it is now that I, in my now old age, am no longer of the order of magicians that I once was. I offered still my services as healer for many years, giving my days to make the amends I could to those who had yet perished by the curse, making easier for them their lives as I could.

I am a failed magician. I have failed the people of these many kingdoms, and for that, I must surely suffer. All have passed on that were effected, and my days are few, and to leave this world behind, I am thinking of casting a spell, and to make it ironic, a spell of healing.