Lusipher's Story

The Story of Lusipher!

467 years ago, on the elven island of Magirtha, far to the south, King Lusias and Queen Marius had a son. Me. My name was to be Lusias the Third, as my father liked nothing more than to blow his own horn. A couple of years later, my parents gave me a sister, named Mellia. As was the custom in our nation, my sister and I were shipped off to a home somewhere in the country, where we would be taught the ways of royalty.
Every week or so, we would get a break from the monotonous etiquette training, as our mother would visit us, and teach us the ways of magic. I never much cared for it, and learned just enough that she would leave me alone. My sister, however, took to it like a duck takes to water. She had the makings of one of the most powerful mages ever . . . until that day.
It was the middle of the summer, and as such, we were allowed a break from schooling. Having been trained to a rudimentary skill in fighting with a sword, the tutors left me in charge, and my sister and I were on our own for a couple weeks. It was called ‘part of the training, though I believe to this day the tutors were simply slacking off in a bar somewhere. I was 15; Mellia would be 13 in a week. Over the years we had been out in this countryside, we had developed a rather rebellious air about ourselves. True, most children rebel against their parents, but we were planning to not only rebel, but to lead a group of dissidents who did not like the way the kingdom was being run. Obviously, we could not use our real names, as we would be killed on the spot, so Mellia took the name of Malice, and I of Lusipher. I had heard the name in some religion class that I paid no mind to, and just liked the ring of it.
On the day before Mellia's 13th birthday, I was returning home from the dock town nearby, where I had purchased a pair of venomous daggers after finally saving enough for them. As I rounded a bend in the track, I noticed smoke rising from the horizon, and from the look of it, it seemed as though it could be coming from my house. I began to run . . . but I wasn't fast enough.
The carriage parked in front of the cottage was on fire, and there were footprints of many people in the mud. "Bandits!" I thought, and burst through the door, drawing my daggers as I ran. I was met with the most horrific view I had ever seen in all my years, and it is on that still haunts me to this day.
There was a group of 7 bandits in the front room, and each of they were taking turns . . . taking advantage . . . of my sister, right there on the floor.

There was a moment where nobody moved; We all just stood there, staring at each other. Then I snapped. I flung one of the daggers at the bandit who looked to be the biggest, hoping that I could at least nick him and let the poison do its job. My movement set the rest of them into action, and the rest became a blur . . . I remember hitting something or someone with a kick, and then only darkness.
I awoke a short time later, in a great deal of pain. I tried to open my eyes, and found that I could not see out of my left eye . . . I later learned that the bandits had pried it out with a spoon in retribution for their comrade . . . apparently my flung dagger had done its job . . . Using my good eye, I assessed the situation. The bandits were gone, the house was ablaze, and I was crucified to a tree in the back yard, my prized daggers piercing my hands and the tree full to the hilt. If it weren't for my natural resistance to poisons, I surely would have died from the liquid on the blades.
It was confirmed that my sister died in the house, and my parents held me responsible, as I did as well. My punishment was to be banished from the kingdom for life. The smallest finger on my left hand was also removed, to mark me as one not to be trusted for anything . . .
I spent the next couple hundred years wandering the world, doing what I could to survive. About 150 years ago, I met up with a healer, named Jasper, who was able to restore my eye, but the finger was removed through magical means, and can never be restored.
It was during these journeys that I realized that even with the curse I carried, I was hailed as a hero for doing what I thought right; Aiding rebellions against tyrants, stealing bread for a hungry family . . . I have quite a few prices on my head from deeds of the past . . .
Upon arriving in Terris, I quickly found my way to the Guild of Rogue's, who were dedicated to aiding the people, as I had done for so many years. I had, finally, found someplace to call home again.
My skills were honed in the Guild, thanks mostly to the Guild's master, Zero. I grew to become quite adept at freeing wrongfully imprisoned men and women from Jupiter's cells, and taking gold from the Guards to feed the needy . . . But I wasn't happy.
The pain I felt over my sister's death had dulled over the years, becoming a dark aching pit in my gut. I sought a way to control this darkness, and found myself seeking Kestanan. He took me in, and taught me ways of dealing with and, eventually, having control over, the darkness within.
Over the next 20 or so years, I met my future wife, Athame, who stood by me no matter what; as I gained in power and influence, becoming a Lieutenant of the Guild, a Legend in the eyes of the land, and Kestanan's highest ranked temple member. He dubbed me the Prince of Darkness, and High Priest of the Night, titles which I wear proudly still.
As I sit here, painstakingly writing this down (I never did learn to read or write past a basic level), I remember that day, the most important day of life, that happened so many years ago. No, it is not the day my sister was killed; it is the day she was born. For without her, I would not have set out on the path I currently travel.

Thank you, Mellia.

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