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I have seen death. I have seen our people murder each other for political advantage or to fulfil ancient traditions. I have seen the joy on Zamorak's face as he cut down human after human to slake his bloodlust. I have seen the grim satisfaction on Azzanadra's as he put whole armies to the flame. I have seen Sliske's cackling glee as he toyed with the corpses of the dead. But I have never seen anything as terrible as that final battlefield.

It took us only a handful of years to drive the Zarosian empire out of Menaphos completely, but at the fortress of Kharid-et we betrayed the one who delivered us from Freneskae and sided with Zaros. I obeyed the will of the strongest as is proper, but it not something I am comfortable with. We emerged from the fortress and with the might of the Zarosian army, pushed the Menaphites and the small number of our kin who had not defected back into Menaphos once more. We pursued them furiously, relishing the opportunity to battle our kin. On a plain near the middle of the peninsula we caught up with them and they fought a fierce and desperate last stand. They didn't stand a chance.

And then he appeared. A titanic figure, blazing with fire, casting the entire battlefield in white. Both sides fell back from the giant, as he knelt down and ran his burning fingers through the soil. Then he stood, and in a terrible voice he told us that he was Tumeken, patron of these lands. He cursed our treachery, then sorrowfully told the Menaphites that he needed them to join him in making the ultimate sacrifice for their homes and families. Then he raised his arms to the sky, and the light from his body grew brighter until nothing could be seen, and then his body exploded into fire and I passed out.

When I awakened, the battlefield was a smoking, smouldering mess. Heaps of ash lay all over the battlefield. At first I did not know how I survived, but soon it became clear that Azzanadra had erected a magical shield around those of us in range. The rest of our people, the Zarosian legion, and the Menaphites were merely smoking remains. Nearly five hundred of us left Freneskae, and now there were less than a hundred left. Despite the shields, we were wounded and exhausted, and had no choice but to retreat. As we returned to Kharid-et the extent of Tumeken's final act became clear. What had been a lush and fertile land had become a desert. It wasn't worth traversing the desert to head to the Menaphites. Tumeken had sacrificed himself and half his lands to save the remainder.

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