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My palace.

How strange to return here after so long. How stranger still that to me it has been an eternity of centuries, but in truth I had lain entombed in ice for thousands of years longer. Demons and mahjarrat speak of the passage of millennia with weary disinterest, but I am no such ancient creature.

How strange also to have spent so long trapped in a temple built unknowingly atop this place, held merely a score of places from my sanctum. But no matter. The rebellion and war are ancient history now, as recent as they still seems[sic] to me.

I built this place, here, deep underground, at a convergence of the dark elements on this world. My lord promised me a source of power, and I prepared this place to house it, but thanks to the traitor Zamorak it was never delivered.

And how strange to walk the floors of this place without my companions. My blood reavers, slain by the fools who released me from my prison. My legions, defeated long ago by the Saradominists. And of course, my tribunes: Torva, Pernix and Virtus. Before them, I was a weapon. Before them, I was nothing but a weapon. They taught me of war, yes, which was why I recruited them, but they taught me of so much more.

Torva, who was mighty in battle, had also proven himself a leader of men. Though like him I feared nothing, Torva turned his courage into inspiration and found a way to share it with those around him. Humans, unlike demons, scale their performance dramatically with their psychological state, and it was Torva who showed me how to manipulate that.

Pernix's incredible powers of perception were not limited to the battlefield. Past the blankness of his mask, he was always watching. The slight tear on the hem of a pontifex's robe. The sweat on the brow of a supposedly relaxed soldier. From Pernix, of all people, I learned to read social cues and thus began to be able to interact with society.

And Virtus. From the nihil I learned only of annihilation, and my Lord was well placed with my performance in battle, but Virtus believed in more than slaughter. Though his concern was the protection of our allies through magic, he caused me to widen my perception of what a warrior - and ultimate, even a living being - could be. Though the first thing I learned from him was to defend, that jump from one approach to two caused me to question: what more could there be? And so the world of strategy was opened to me, and from that all things became possible.

But alas, my tribunes are long gone. Only one remains from that time, beyond the petty and scheming mahjarrat: Char, the dancer. Does she still pine hopelessly for our Lord? Through Pernix's eyes her feelings were always clear. Since her return, she has had no true home, being forced to abode with Azzanadra whom I know she dislikes. Perhaps I will invite her here, and together we can recreate a tiny part of the grandeur of the empire.

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