The first “success” of Lusgidall’s attempts to create subservient sorcerer soldiers.
31 was sent to Aecury to further Lusgidall’s goals. She enrolled as a student at the Spire of Oronin and quickly became known as something of a prodigy, earning her access to the more esoteric texts in the Spire’s library. In her research, 31 discovered references to an ancient library, known as Abmyz. It was rumored to be the location where all forgotten knowledge resided. Those in Evermound discredited it as an ancient myth, though 31 knew it was real.
The Voice told her so.
31 had a secret, one she hid even from her master’s psionic probing. In addition to Lusgidall’s frequent ramblings in her mind, there was another presence within her. The Voice had always been with her, a source of warmth and light. She came to rely on it during her darkest moments, of which there were many as Lusgidall’s plaything. The Voice came from the deep within. It was quiet like a crackling fire burnt low.
Lusgidall ground down her sense of self, transforming her into a tool. Tools had no use for hopes or wishes of their own. But that was okay. When her dreams stopped coming, when food lost its taste, and when all was gray and numb, 31 knew there was no need to worry. The larger the void in her heart grew, the more the Voice filled it with warmth and light. When 31 forgot how to want, the Voice wanted for her.
When Lusgidall was defeated, 31’s brittle psyche shattered. The Spire’s official stance concerning the event was that 7 students ‘disappeared’ due to an arcane accident. Most in the know agreed that this story was preferrable to the truth: 31 had twisted the students into quivering masses of organ and bone, from which muffled screams could be heard.
31 fled the Spire and found herself in the desert, bereft of what little sanity she had possessed. On the 7th night of her wandering she collapsed on the cracked earth and laid under the vast sky, unable to move. Iadath loomed above, bathing her in harsh uncaring light. 31 shut her eyes, not wanting to face the glaring truth: Lusgidall was dead. 31 was hollow. Like a sword without a wielder, all she could rust until she was dust. Then the Voice flared within. It compelled her to open her eyes.
Iadath still loomed above, though it had changed. A thin crescent of darkness was encroaching from below, as if the moon was slowly sinking into a sea of pitch. Before long the moon was nearly submerged, only an arc light still above the surface. Then it too was swallowed by the void. 31’s eyes, well suited to shadows, quickly adjusted.
The Voice blazed.
A violet mote appeared on Iadath’s surface, quickly stretching into a horizontal line nearly the length of its diameter.
The Voice raged.
The line split and swelled. 31 gasped.
The Voice exulted.
A burning eye filled Iadath, gazing down upon 31. Glaring down upon the wretched mudball that was Aecury. Images flashed in 31’s mind and all at once she understood so much.
The Voice was imprisoned. Iadath its cosmic jail, like the Yellow Wastes had been for her people. The Voice was ancient. No, older than ancient. The Voice was the first to rise. Primordial. The Voice was fire and light and power incarnate. The Voice was Inferniax, the Ur-Ember, the Blazing God, the First Flame.
And She was His herald.
31 blacked out and awoke sometime later next to a sizeable crater, which held within a still-smoking chunk of meteorite, pearly white with glowing violet veins throughout. From this stone She drew her sword forged the first Fernaxum Nails.