I have not done this before. A journal has always seemed like a waste of time to me. Why keep an account of your life when in all eventuality, it will fade away and be forgotten anyway? I had always thought that if I were to live the life that had been fated for me, there would be nothing of interest in it for others to read anyway. Please, don't think me melancholy, it is just that my destiny was simply to follow in the footsteps of my father. To continue to lead our people as we live our life of exile.

Obviously, my stance has changed somewhat. As I am unable to state the date, the only way I can show the passage of time is to state my present age.
I have existed for 30 years and twelve days. Thus I am an adult, albeit only just, which is fortunate as a tremendous burden has been placed on me. As a child it would have been inappropriate for me to shoulder this responsibility. As an adult of a mere twelve days, I am forced to carry it. I thank the gods that my brother, Zuriel, is here with me to share the trauma of this experience.

So the reason I begin this journal, gentle reader, is that considering the inexplicable events that have transpired, hopefully something can be learnt from my experiences. If I can unravel the mysteries myself, it is worthwhile passing on my wisdom to future generations.

So, where to begin?

To me, it seems like yesterday when magic lost control. To others, it might seem that hundreds of years have been and gone. Following a dark rend appearing in the sky and an invasion of goblins and lethal insect creatures, magic amplified beyond anyone's comprehension. A healing spell that I drew from the earth rendered me faint and magical bolts from my father's court sorcerer annihilated one of the embiggened insect before turning inward on the caster and slaying her horribly. I shudder at the memory. It grieves me that the first death I ever witnessed was so gruesome and hideous. However I am trying to be pragmatic about it. Obad Hai teaches that the cycle of life and death is as natural and inexorable as the tides, the wind and the movement of the sun around the world. Of course, like all the deities, our people pay no heed to their teachings and have turned their backs on them. It's only through my own late night library investigations that I have come to understand the gross error my father may have made in leading our people into exile and teaching them to ignore to divine.

But I digress.

With magical energies backfiring and unleashing havoc, it appeared that one of the nearby human settlements was destroyed. Father declared an emergency and rode off to seek an explanation and assistance. Meanwhile, I was left to deal with the refugees pouring in through the gates. To be honest, I was not actually appointed to deal with the people, but in my father's absence, what other alternative was there? In all humility, I confess that I did a superb job of managing the clan elders, until one elder, a sorceress, decided she was displeased. With our people confused and poorly managed (at least they had been until I intervened), it is no surprise that protests broke out at the entrance to the citadel. The stupid, ignorant, goblin-brained sorceress decided, despite my protests, to cast a hold spell on them. Just because the rift in the sky was gone was no assurance that magic was back to normal. Indeed not. The kobold-headed mother-of-a-carrion-crawler cast her spell in those volatile conditions. The resulting phenomenon seemed to encapsulate my castle and the surrounding island in a time stasis field. Years passed in mere moments and it was only through the brutal application of my sword through the idiotic woman's head that I was able to end the effect.

I am not so sad about this death as I am at the thought that Father may have aged and died in this time. As the untold years strobed past us, the land changed dramatically. Thick, unyielding forest now surrounds the castle. Except for the refugees who were safely within its walls and on the outlying island, everything shows a dramatic passage of time. Houses have decayed. Skeletons have turned to dust. With so much death and horror around me, I feel like I should be numb. I should be in shock.

I am not.

I feel strangely liberated. Although I would not admit it (yes, I see the irony of that considering I've just written it for the future public to read), I find this reclamation of nature builds a powerful excitement in me. On the one hand, I hold the tremendous responsibility of leading my people through the biggest crisis imaginable. On the other hand, I am drawn to, and invigorated by, the sense that the gods are returning to my people; that they are no longer content to be ignored. What has happened to us may be simple cause and affect. We snub deities and they strike back at us. I cannot help but think it is our ignorance and my father's stubborn pride that has created this situation.

So where to now? In a time when healers are desperately required, we find ourselves bereft of all divine healing short of myself and a few potions that seem to have remained intact. We need knowledge desperately, so I lead a group to see what we can discover. I am juggling the politics and internal confusion that my people have found themselves in. But I am also feeling the pull of the forest as it cries out to me and seeks to make me part of the way that things should be. It is a struggle, for now that leadership has been thrust upon me, I find myself drawing away from it, as it feels so artificial. Yes, that's the term for it- artificial. My soul cries out for something more pure. More divine.

It is truly fortunate that I have Zuriel here to guide me and keep me focused on the tasks ahead. It is also fortunate that rebuilding our world must wait. Rediscovering it thrills my heart. And this is my task for now.