The Taste of Metal

"I can still feel the barbs that my Master saw fit to keep me from telling any secrets or lies, or ultimately; the truth. It was nothing new in Stygia, I was just another of the lesser caste, though still higher than a slave. An individual who could read, and write. Taught more properly by my new “owner”. I’m yet unsure if this was in my best interests, unlike him. There are more ways to pay for your “talents” than one could ever imagine.

Who am I? It no longer matters, as all I can feel is the coppery taste of blood, tainted further by metal. I am sick of this predicament, so I have wandered this new desert land, with it’s serpentine rivers and green alongside it of growing plants trees and more for a solution. The rest of this place? It varies dramatically, but one thing that can be said of it is it’s dry and dead, as if I stumbled into the in-between somehow. Scathing green sorcery somehow keeping me imprisoned, and the glittering bracelet ever draining at my will. I must resist in this land of death.

It must please whoever crafted this prison, though some exiles rave on about methods to escape, I fear they are mere toys left to suffer war and torments in the desert steps. A promise to keep them all fighting one another and ultimately, the undead guardians they left to slaughter them. The pits still bellow flame of smoke, perhaps more so than ever. May they chase shadows of escape, it will be for me to collect what is left after they have expended their efforts and sanity. One day."

This is written on bark and stowed away secretly, signed by a simple phrase:

"~ A leashed wanderer."