This is not a story, its my memoir.  Some people might think it's too early for me to be writing such thing after all I am only 78 years old, I have so much of life ahead of me. But nah! I think i am plenty old, after all most humans that I know are starting to kick the bucket at this point, even the nobles with their ancient blood and potions of longevity and what not. If you ask me, it's all a load of bullshit, I mean sure your grandad is an Arch wizard and all, and he was great and respected, even by the High council of Elves, but that does not mean you are a great magician, magic doesn't run in your blood, its upto chance, it's for the fate of worlds to decide whether you have the power to bend them to your will.

I went on a bit of tangent their didn't I, sorry about that.

So, as I was saying, even though I am an elf I have lived among humans for most of my life, I have been called many things over the years, some call me kind, generous, some call me teacher, the sage, the savior, some call me the greatest wizard to ever live. though I have to admit thst is a self proclaimed title, and some call me downright awful hateful thing, which you would be ashamed to say in front of your mother.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

And it's the last name which got me in trouble, and why am I writing this memoir, in the prime of my life. No, not the greatest wizard, before that, the bit with the savior and all.

You see I was crucial in fending of the demon army right at the gates of the Astora, for those who are unfamiliar with the geography of the kingdom of Rustufar, it’s the capital city and the seat of power. And in the process of saving the city I might have accidentally killed the HIgh Priest of Vanqoh, but it's not so bad. Only a little more than three quarters of the entire population of Rustufar believe in Vanqoh.

Thus, here I am, in the basement of the church of saint erewright,sitting in a cold cell made of some very durable exeter, with a bed, table, chair and writing equipment, the window is quite nice though, it's almost like a sunroof. I can imagine myself being in the university again, reading novels in the library.

And here I am writing about my life so that if and when they find me guilty of killing their high priest, and they sentence me to death by the most vile and cruel method ever to be thought of by any living creature living on this land, which is ironic by the way Vanqoh being the goddess of mercy and forgiveness and all.

I am writing this so that there is something by which I will be remembered by........