I begin my chronicle as the Ancients require, with the Song of Ancestry:
I am Karial, begat of Sarial, begat of Saria, begat of Naria, begat of Narial, begat of Larial, begat of Larian, begat of Lanian, begat of Ranian, begat of Rania, begat of Ania, begat of Nia, begat of Nian, begat of Enian, begat of Inian, begat of Kinian,begat of Kanian, begat of Kanial, begat of Anial begat of the Stars Themselves.
I come as my mothers taught me, humble before the gods in my role as their handmaiden, honored to have been chosen as the Rift Priestess. May I do Their will and none other.
Rift Priestess. Did I ever imagine I might one day take up this infamous post, the one the initiates call Lonely Guardian in such hushed tones, torn between intrigue and horror? Because it is lonely here, so far from my sisters in the the teeming city. So far from any scrap of civilization save my own thoughts, hearing no voices but the singing of the distant [animals?]. I find I do not mind the solitude, however- at least not yet. It has been less than a [unit of time?] since I arrived, so perhaps the reality of my ‘banishment’, as Winial called it, has not yet had time to take root.
But I do not feel banished. I feel… right here, as though this is what I was always meant for, as though my whole life was spent waiting to come home, home to the graceful pillars and soaring archways of this enormous, echoing temple. Further proof, I suppose, that the elders know more of our true spirits than we do ourselves.