The Adjalar Oasis is the pearl of the Oriental Sands. Dotted with graceful spires reaching into the bright blue sky, it has always attracted budding merchants, craftsmen, and scholars from across the country. But it was the great sorcerer Farrukh who truly made it a household name. The tales of his miracles were known throughout the Dominion, and his noble figure and profound wisdom aroused the greatest admiration in everyone.

The sorcerer had a son, Ishmael, and he did everything to provide the boy with all the best: luxurious clothes, exquisite food, and the best education possible. Despite having such an influential and highly respected father, Ishmael didn't let it get to his head; he grew up to be a humble, well-mannered and genuinely intelligent boy. His magical abilities, skillfully nurtured under Farrukh's masterly hand, promised to at least equal if not surpass the talents of his father.

So the years passed, until one joyful day, it was time for Ishmael to leave home and begin adult life. It was his sixteenth birthday! The birthday boy received a note from his father with congratulations and a request to come to the Crimson Hall. Ishmael, dressed in his best, gleefully ran to the hall, eager to see the gift his father would give him this time. Last year, his father presented him with a dagger, which the boy carried with him everywhere in a leather sheath attached to his belt. And so, finding himself in front of the hall, which until this day he had been strictly forbidden to enter, the young man pushed open the massive doors and stepped inside.

The great sorcerer looked unusually solemn. Ishmael noticed that there seemed to be something unnecessarily pompous about his father's voice and mannerisms today. Farrukh invited the boy to sit on a solid stone throne in the center of the dark room, and then went over to where an ancient casket stood on a pedestal. The sorcerer opened it and reached inside. "I wonder what kind of surprise my father has prepared?" thought Ishmael, examining the rough patterns carved into the stone armrests. "It will probably be the best gift I've ever received!"

Just then, Ishmael suddenly realized that he could not move his hands. They seemed to be bound to the throne by some force. The rest of his body, too, was now rooted in place, and all the boy could do was look around in confusion. What was happening? Then he looked up and saw his father standing above him, his arm raised with a long sacrificial blade in hand.

"What are you doing, father!?" Ishmael shouted.

"You will be my greatest sacrifice. The gods of Darkness will appreciate this offering and reward me with infinite power! Now everything I've invested in you over the years will finally pay off! I will transcend this mortal life and become the greatest sorcerer who ever lived!

With these words and a frenzied madness in his eyes, Farrukh swung the dagger down with vicious force. But instead of sacrificial shrieks, an empty clang rang out through the hall as blade met stone. The throne was empty, and Ishmael was standing behind the sorcerer. The father quickly whipped around and prepared to strike again. But when he looked into his son's eyes, he hesitated for a moment, seeing nothing but the burning desire to live. Before he knew what was happening, the grand old sorcerer was already lying in a pool of his own blood, gasping his last breath.

Farrukh's training had been so complete that his son now surpassed him in his mastery of magic. But Ishmael did not get away lightly with the murder of his own father. From that day forth, the Darkness of the master sorcerer took up residence inside of the young man, endowing him with incredible power but at the same time constantly trying to take possession of his soul. He lived in never-ending inner conflict, fighting to remain in control of the forces within him. In an attempt to find peace and healing and overcome the trauma of his father's betrayal, Ishmael decided to dedicate himself to the service of the good.