Standing before the Mirror of death, Lord Gol'gotha murmuring words of
failure. Grasped my arms stealing my speech, shredding the blood from my
vains, making me an immortal, a Cursed Immortal. He slashed upon my
chest the mark of his followers. My piercing red eyes sunk back in my
head, I feel back into failure, weeping Eerie Letters of Green read
"Hostilities Cease" the world emerges, it is not your destiny to control
it any longer, Jarick.

He than turned and left me to myself, to contemplate on what I heard

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Niuran, in the year 162 MA.