Now, I would like you all to be patient, as has been requested, this story will be from waaaay back in my past and my memory is slightly hazy of those times, and sometimes difficult to recollect.
This tale will begin with me standing on a hill. I was about 126 years old, so still quite young in my terms. There I was, in a crowd of others of my race, all of whom are now long since dead, but not by my hand and that is for another story.
There was a woman speaking to us, of other places, distant lands, places that we laughed about, places that we cried about. We thought they were but stories, they were not. After her talk, I approached her, sat and spoke with her a while. Alone, out of all the people of my land, she took me along with her; with her to all those places. At first I loved her for it, it was so exciting, so wonderful. The places with nothing but ocean, where everybody lived beneath the waves and also those places which were wastelands, for they too had a certain feeling about them.
But I learned of the price of what we were doing too late… and I killed her for it. She had done a terrible thing in opening up those places to me, and I knew I could not stop. That is how the second part of my life started, I am now on my third. It started with death; mine and hers. For what she had done was to infect, to disease the peoples of those places we went to. She had destroyed their lives, from which no return was possible and now I suffer the burden, to know of what I have done in that name; that vile, disgusting name.
I kept traveling after that day, at first in good faith trying to undo what she had done before my way. My mind was corrupted by my power; for absolute power, corrupts absolutely. Afterwards, I led a different life, one which I relished at the time, but now I regret. One which is different to any other you may know and holds many tales in itself. But that is how I began, how I started, how I ended.