Obsidian Fane

From the Journal of Loremaster Weekes

“When the Life Giver dies, all around is laid waste…”.

At least that is how the saying goes. Some say this comes from an ancient prophecy, but none that I have encountered has been unable to identify which one. The origins have so descended into the fogs of folklore that this is now but a colloquialism.

Many felt the truth would finally be learned when the Elves and other fey left this existence almost 40 generations ago. They expected a mighty cataclysm, but with exception for the seasonal drought, and an occasional crop blight, there has been no such catastrophe. And now the Elves are but a faint memory stirred only buy the occasional discovery of elven ruins. This is yet another mystery to which we may never know the reason.

But I have seen evidence that this may soon change…

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From the Journal of Loremaster Weekes

War.

My grandchildren have known nothing but this gods-forsaken war. And my soul has become less for it.

I would not be so troubled if it was not for the base of this conflict. The propagandists would have you believe our cause is just; that we struggle to free our neighbor from the ravings of an insane king. But they do not mention that our neighbor Orith is ruled by the brother of our own King Osric. They do not mention that this “war” is rooted in the petty jealousies of the brother kings.

But those of us who were there remember.

We remember the Syramain princess Elain who attracted – others will say seduced – the affections of them both. We remember the Princess being found dead in the palace courtyard, and Prince, now King, Amwain’s eventual exile. We remember the secession of Orith from our own kingdom of Magasa and battles followed. Let the truth be know that it is their stubborn desires that have fueled the many battles and my people hardships since.

In the first days, battles were fought by the regular army. Yet with every year, matters have escalated that much more. Where once the citizenry was sheltered from events, both parties now resort to conscription to fill their rolls. Where professional soldiers once fought and died for their pay, the folk of the working and merchant classes are sacrificed by the thousands.

Gods be that this conflict would end soon. I fondly yearn for a more the peaceful time…

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