A Missive to the Fallen

Penned by Elryn Greythane, Emissary of the Forests

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Glomdoring, your crimes against the Forest can no longer be ignored.

All hopes for the dawning of truth and wisdom amongst the Fallen are
gone. Gifted with visions of the reality of the wildforest and the
destiny of the living realms, you replied with savagery and violence.
Graced with patient counsel and memories of the sacred purpose we once
shared, you spat venom and ignorance, unleashing the Predator to murder
us in our sleep.

In my folly I refused to abandon all hope of redemption and I strove
onwards, against the onslaught on my person. A whispered word here, a
vision there... I sought to save you even from the lies of Those who
call Themselves your guides. In time They began to fear the truth of
which I spoke, setting the Serenwilde alight with unnatural flames to
dissuade me from my purpose, and binding me in dark magics that kept my
silence for many months.

Yet even this was not enough. This month the Moonhart Mother Tree, most
blessed of the sacred trees, was defiled. A blackened corpse was hung
from her great branches, and the entirety of the Serenwilde Commune was
mocked with this open desecration. My voice is restored, no doubt due to
the healing emanations of the Last Forest and the grace of the Ethereal
Maiden, and I shall renounce this foul act of aggression for as long as
I have the breath to speak.

It is clear that the madness and rot have seeped too deeply, and as long
as the Corrupted One and Her Hound revel in the poisoned husk of lost
Gloriana, there is naught that may restore the Fallen to the service of
the natural realms.


For you, Gloriana, I weep. Your memory shall not be forgotten for as
long as one Great Tree remains living. Perhaps one day a greater power
shall succeed where I have failed.

For you, Glomdoring, forlorn hope has turned to utter hate. Let tides of
death sweep amongst the unclean. Let the rotforest burn and wither. Let
Your Patrons bicker amongst Themselves until the very earth bleeds at
their voices.

The Forests shall rise again and the horrors of Glomdoring will be but a
fleeting shadow in the unending memory of the trees.

Hearken to my warning.

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Avechary, in the year 125 CE.