Southern Caravan

​A blazing fire dances atop the roofs of Surat's Rest. We were too late.

​They came from Raven's Keep - escaped inmates, with a penchant for fire. Now, our esteemed town is a pyre of madness. I tremble at the sight. What would mother do?

​She'd move before the sun rose, crown held high. Leave all baggage behind - swift and silent, carried by the wind. The road to Long Keep is a treacherous one... We must make haste. ​Glory to Queen Pikemead. Bless the Ancients. ​ - Jezmina, 507 D.A.

​I should have been awake. I wasn't. ​They stormed our camp at night with unforeseen ferocity. Their fur coats were mottled with garnet flecks, now fading to matted rust. We had crossed into their new territory.

​About half of my brothers and sisters, gone. Absinthe; foul wormwood licorice, a coating vile and bitter, numbing my lips. I fought for them, I raised my axe for them. My armor, ripped away. My hands, forever stained red. We should never have passed through the Pillars of Creation.

​Mother. Please, don't lose hope in me. We share the same blood. I will persevere for them. And I'll never fail again. ​ - Jezmina, 507 D.A.

​I never thought I'd see the sunset on this side of the Pillars of Creation again. The eventide was brighter when I was young. A vibrant haze of lavender or grape, a mix of tangerine and marigold, a florid blush before the dark. Now, gray. ​I pray the Ancients protect the northern caravan with their glory and light. I put my faith in Commander Cyrus. ​Longkeep is in sight... My people tire, but we cannot rest. We have to push harder for every soul we've lost. Our step must be swift, I learned.

​I have a strange feeling. This... dread. That I won't be able to linger, that I'll walk alone once more... Why can I not shake this fear? No, this... premonition?

​ - Queen Jezmina of Orindell, on a mellow yearwake's morn in 508 D.A.