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As is always her means of speaking to her elder, the one armed elf places a colored, but peppered letter by a large old, dead oak tree, this letter kept in place with a few rocks and shaded from the elements underneath the oak's thick branches. Unique to her last few letters, this one carries the scent of incense along the parchment as well as pepper.
Avara,
Pardon my familiarity in speaking so informally, but I'm writing you not as Faidh. But as cousin, Tel'Quessir and friend.
The loss of Greagrios can still be felt through our ranks, and my mind has constantly visited his improper grave within the Black Citadel. A fueled a spur decision, a foolish one, to visit that ruined fortress and put my mind to rest.
It's amazing, what we all accomplished together. I believe the blast from destroying the Nexus must have had rippling effects across the material plane. The place was in ruins when I arrived, debris scattered and more still falling from the sky. I received a firm bludgeoning of pounds of rocks despite my urgent stride, so please know that I was punished for my idiocy.
Greagrios is quietly at rest there. You wouldn't believe just how well he maintains his rough exterior, even in the quiet calm of departed body. He looked so dignified. But my arms were far too weak to escape with his body.
Instead I have with me his broken staff. It must have fallen so many cultists with brutal might of our fallen brother, no trace of enchantment remains. But I have it with me, all the same. That you and I, may both carry his memory outside of those walls. Make for him a grave here, in the land that he fought so strongly to protect.
I will admit, though doubtlessly this seed will lay dormant for a long while if ever grows at all. But the seed of an oak has been jammed through the many cracks of the foundation in that old, and evil castle. Perhaps one day the roof shall grow so weak as to let the sun's warmth reach it, and the rains to feed it. It was all I could think to do, to begin the healing.
Please visit me, if you may, or leave return letter here? I would see his old staff to you. You never said many things, you had told me. The things you meant to say to him.
Since a brush with the attentions of the Seldarine, I have thought much on the many debates regarding death. To what means you must go through, to free the soul of the body. Burial, burning or a boat out to sea. If I've learned one thing from this withered arm, however, is that the soul and the mind while at one in a body at peace. Are by no means limited, and free of this earth-while form.
I believe it is those that remember you, that carry your soul. Where they believe you to be. Please, help me carry Greagrios' soul from that wicked place. Help me to carry his memory here, to the Viridale. I wish to send our brother on to his immortal life properly. I am thankful of everyday, now. And it's thanks to you, to Julandias and to him.
Warm winds until you may reach me,
The Starweaver
Pardon my familiarity in speaking so informally, but I'm writing you not as Faidh. But as cousin, Tel'Quessir and friend.
The loss of Greagrios can still be felt through our ranks, and my mind has constantly visited his improper grave within the Black Citadel. A fueled a spur decision, a foolish one, to visit that ruined fortress and put my mind to rest.
It's amazing, what we all accomplished together. I believe the blast from destroying the Nexus must have had rippling effects across the material plane. The place was in ruins when I arrived, debris scattered and more still falling from the sky. I received a firm bludgeoning of pounds of rocks despite my urgent stride, so please know that I was punished for my idiocy.
Greagrios is quietly at rest there. You wouldn't believe just how well he maintains his rough exterior, even in the quiet calm of departed body. He looked so dignified. But my arms were far too weak to escape with his body.
Instead I have with me his broken staff. It must have fallen so many cultists with brutal might of our fallen brother, no trace of enchantment remains. But I have it with me, all the same. That you and I, may both carry his memory outside of those walls. Make for him a grave here, in the land that he fought so strongly to protect.
I will admit, though doubtlessly this seed will lay dormant for a long while if ever grows at all. But the seed of an oak has been jammed through the many cracks of the foundation in that old, and evil castle. Perhaps one day the roof shall grow so weak as to let the sun's warmth reach it, and the rains to feed it. It was all I could think to do, to begin the healing.
Please visit me, if you may, or leave return letter here? I would see his old staff to you. You never said many things, you had told me. The things you meant to say to him.
Since a brush with the attentions of the Seldarine, I have thought much on the many debates regarding death. To what means you must go through, to free the soul of the body. Burial, burning or a boat out to sea. If I've learned one thing from this withered arm, however, is that the soul and the mind while at one in a body at peace. Are by no means limited, and free of this earth-while form.
I believe it is those that remember you, that carry your soul. Where they believe you to be. Please, help me carry Greagrios' soul from that wicked place. Help me to carry his memory here, to the Viridale. I wish to send our brother on to his immortal life properly. I am thankful of everyday, now. And it's thanks to you, to Julandias and to him.
Warm winds until you may reach me,
The Starweaver