Originally written April 14, 2012.
It did not take long before the lady knight noticed a strange glean on the unfurled piece of paper. Holding it up to the light, words written in a thin, fiery script became visible. The twilight gloom of Ashenvale made discerning the message difficult, but not altogether impossible.
She recognized the hand as Xodius'.
The stone tells the truth. The Guildstone lies. This Nightmare uses it to push the sensation of isolation. I can only assume there is some foul magic at play that seems to interfere with the device when I attempt to use it.
I know not what they hear on their end, on mine…only static. It is disconcerting. I do not believe they know what is transpiring. I have slept and rested, but I have also overheard things.
Something is in motion. Something big…as such, I have decided to assist in the only way I can. The flame, the proverbial teeth I sunk into Mordenoc the Fallen’s soul, have been unleashed in full. I’ve allowed that trace fragment of my own self to begin burning away at the roots of the corruption that holds him.
It is not much, but it will help to weaken and, if I am fortunate, sever the ties to the Nightmare that feed his corrupted state. In doing so, the madness has increased its efforts tenfold.
I can only liken this to a battle, where both opponents are clawing and snapping at the throat of the other.
But my teeth are sharper than my bark by far, and rest assured, now that I have gone for the throat, I will not let go. It will die.
Help cannot come swiftly enough.
Laying the message flat on the table, she quickly scribed her own letters, but their recipients were not any Templar in Ashenvale. Dutiful couriers came then went, their destination Theramore.