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The owl knew this would be the beginning of an age to look back on — a time when tales are written. Of course, whoever strikes first is who determines how that tale begins. In these times the only tale that remains is one spoken with distaste and horror — the Blood Wars. But few know of a tale only decades old. A time when a great fortress was besieged and the Knights of Valorhorn were reduced to seven swords.

Passing over the Midlands the owl glided toward the Great Divide, a colossal cliff made of jagged blackstone. It stretched from the furthest east to the furthest west and stood hundreds of feet high. At its base was the grave of a large lakebed; plantlife consumed it over the decades, slowly encroaching the island at the center. It was there where the owl saw the ending of that forgotten tale — the ruins of Delsis. Great walls made of blackstone laid broken and defeated by the same darkness that threatens the present. Massive bastions were knocked from their foundations and scattered like toy blocks. The keep was a magnificent structure of ingenious defense, now left abandoned by its men — left to become a dark and wild place. Over the years the earth reclaimed the old fortress remains, erasing a great history along with it. Every stone and splinter of the famous island city was left in the desolate bed of Myst Falls Lake.

Nim’s memory stuck in the white owl’s mind, and so did the deep emotions attached. But the owl had a mission and past emotions would only hinder its focus. Only once did the messenger owl let the past conquer its mind. Back then those feelings led to a trap set by evil hands, by the mastermind that was Farah Lenook. She tried many times to lure Nim's owl off course, but she gave up on brash means of gaining information years ago. Farah Lenook’s game was now silent, divertive and patient. Unfortunately for the owl and it’s master Nim — it was working — and she knew that determination can leave someone blind to what’s staring right at them.

Atop the crooked high tower of Delsis the velvet green cloth of Farah’s robes churned in the wind. From behind a broken parapet she walked to the edge of the cylindrical mass of blackstone bricks. Off in the distance she gazed at the letter rattling in the wind. The owl's feathery wings fought the height of the Great Divide. She opened her robes revealing her pale lithe figure beneath. Runewords were drawn on her skin, signed in blood now dry and smeared. A perfect emerald rested at the center of her chest. Thin twisted vines attached to it and wrapped around her neck. The flapping of wings came from within her robes, before three small bats took off with haste.

They kept a far distance behind the white owl, each of them waiting for it to deliver its message. The ash covered ground of the Rhethis Barrens wisped through the air. Sheets of ash broke apart as they crashed against the spires of rock scattered across the ancient plains. The heavy winds did not let up in the north, making it nearly impossible to see but sight was no strong suit for Farah Lenook's winged scouts. They listened to the white owl as it disappeared through the dense cloud of ash below. 

The End

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