To the Singers of the Dirge:

Your footsteps tread upon paths where you were never meant to walk, and your presence is an offense to Her effulgent, Life-bringing warmth, casting blasphemous echoes where only bloom should know.

Take care, when you wander beneath ancient boughs, for you are not alone. My sisters of venom and hex, heralds of knives in the dark - they hunger with sacred purpose, longing to rip the corruption from your unliving flesh and return your false prophecies to the purity of rot and root.

Your Earthen are an error upon this land, and we shall unmake your mistakes in the savage silence nestled beneath the shade of every tree who watches. Each trespass shall be answered by She Who is Eternal, and your flesh.. however unnatural and brittle and disgusting that it is.. will be broken until you are exhausted.

- Watcher of the Old World
- Tiarna an-Kiar
- Heir to Vo'acha

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 24th of Lexadian, in the year 12 AC.