From the deck of the airship, you watch the sun set on the endless blue horizon. It strikes you as strange that, since The Lantern took flight from Aruldusk, the days have been getting longer, despite the fact that winter is fast approaching.
Your thoughts shift back to the first days of your voyage. With mouths agape you stared out at the unfathomable expanse of gray mist to the east. “Terrifying, isn’t it?” commented Jan. “Seen it a hundred times since The Day of Mourning, and it still scares the elf right out of me!” Not even Kal could manage a weak smile in response to his brother’s musings.
It has been almost a fortnight since the unsettling mist finally edged out of view. With only a short stopover in Sharn to re-supply, you left the mainland of Khorvaire at your backs. Since then, only the occasional white sail of a trade ship has broken the waves of the Thunder Sea below you. Your feet yearn for the feel of solid ground, and your ears ache from the continuous whine of the howling wind.
The Dead-Gray mist over The Mournland still lingers in your consciousness, along with the words of Cardinal Patoria’s letter. Cyre was a powerful country. How could it be reduced to rubble in the blink of an eye? What if it were to happen to Thrane? Or the Shadow Marshes and the Icehorn Mountains?
Most importantly, who or what would do such a thing and why? Your fear mounts into a sense of urgency: you must find the source…and quickly…
|Elrick’s Journal||Fane’s Journal||Naali’s Journal||Duragilis’ Journal|