To Mend Old Wounds

Lore entries

1. A Cold Reception, Yearfall, 506 D.A.

   After a long and arduous journey, we've finally arrived at Rookmore. I'd hoped for a field hospital here, but instead, the only thing I found was tired faces, twisted by suspicion... I cannot blame them. The Kingdom of Meldore has many reasons to distrust Rimgard refugees, but the war affects us all, no matter the "side" we're on. They won't hesitate for long. Everyone bleeds the same, whether it's at the bottom of a muddy trench or on a makeshift cot. I'll take matters into my own hands, as I did at the front, and set up camp in Woodgard. Once I can start treatment, they'll open up to me... and they'll stop seeing me as some northern stranger, let alone enemy. There's one thing that makes me feel at home: The cold air, the gray skies... Yearfall here is not too different from a day in the Summits, though I miss the snow. - Helên

2. A Refuge, Yearfall, 506 D.A.

   A small caravan of refugees arrived from the Kindlewastes today. And I thought my journey had been long... I've never spoken with anyone from the Kingdom of Orindell, and the thought made me nervous, but there was no time to tattle. I dove into work, dressing the wounds. A battle for life and death, even now. Sadly, some lost. We put them to rest in the crypt below. May the northern winds guide them to the afterlife. There's one who might live despite it all. A deep leg wound — but maybe not too far gone. The wounded, Salim, smiles a lot. Says he owes me his life... just luck, I think. - Helên

3. A New Season, Yearwake, 507 D.A.

   The new arrivals have wasted no time breaking ground, building something. A Flame Sanctum, Salim says. Their determination to the Ancients and the Flame is... fanatical. To think that we were all one people just about 25 years ago astounds me. Some nights I've lingered near the caravan. Salim insists. Over the fire, they talk of their home, the sands, and the creeping ruin. I can't understand their devotion, but I feel their sorrow. Everyone bleeds the same, as I've said... Salim says I am like a daffodil, the first sign of yearwake. He is a fool... though a sweet one. - Helên

4. My Dearest Helên

   Please hold your tears and sit by my side. Let us gaze over the valley, as we've done before. The setting sun and falling leaves are like our brief and precious time. Let us share these hours before the Shroud whisks them away. Come rest your head on my shoulder, my daffodil. Yours forever, Salim