A Graht-Guard’s Journal

I remember when the kyndlisk would carry Yffre’s songs through the breeze.
We only needed to open our ears to be one with El-Morais and all of her children among us.

Now all I hear is the haunting memories of our past. The kyndlisk still echo the cries of daemons and the piercing shrieks of terror from when Destruction came to the Holy Forests.
If I listen long enough I can hear my mother and father.
Everybody I ever loved.
Everyone I ever knew.

This land is sick and dying, but we must not let it get to us. No, we must let it fuel the fire in our hearts.
Me and my brothers will defend the Still City until our dying breaths for our will is strong and our aim true.

Falinesti shall walk again, I swear it.