*A letter to those of ill intent*

[Zombi Rothgar]

A message sent to far-flung corners of the world. It is nailed to a tree by Umbra's moongate, and delivered by bat to the cities of Istas and Vamp's Lair. Somehow, it has also found its way to several orc forts and brigand camps throughout the facets.


Good Souls.


Worship of the Guardian has waned. Awareness of His displeasure has been given to me. My duty is it to renew His faith- but ears to hear in the conquered lands, are there not. Heed what is written.

A place there is where life flourishes still. A garden filled with flowers bursting. To us, in that place His power feels faint, His voice muffled. Diminished are we; weakened. Followers could He have there, if only His majesty were revealed to them.
In times now past, many left our sacred city to go to that place; opening the way for His glory their goal. In the Serpent Lord's garden, a well they did dig. Drew up buckets of power from the hole they bored there, did these ones, but it came not from Him. Idolaters and heretics the well-drinkers became. Gone now is Satamarin. Unable was the false power of the well to sustain them. Those heretics, met they have the fate they did earn.

But another path there is to power in that place. A path true and faithful to Him. Death is the door. The door can I build. But locked is the door. Faith in seeing the door's completion, do I have. But to be opening it, needing I am a key.

Know, I do, what is this key; knowing also am I how to be made, it is. To be building it, needed are magi and necromancers. A material, too, of it many pieces. Know, do I, where found this thing can be- pieces needed by me, and others many. What remains may you keep for yourself. Enough reason to give thy aid is that.

Hesitate not to perform this task for Him. Heard have I His spoken word: mortal minions, servants of His servant, war will they be waging soon. Away from our work will watchful eyes turn while they do battle. Be unseen, you will, by the breathing ones that shelter you. This boon He grants thee.

Abandon Honor in the untamed lands. Turn thy back and leave it behind. There will I await thee on the first nights of war.

Know that this is the Will of the Sect of the Undead of the Guardian.

[Zombi Rothgar]

(OOC: I was expecting the invasion to start with the release of Publish 69. As there hasn't be any sign of it happening yet, and as this is such a busy time of year anyway- and especially since I should have checked in advance to see if anyone actually wants to play along with this- I'm going to put this thing on hold until sometime after New Year's.)

* * * * *

Jasper was in high spirits as he strode down the jungle path. He'd won big gambling at the Salty Dog last night, and he had the prospect of a high-paying job ahead of him. He wasn't clear on what the payment was, exactly, but it sounded valuable. A guildmate had passed on a copy of the note to him. Reading between the lines, he'd worked out where and when the job would take place.

He fingered the fine blue cloak he'd gotten as a reward for delivering information about Lord British's vault. It was a point of pride with him, the way he'd gotten in Lt. Crag's good books. Easiest job I ever did. Thanks for doing the brainwork, Ricardo. You're a credit to the thieving community, you are.

That cloak hadn't been his only reward, either. Nor even the most useful one. He'd gotten chummy with one of the Bane Chosen, a considerate fellow who had just this morning tipped him off about their upcoming invasion plans.

Compared to bluffing a hard-eyed man like Crag, this would be child's play. Some crackpot cult leader who couldn't even write straight? Jasper scoffed. Just smile an' nod at whatever he says; act all spacey. Easy as pie.

* * * * *

Arriving at the place, Jasper halted outside and took it in. Looked like it might have been a fancy joint back in the day. A dark place, no question- Black stone walls, and red tables with skull candles on 'em? And what's that skeleton propped up in the corner- a weapon rack? Hey, Minax, you'd love it here. -but fancy. Digs for the upper class cultist.

Today, though, the old stone building was a shambles. The walls were crumbling in a dozens places, and the floor was covered in a thick layer of dust. No surprise there. It's Ilshenar. What else they got but ruins? You seen one, you seen 'em all.

He stood at the arched entryway, staring inside for a while longer. Arcane runes glowed on the floors. What looked like old blood stained a stone pentagram in front of the bar. The chirping of jungle insects, normally ever-present even at this time of year, was strangely absent around the inn.

Jasper sauntered inside, trying to project an air of confidence he didn't really feel anymore. There was something about this place that was making his hair stand on end.

A candle suddenly flared to life on a nearby table. He jumped, his dagger clattering to the floor. Biting back a curse, he bent to retrieve it. Real smooth, Jasper. Great way to show the boss you've got what it takes... Hello, what's this?

Gripping his dagger, he stared at a set of tracks in the dust. His eyes followed the trail to the corner, where it stopped dead-

-at the base of the skeleton with all the weapons hanging on it.

He gulped. Dagnabbit, Jasper, don't go scaring yourself over some old bones! If it was un-dead, it would've come screamin' for your soul by now.

The thief stared at the skeleton for a few moments. Then, forcing himself to move, he walked up to it and waved his free hand in front of its eye sockets. See? Nothing to worry about. Prob'ly just this cultist bloke's way of marking territory.

There was a note clasped in the skeleton's hands. Snatching it, Jasper read aloud:

"Loyal servant of the Guardian, patience must thou have. Not yet arrived, has the time to His power a gateway to open..."

Jasper furrowed his brow, staring at the second sentence. What?
With a sigh, he read on:

"Waiting, must you be, until action He demands. Moons of delay, may there be. Know that this is the Will of-"

He crumpled up the scroll and let it fall to the ground. What a bloody waste of my time.

* * * * *

The hours crept by in silence after the thief left.

The tavern stands empty of life and un-life. The note now lies on the bar, weighted down at the corners by stones. It remains in plain sight of anyone stopping by.