In the early days of Midsummer, the sounds of merriment and laughter
drifted upwards from the depths of the Sentinel hall in a veritable
wreathe of delight. The Rangers, men and women bound to roam the
wilderness, were celebrating one small victory against the growing
darkness in the deepest reaches of Dendara. Locked in a bitter struggle
for years now, Duiran found joy in a hard fought blow against the
cultists trapped within the hellish nightmare known as Prophet's Hollow.

Amidst the celebratory drinking and merrymaking, ill-tidings came from
the front within the Ancelian Moor: Gebron, the Master Ranger, had
fallen in battle. Huntleader Tomor, with a heavy heart, seized the
opportunity to depart from Duiran and strike forth with his Rangers into
the Moor alongside their brethren. Rallying the Rangers across Sapience,
Tomor realized that it is now only a matter of time before this ancient
fellowship finds themselves teetering upon a terrible brink.

As the prison walls shudder beneath their constant onslaught, the
gathered forces of Duiran find themselves gaining ground against a
bitter, ancient foe. The warhorns of the Rangers, even now, begin to
sound across the whole of Sapience.

Penned by my hand on the 6th of Midsummer, in the year 409 MA.