Dear Hope of Mankind,
I have decided that I hate maps. Loathe them. If maps were personified into a living organism, I would almost certainly kill them despite the legal repercussions that would follow. Then again, I am alone her in the woods--no one would see me, methinks.
Again with the rambling! It has been almost three days since I was mugged. Three days! As if the prospect of me fending for myself in the wild wasn't enough, I have to go and get myself lost. And to make matters worse, the resonance during the Epicenters has grown increasingly ear-splitting. I believe that there must be an intense magical output occurring somewhere that is causing the Great Eclipse to respond in this way.
My robes are covered in muck. Splotches of brown and olive mask the once brilliant sky blue that used to cover my clothes, and my red cuff links give the appearance of dirty blood more than the cinnabar they are supposed to be. But that's life. Or so I'm told.
And so, as I wander, quite literally, aimlessly through the woods I write this letter in hope that maybe you won't be an idiot and make the same foolish mistakes that I have. I only hope that those high shrieks I hear coming from the woods aren't what I think they are.
*~--Terris Rolland the Bright--~*
