Listen well, children of frost and eternal winter. I walk from the black dunes and burning wastes of the Ashlands- where the earth itself breathes the Spirit's fire, where oaths are sacred, and where a man’s word is his lifeblood.

You weave oaths like silken webs and hide behind clever wordplay. Lying is meant to kill Fae. It is the fundamental law etched into your very marrow, the spiritual poison designed by the cosmos to strike down your ilk. By all that is sacred, if lying should kill Fae, then your entire court should already be dead and rotting in the dirt for the hypocrisy you harbor. If lying is your doom, then your doom nigh approaches.

We stood in your halls. We fought for the cage, argued your laws, and won our victory fair and square in your own court. You swore the pact. You were the ones entrusted, the ones bound by sacred duty to keep the Salesman locked away where his venom could no longer reach the living.

And now? You go back on your words. You turned your backs, loosened the chains, and permitted that parasite to return and plague our city once more. 

I, Drenmir, whose name means Destroyer in your tongue, demand recompense. I write my name for the Spirit shall not allow you to take it- as It has before. You are nothing in comparison to It's strength. Before the reckoning falls, I demand an answer. Stand before us and explain your actions. Justify your treason. Explain how the arbiters of winter became the jailers who let the monster walk free. You know how to find me.