A fragment of parchment was recovered from the Ancestor's Altar. The paper is brittle, handwriting careful to be clear, but obviously strained by time. "The Ancestors no longer answers prayer. The bells frost over before they can ring. When struck or shaken they sway, but not a sound follows no matter how vigorous. Somehow, the chime lingers somewhere else beyond our senses. We held vigil through the night, thinking the quiet was perhaps a test sent upon us. But the frost gat

A letter was left behind on the table of a tavern called the Wayfayer's Rest, or just 'The Rest' to locals. Each letter was made with ink, which bristles with shards of frost that blur some of the writing of the unsigned paper. "I’ve locked the inn. I can still manage to light the hearth, but it does little good. It offers no warmth to these tired fingers. The guests sat closer and closer together as the frost crept in, speaking less with every hour. Laughter fell short and h

A piece of parchment was found nailed to the mill door in Ragne. The paper has erratic handwriting throughout, and is signed with three paw prints at the bottom of the page. "To anyone looking for us, The mill is closed until further notice. The wheel still turns when the river swells, but it turns without sound now. It began the other day, we awoke to an errie silence in place of the sound of waters we had become used to as the backdrop of our day. We tried to work through t

This letter was found in a cottage in a state of disarray on the edge of Ragne. The writer was vacant from the property when searched. "Mother, You told me the old stories were meant to keep little children from wandering too far into Blackwood Grove in winter. I believed you back then. But I saw it last night, by the graves beyond the silver birches. The frost had already taken the stones, turning the names dull and unreadable. I tried to brush it away, but my fingers burned

I wasn’t going to say anything, because I don’t want people thinking I’m drunk or grieving or soft in the head. But the ice is wrong. It crept up the alley behind the tannery last night. It did not happen overnight, as I watched it do it. It slid along the stones like creeping breath across a mirror. No sound. No wind. Just there, and then stretching further yet, as if reaching to snuff out the warmth from the fire. I thought I saw someone standing at the end of the lane. Tal

To whoever tends this shrine next, I leave this as record, do not put your faith in the old prayers. For three mornings now the grey frost has returned to the low fields before dawn. It does not sparkle. It lies flat, like ash pressed into the grass. Where it settles, the soil hardens and cracks as if drained of warmth entirely, though no true cold follows. The kilmei refused to cross it. Even when driven, they balked and cried until pulled away. One knelt frozen to place, st

A journal page was found caught by the wind, it had clearly been torn cleanly down the spine. Elegant, but shaky handwriting denotes the following message. "I thought the stories were just nerves about the season turning, or perhaps fear of famine that often returns this time of year. Then last night, when the mists rolled in just off the ridge, the frost on my window moved. It had not melted. Not fading. No. Moved. Patterns shifting like breath on glass, forming a shape I al

A note was found frozen to a gatepost, written in a hurried, cramped hand that had clearly been trembling. "The frost came early this year. Not the clean white kind, but the dark grey kind. The kind that clings in oppressive sheets instead of flakes. I thought it was just the cold settling in wrong, but then I saw it. Shapes. Not footprints. Not animal tracks. Just indentations. Like something leaned its full weight into the frozen earth and slid itself forward wthout lifting

The edges of the parchment is weathered, and the handwriting of the page is tidy but rushed. Found in Ragne. "Late Autumn, just before the First Frost I camped near the edge of Blackwood Grove tonight, foolish as that may sound now. The leaves here cling to their branches longer than they should. Vibrantly green one day, then suddenly glassy and brittle the next. A frost had begun to form. The locals warned me of the "Crooked Branch,” but spoke in circles as if they fear nam

It would be recorded that during these clashes between tribes, warriors were free to “Unleash the Beast,” leading to quick and often blood..

Found near Ragne, soiled with dark mud. "Don’t camp near the Blackwood after dark. I mean it, not even a mile from the path is far...

"Lost: Three crates of dyes, bound for the Arcveltian capital of New Ashen. Each box is painted with the mark of a blue outstretched...

The page was filed in haste, with the ink of the penmanship uneven. “Three days past, I led the caravan along the southern bend toward...

"To whomever reads this, They weren’t empty words. I saw it myself. The mists do not cling as they once did in the Blackwood Grove. From...

Found near the forward rail of the Galehart Airship. The ink blurred by wind and the damp of the morning and the edges of the parchment...

They met in the ruins of the Starlight Temple, where no prayers are spoken anymore. Lilima was a priestess, her bloodline bound to the...

The orchard wasn't found on any map. It never had been. It appeared once a month, on the final night of the waning moon before giving into blackness, when the air grew thick and the stars seemed crammed against one another in the vast sky.

"Papavera is a name synonymous with many things. The drugs that your healers provide you? Herbs in your alchemist’s lab?"