Missive

Aliza, I pray this missive reaches you, for there will be no necromancers left to greet you when you return.

It is as we suspected: the Balance has been sundered. By an angel’s hand, and it is a dark light he casts. Dozens of our order have dropped dead, their bodies torn apart, their souls shattered and the remnants called away. Where to, we do not know.

So we run. Who knows if distance from this place will help? We will try anyway. Seek us in the swamps.