In the great turmoil arising after the fall of Mordak al Kharud much knowledge has been forfeit. Knowledge, which lost causes me pain and the ignorance gnaws on my heart. I fear that only with great effords we will be able to reach our old standards again. And even than, some of it will be lost forever.

15 years are gone since our flight. 15 years in which we dared a new beginning. In this time our knowledge has dwindled. Too little is known of the great mainland, from which we escaped to evade utter destruction and chaos. Our attempts to regain contact were all in vain. Not a single ship we send across the Straits of Hope has returned. No news reaches our ear from the place we once called home. The strait, once our savior from which we were reborn, has become a insuperable barrier. Dense fog lies deep above the surface of the water and clouds our vision into our past. Will we ever find a way back?

Only an old map has remained, which shows the outline of our world. Often I brood over it and try to remind myself of the old places. But with each day more and more of the certainty I once felt slips away. Is it true what I believe to know or is it just the foolish hope of an old man, which illusions have replaced the truth? I can not tell the difference anymore.