Greetings, honoured Roostmaster
— whoever and whenever you may be.
I am old and weak, and I sense that this is my final illness. Soon the Mason will come to seal me in my tomb, back in the Element from which I sprang. I have given him my seven silver coins in advance, as is his due.
If you are reading this, then my vision was true. The time of Eyrie’s greatest peril is upon you. It is the time of my prophecy. Those whom I have foreseen shall arrive at Eyrie shortly. You will recognise them from my verses. Heed them and help them, but do no wrong and suffer no wrongdoings from them — I have foreseen that the love of Eyrie is not the greatest of their motives.
Before you is the first of my clues, to be given to the Forseen along with these words. To find the second clue, wait until the dinner hour and seek where my line runs true. Each clue will lead to the next, and all lie withing the walls of Eyrie. When they have all eight — or was it seven, my memory is not what it once was — they will be able to use thenm together to find that which they seek. Ask not what it is — they know, and I know, and you shall know if need be. Its fate and theirs are entwined with that of Eyrie, although this may not always be clear to you.
Hurry, for now the time has come for deeds, not words. Those who come will know of what I write.
Yazeran, his Mark
hands of fate will come up
from the pass
And the time will be time of great need
Not with book nor with quill yet within Eyrie still
Will be found what the rescuers need
Black hair, white order, power not by part
Healer by nature, by practice, and art
Holder of stone, and no little ire
Tumbling gymnast, and wielder of fire.
Deep seeing lock smith and point guard by role
Being an Elf, both by half and by whole.
The night on two feet, chrome helm like a flame
With fists like two rams, an ironic name
Tall black human, through the forests he prowls
Woodcutter, tracker, and student of owls
White skin and dark beard, following along
Another prescient Dwarf, Grungni strong
Proud fighting clown from a far away land
Seeking an ork who's death was at hand
Shaper of paper, and intricate rhyme
Looking for answers backward in time
A one handed monk and slave to the truth
Balancing the fortunes of his opposite youth
The oldest of foes shall approach through the peaks
With their hearts on the treasure within
May the rescuers find what is hidden in time
Else the enemy surely will win