[Handed over in person.]
Honored Veil-Wearer,
It seems, after all this time, I have finally been granted the privilege of your summons. An invitation to your private sanctum. Tell me... what has changed? What shift in the winds or cracks in the stone has brought this moment to pass? My doors have long stood open, carved wide and welcoming, a gesture of goodwill for you or your kind to step forth and find common ground. Yet, your silence has been deafening, your absence as cold and unyielding as untouched marble.
And now, here we are, chiseled into the precipice. Have we already tumbled into the abyss, I wonder? I see clearly the shape of your intentions. You wish to unmake what I have so carefully crafted since my arrival in this Well of dust and desperation. You would see my works undone, my sanctuary crumbled to sand.
Know this. I am a creator, but I do not suffer the destruction of what I shape lightly. I have spoken of consequences, and my words are no idle scratches upon stone. But I am not without practicality. Give me a reason to set aside the mallet and rest the chisel, and I shall. Yet mark this well; Any peace begins with one of you stepping forward, crossing the threshold, and standing before me.
The next carving shall be yours to shape.
Zalthar Stonefield
Honored Veil-Wearer,
It seems, after all this time, I have finally been granted the privilege of your summons. An invitation to your private sanctum. Tell me... what has changed? What shift in the winds or cracks in the stone has brought this moment to pass? My doors have long stood open, carved wide and welcoming, a gesture of goodwill for you or your kind to step forth and find common ground. Yet, your silence has been deafening, your absence as cold and unyielding as untouched marble.
And now, here we are, chiseled into the precipice. Have we already tumbled into the abyss, I wonder? I see clearly the shape of your intentions. You wish to unmake what I have so carefully crafted since my arrival in this Well of dust and desperation. You would see my works undone, my sanctuary crumbled to sand.
Know this. I am a creator, but I do not suffer the destruction of what I shape lightly. I have spoken of consequences, and my words are no idle scratches upon stone. But I am not without practicality. Give me a reason to set aside the mallet and rest the chisel, and I shall. Yet mark this well; Any peace begins with one of you stepping forward, crossing the threshold, and standing before me.
The next carving shall be yours to shape.
Zalthar Stonefield