Seed of Evil
Prologue
Menluwen's Last Scroll
In my many years of life, I have seen much progress in the protection of all that is innocent. I was present during the retaking of the Greater Faydark Forrest. Many good elves died that day, but Ambassador D'vinn was defeated, and the Crushbone orcs were scattered. I was present during the disestablishment of the Qeynos and Freeport authorities, in which Antonius Bayle's only heir was given temporary control over Qeynos. I was present and participated in the uncursing and cleansing of Norrath's forests. I assisted Master Historian Ozwin in defeating the corrupted bard faction, raised from the dead by a group of renegade Teir'dal acolytes.
In my 1200 seasons, I have dedicated myself to the protection of Norrath's people and the blessed lands of Tunare, Karana, and the oceans of Prexxus. I have been championed by the burly dwarves, the noble humans, the zealous woodelves, the arrogant Erudites, the outcast Half Elves, the gigantic Barbarians, the spirited Halflings, the brilliant gnomes, and my own race, the High Elves. I have even become somewhat of a legend to defected Trolls, Ogres, and Teir'dal.
I have lived a blessed life, doing all that I could to preserve life, and yet…I cannot die peacefully. Something rotten is brewing in Norrath. I see no evidence, but I feel it. In my many years of mastering the arcane arts, I have become part of the ebb and flow of this world's spirit. Something is coming, something I know I cannot take part in, as I know my end is near. Something has been planted, and is germinating, ever so slowly. I fear what kind of putrid fruit this "seed of evil" will bear, but the population of Norrath must not know of it! The panic this would cause may add significantly to whatever death and destruction may be yet to come.
My dreams have become invaded by visions of the dead rising from their grave. Normally, this wouldn't be such a foul sight, considering there are such desecrated sights in this world that such things do happen. But what frightened me was that it happened all over Norrath! In city streets, in people's homes, even in the beautiful colony of Firiona Vie! Visions of lightning striking not at random, but in a killing pattern, as if it had malice of its own! Forests dying, along with the calm flood plains of Karana! Blood flowing down the rivers and streams of Riverdale! The platform city of Kelethin collapsing under the weight of rotted and dead trees!
I wake up, my hands clenched and my face wet with tears. The planet itself would decay from within, but for now, there is nothing anyone can do. But I will do what I can; I will pass this information to those I can trust. Master Historian Ozwin is still of healthy age, being only 700 seasons old, is the only person I can entrust with this ill omen. May he guard it with his life, and pass it down when he must.
Here are written the last words of Menluwen Truspel, guardian, Grand Mage, historian, and spirit of all that is good in Norrath.