Tis been a long while since I wrote in this journal of mine….been travelin', ye see, fleein' from devastations and such. The dragons died. The Ancient One, too weary to go on, and his mate Saia, because she couldna bear life without him. And the land howled and raged at their deaths, for it was their lives that gave it breath. And without the protection of the mighty beasts, the evilness began to spread across the land. Seems our small band of people just canna escape from the evils that pursue them. A horde of demons moved inter the Underdark of Arran, bringing with them pestilence to the land. And a personal pestilence to meslef and Jacen. Tis nae everyone can claim that they be shot down in eh midst of their marriage proposal. After all these years, what were started as a joke has turned into a reality. And I didna even have to pay twenty horses for him as that old tavern wench said I would~! His family no seemed to mind, seeing most of them be either previously married to elves or be elf kin themselves, so that were a mercy. Bein' what I am, I canna have children anyways…so tis nae like I be walking away from the People with any duty or obligation to reproduce meself. So, with Samhain looming, Jacen and I sneaked off to the forest, with Swith as witness, and had her tie the knot on the string. Now handfasted for life, in the traditional way. Jacen had to go back to the wars, bein so commanded by his unclew Kalvan. And I were left with the mess of getting folk out of the land afore the great storm hit. I could see well enough that the portents this time be true. The land dwindled and began to die around us. Trees withered and fell over in their places of rest and rocks began to crumble. Justine disappeared altogether with the disappearance of all the dragons. Wulf had put out to sea, so I knew she werena with him. El and Mandi I sent to Waterdeep to be with their children until a suitable home could be found. I assumed that be where Justine had fled to also. Swith, in her way, picked up her lute and left. No use for a bard to stay if there be no one to sing to. No coin or rum in that. Dexler packed up his donkey. The fae were warned to take flight and find some safe ahven. In the end, all that were left were meself… and the spirits of the dead that still roamed the land. On Samhain, I built the fire. Twerent hard for me to do since all the trees ahd died and parched in such a short time. I dragged the wood down to the beach, facing the westering sun, and lit it as dusk approached. Far out to sea I could see the storm, hanging on the horizon. I were grateful that at least I could do this one last service for the land. As the flames rose, beckoning to the darkness that were falling, I began the prayers for the dead, sending their spirits on to where they would enjoy rest for their eternal times. I stood by that fire until midnight, stoked it as high as I could, and mounted Moonbeam and rode away, ne'er looking back once. The fire would be consumed by the wave. And I didna want to be there to see that. Twas the end of an era for me. The end of Arran. A land I loved, a land where I had breathed my own life into its very core.