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Hello, whoever smart enough to read the epitaph of my everlasting – as long as it’s engraved on the dumped piece of chewed paper - memories. It's so kind of you to visit me in my loneliness.
I bear no name, but a tag, like an untamed beast incapable of having a family who would nurture and love me unconditionally back. I am The Harbinger, but your kin would likely call me “seer” – and this I do. I don’t wish to torment your rising, at this pick, curiosity any longer, as my intent is rather simple – to warn; and your’s will be to prevent.
1000 years ago, long before your parents’ grandparents were even born, there was a vivid in its rich colors world. There were organic trees and blooming flowers, tweeting birds who didn't gawk at corpses, smiling people not lurking at the shadows of restless night. Mother nature didn’t lash at wayward children yet, - people always have been taking everything for granted, which in turn ended up in otherworldly demise, which you, my anonymous friend, is witnessing.
Why, you would ask me, then I’m sitting under the canopy of rotting inn, writing you things you already have known the whole life? That, my dear, is the thing – when one door closes another opens: the item attached to this letter is more than just a pendant. It is but a hope – not for my generation anymore, but for your’s future one. The necklace contained with something vile, raw in its power, ready to rip and claw its way to the very fabric of the universe. In its intricate patterns lies magic – every soul has a little bit of it, did you know? Oh, how many fell victim – no, heroes – to the science, to fill up the jewelry with enough of enchantment to save what needs to be saved, to help who needs to be helped.
Use it, my lucky dearest, unleash the potential and go back in time, as you need to find The Silent Forest in its true sacre glory – it’s not a legend, child, 300 year before this exact moment there, it stood, looming above citizens. So go, child, run into the woods where, among the canopy of sturdy branches, shall be a prophet - seek help from them, gather allies and run, run again to the end of your journey, for it would be glorying, for it would be the dying of an Unknown. There, in the end, an Unknown would thank you with gentle breeze of somewhat familiar voice: "It was so kind of you to visit me in my loneliness".