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The Verge is a strange place. Not as damaged and twisted by the Fall as the Ruinscape, nor as dark and corrupted by Nulumriel as the Nightlands. The Verge instead seems merely old. Forgotten. It has been less than fifty years since Elanehtar fell and yet there are ruins here that date back hundreds or thousands of years. As I venture further toward the edges of the map I once again wonder what I will find. Will this curse of divinity follow me, or in fleeing from the shattered and spoiled lands I once called home will I escape the realms of the gods whose power now taints my soul?
When I first set out the Krakens seemed to extend ever onward to the west and north, now I have found the worn and tired foothills that signify their end. In these rolling lands I have found only cold desolation until today. A ruined city, surely once mighty and glorious, now stands silent and abandoned like some mausoleum or tomb. Wonders of some prior age or lost gods still hand overhead, or dwell in lights that burn without flame.
Four days. I've been trying to leave this forgotten ruin for four days, and no matter the path, no matter how I try to avoid it I keep ending up at the winged and broken spire. I'm unsure how, or why. I must be cursed. The divinity inside of me acting as a tether to this place. Or perhaps a divine curse by some long dead and forgotten god. Or maybe it's destiny. I don't know, but I fear that my end may come from it.
If somebody finds this please know I tried to avoid it. I didn't want this spark of power. I found a door, a portal, and I am hoping that it leads to salvation and not damnation.