Words of a Dying Breed

My name is Moith Lichen and I lived through the great purge, I am one of the last, if not the last of the Chinderin.  The Mirran led by their own views of faith has set out to exterminate us as if we are the bringers of the end times. Most of our temples now stand empty, deemed as unholy land. From what I have managed to overhear is that any resemblance of our homes has been tarnished. All this because of their fear of our practices of Vloech's gift, the arcane or dark arts as it has become known.
I had to blend into the society of mirran, so I ripped off my own ears and spent many moons grasping the tongue of Serenity, but even that I am not fluent in at my death bed. So I hope that those who discover this pityful writing do not tarnish it without translating it out of my tongue because I wish to speak on behalf of my people and try and express how the thing they sought to destroy will become their down fall. I wouldn't say I hold a grudge as I have been focusing on staying hidden and making sure I manage to have something on the plate, but it would be outright full ish to presume I would forgave those tyrants responsible. I made sure to do my best to prevent them from uncovering the knowledge of my people. I am largely responsible for so many of temples being locked, I have hidden the keys throughout the lands so that oneday when one born of void blood wishes to discover their ancestry they will be permitted.  And I wish for those who read this that aren't my kin to respect my wishes and not tamper with my peoples homes anymore. It is what you feared, so don't unbox it.

Type

Journal, Personal