Ladies, Gentlemen, and Faefolk,

For those of you who are aware of what happened most recently to our visiting artist Myatt, no, she is still comatose. We must still await word from Tyrandiel for any news about her condition. I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to Tyrandiel for her aid, as well as to Claes, who has been tirelessly standing watch over our fallen friend, as well as Ante who has been regularly checking in, too.

This is an update to catch everyone else up on the situation. I apologise for not getting to this sooner.

The month following the retrieval of the fourth sketch was marked not by the appearance of a fifth apparition, but by an unexpected and devastating assault on Myatt herself. Our guest from Meropis was attacked in the Wander Inn by what appeared to be some sort of spirit. Those who responded first to the scene attempted to subdue or destroy the spirit, but it managed to escape after gravely wounding and rendering Myatt unconscious. Adventurers attempted to treat her wounds, but the dark cracks that spread across her flesh responded to neither salve nor spore, elixir nor enchantment. It was rapidly becoming clear that her injuries were beyond our conventional means when the hooded stranger appeared and reminded us there was a skilled healer in New Thera.

Adventurers were dispatched to fetch her, but even she felt that, from description alone, her skills were not meant for such damages. We cast about a bit, wondering who else to contact, when Tyrandiel bade us bring Myatt to her, and so we did. Tyrandiel treats her now, tending to her haemorrhaging and deeper harms, and when it was confirmed that naught else could be done for the moment, we gradually withdrew to search for answers.

Those who witnessed the spirit that attacked Myatt were able to provide an elaborate, if confusing, description of the being. It seemed insubstantial, but it radiated foul malice. It seemed to shift and flicker between forms, one moment seeming tall and threatening, the next appearing small and impish. It had no uniform colour, shifting through every spectrum of hues from red to blue. Whatever it was, it was dangerous. We must be wary of its next appearance. If nothing else, its shapeshifting visage suggests rather heavily that the blue imp that attacked Myatt when she first made landfall in Ka'doloki was indeed more than it seemed.

We also spoke at length with the hooded stranger, who once again proved enigmatic and cryptic. I cannot fault the many of you who still do not trust her; she is not forthcoming and she continues to hide her identity, but she seems to be intent on watching after Myatt's well-being. For that, alone, I am grateful to the hooded stranger. Setting aside the mysteries of her motives and origins, what we do know of her is precious little. She speaks frequently about the scars adventurers leave on history as we carve our paths through the world. She warns us about the accumulation of grudges and resentment, both in our own hearts as well as in the hearts of those whose lives we touch, whether it be from our casual hunting or our world-changing heroics. She admits to being mortal, and having her own grudge to nurse, but will not elaborate on what that grudge may be. She grimly says outright that one day, the 'birds will come home to roost'.

This, naturally, has given rise to many different theories about the nature and motivations of the being that attacked Myatt, and indeed seems to be the culprit behind the stealing of her sketches and the subsequent fell manifestations of the stories behind them. I cannot recount all of them at this time, and quite frankly we are still suffering from a lamentable dearth of information. When we have facts in which to deal, I will share them with you all.

For now, we must wait: for information, for Myatt's recovery, and for whatever comes next. When Myatt is awake again, we must tend not only to the wounds of her flesh, but those upon her heart. So too should we consider the responsibilities we have to the consequences of our own actions. If it is truly a cycle of resentment in which we are caught, we must think on how we may break it. When one plunges a dagger into another's flesh, one does not make amends by drawing it halfway out; nor even by retrieving it entirely. Wounds left to fester lead to infection. What harm has been done must be treated, healed, and that includes the wound below that which is merely flesh-deep.

We have much to think about. I thank you all for continuing to join me on this journey. We are in this together.

In Song,
Taelle Starling

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Daedalan, in the year 959 AF.