To the Ironwood Confluence, in particular Kabal Brynja,

Long before you were even a speck of imagination, I lived here in the
dark wood. It was only by the grace of m'Lord that I survived the
horrors that befell this place. I was granted the splendors of the
Eternal city for some years, before I was called back to the village.

I was greeted and welcomed home, and I find these sad times for the
world, when I look around me now and find those who should understand
the way of things have fallen to such ignorance. I can well imagine my
brother Sigurd is behind some of this, with his fanciful thinking and
delusions of some semblance of wisdom... Mind you, I don't care what he
calls it these days, it is just plain arrogance if you ask me
look at the result.

I do not often make my voice heard, but on this I cannot simply sit and
await my fate. I am bound by my very existence to speak up now.

The village has so decreed that magicks are banned, and those citizens
wielding its power here shall leave. I do not leave of my own accord,
neither now nor on the morrow, for I walked this wood long before your
soul ever found its way to mortal existence, and I consider this home. I
have heard and understand your Iron Code

I agree, falling to the level of insults is petty and an action of the
weak, but I will not simply pack up and move on without my voice being
heard.

Kabal..to you I must say I am doubly insulted. My own brother adopted
you into my family, -my- blood and the words of the Confluence come from
none other than yourself. I've lived by your Iron Code in days gone by
Kabal, but what I fail to understand is why I should take the word of a
cadre that is younger even than the youngest sapling in these woods.

The magicks you so deny are the very magicks that sustain me in my
eternal life. My skin may not shed from my bones, and I may not
overwhelm your senses with the smell of decay, but one who has mastered
the art of necromancy transcends such things. Dearest Ithaqua, and all
who have sat at my feet over these recent years: I was good enough to
teach you of Death, I was good enough to help you grow wise and skillful
perhaps now the time has come to teach you of Life.

Ilsa Brynja

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Aequitas, in the year 466 AD.