A blazing fire dances atop the rooftops of Surat's Rest. We were too late.
They came from Raven's Keep — escaped. Now, Surat's Rest is a pyre of madness. I tremble at the sight. What would mother do?
She'd move before the sun rose. Leave all baggage behind — swift and silent, carried by the wind. The road to Longkeep is a treacherous one. . . We must go. Glory to Pikemead. Bless the Ancients.