Blackwater Islands the destroyer of nations

a soft, noncommital noise leaves them as she first apologizes and then speaks what they suspect. time is not my friend. ah, but life is eternal, speaks the dreadfather. even in the void where they reigned as the supreme power there was still life. still memories, loves and pains. bodies decay but souls do not. they offer, as if their words could be some beacon of solace. either way, she does not come off as being afraid of her end: merely that it was invetible. and it was. the void came for them all.

eventually.

you may rest here, the dreadfather allows, reclining upon their haunches. she is elderly and they have not had company since ...well they spoke to their hosts' estranged sister. this is blackwater. once and perhaps will be again, home of the druids. she hadn't asked but they feel a sort of unspoken kinship with those close to death: the only time that they display any sort of emotions that could be considered close to kindness.

borne out of their fondness for death itself.