Lost In The Shroud

I was out huntin' when I saw a pretty bluejay up in the sky. Been a while since I had some chicken stew, so I readied my bow, and — wham! What a shot! The bird tumbled downwards, flailing and chirping. When I went to retrieve my prey, I saw its claws were grasping something strange... So I pried 'em open. I found this scrap, nay, this letter! Unbelievable, isn't it?

Dear little Brother: Calm your heart — I'm safe and sound. The border between Rimgard and Meldore had plenty of openings to sneak through. I made it out of Veilwater and reached the Revelwood before my comrades even knew I was gone. Lord Vorgoth has gone mad, Talion. His mind has fallen to the Shroud, infected by that Wanderer's whispers! He lied to us. King Gormander is no threat! I can't fight for this, and my scars are proof of that. I wear them with pride, knowing I did the right thing. Please come. Wave the war goodbye. Turn your back on all this. I miss you, munchkin. — Athalan

The battle by the bridge — I know you must've been there! The ones that fled had terror in their eyes. "The Shroud," they said with a trembling voice. "The Shroud blanketed everything." Still, the armies of Vorgoth continued to battle. Please tell me: did you breathe it in? Are you still in there, my little brother? Leading the flock as Commander? I survey the valley when the sun is highest in the sky, but I detect no motion. I put my ear to the ground but hear no marching of heavy boots. If you're in there, please give me a sign, Talion. I'll carry you out on my back, just like the old days. — Your sister, Athalan

Lord Vorgoth, you're a blighted, demented beast rotten by distrust. A withered man, a raving shadow of a leader, lulled by a roaming snake! You don't serve your people, you serve the white mold — The thralls of twilight, the call of the wanderer. Having ever followed your orders makes me sick; a toll I paid in blood. No army shall protect you. I will cross every chasm, scale every mountain, and brace against the bitter cold. I will push myself beyond the capacity of man to find you. And when I do, my aim will be true. I swear on my brother's honor. — Athalan Skree, 3rd day of Yearwake, 503 D.A.