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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Dawn Herald" data-source="post: 3975620" data-attributes="member: 58763">Another parchment toughen by the weather is tacked onto the corkboard, written in common with a scholarly penmanship with the scent of wet dirt. <ul> <li data-xf-list-type="ul"> Maena's tree. According to the local legends from some of the rangers that frequent this part of the Cairn Hills, felines would congregate here in mass numbers. From cougars to house cats, panthers and stranger beasts. As I walked around the great umbrella thorn tree, I noticed the dozen of claw markings along the black bark. According to this fanciful story, anyone brave enough to come near the great tree and eavesdrop on the cats can learn all their secret plans. I returned to the nearby town of Diamond Lake to pen my findings on the nature of Maena's Tree when I noticed a large gathering of people around a residential home. Approaching, I inquired with a neighbor on what was going on as it appears everyone was still waiting for the mayor's men to arrive. He informed me that something terrible had happened to the Wacthers family. Seeing as no one was going to stop me, I ventured forward to sate my curiosity. The first thing I noticed were the flies. They were buzzing angrily around the entrance and yet like the people outside, dare not enter despite the open doorway. After keeping my mouth close and shielding my face from the angry swarm, I entered to discover a ghastly scene before me. The family Wacthers who I shall not name for my own personal beliefs were made up of four individuals: the father, who lived all his life in Diamond Lake came from a long line of miners. He married his home town sweet heart, who gave birth to his two children who were able to see eleven to eight years of their lives respectfully. From what I'm told, they troubled no one and were equally friendly and generally liked as neighbors. I found them gathered around the dinner table, spoiled meals resting on the table top, the table's linen stained with blotches of blood. Normally, I would avoid describing how the victims were killed in such a scene of violence, but you my apathetic reader should be warned. On their throats, they bore puncture wounds and the impression of teeth on their flesh. Others simply had their throats savaged and bore claw marks, which I was able to recognize belonging to a great hunting cat. And yes, they were drained of blood. When the mayor's men found the bodies and came to the same conclusive logic I shared on what killed them, the family Wacther were not afforded the proper burial they should had deserved. Instead, they were heaped and dumped together on a funeral pyre like plague victims. And in some sense, they were.</li> </ul></blockquote>

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