That great foe, the Low spirit of Despair, seeks out the down trodden and the high of spirit. It knows no mercy for men with money or men without. It cares not for your problems that plague you or your joys that bless you. It reaches out it's cold withered hand and lays it greedily upon your warm heart. Like a vampire it drains the life from it, plunging you into the Dark Lands where twilight rules. An eternal land of vague fogs and mists, where the sun is obscured by black clouds and neither shines the moon or stars. Like the blind, you wander the barren hillsides unaided in your quest, stumbling about looking for someone to guide you out. Some wander out to never return, others never leave, trapped in the bogs. Some find paths that take them out, only to return from time to time.
The Evil Deciever of Old has sent this enemy against our encampment. Tween the Outrageous and I are under it's spell, while the Queen of Amazonia bravely helps fight it. May the Ancient One break forth like the noon sun sending the shadows in flight.
