Edinmare. The name that the bards still sing in every tavern and on every market corner. Edinmare. Whose stories are told by every mother and father to their children being laid down to sleep. To be played out in the lofty world of dreams, and in the waking world in every patch of green wherever human children dwell. Edinmare.

The Eternal Queen whose form still stands strong and proud in the center of every human town, village, city and hamlet. Edinmare. Who has ascended from the fragile throes of humanity and into godhood. Edinmare. Whose name is uttered on every tongue of every man and woman down on their luck, and is invoked by the wary travelers going through the Scarred Forests and towards the colonies in the Arid North. Edinmare

While most people would find obtaining such fame and such adoration something to aspire to, she didn’t. All that she did was not to seek fame, but for the sake of her people. For mankind. While she was not without her vanity (as someone in her position in life ought to have), fame wasn’t something that she aspired to, thought it followed with every action she took.

While the victories that she obtained are well known, what’s not is the pain and suffering; the trials and tribulations she had to endure in order to reach those victories. All of that pain and all of that suffering she endured shaped her into the woman that she was; and all of that has been all but lost to history. Without those she would cease to be the woman that I had known — the woman that I had loved, for all of those years. All that was her would vanish, and all that would be left would be a doll that holds her name and claims her triumphs. And I’d be damned if I let that happen.

I pen these journals by the light of a dying candle, and before the darkness swarms and consumes me, I aim to finish these chronicles to ensure that she continues to exist as I remember her. To ensure that all that was Edinmare never vanishes from this world. To grant her a modicum of the immortality that she deserved.