|name||Smuggled Journal Page|
“Admeth set the forest aflame, they say. Admeth snatched the sharpest fang out of the enemy’s jaws, they sing.
I know nothing beyond the walls of my cell, but I still have my memories - and I don’t recall a single crisped tree on that battlefield. I don’t recall being taken. I remember waving the flag of parley and having it answered with a battlecry. Anything they burned they burned later.
History isn’t written by the victors or kith who were there. It’s written by scribes, and for some reason Admeth isn’t of a mind to contradict their lies. Maybe it’s because he’s where he is, and I’m where I am. There’s history and there’s ‘history.’ Takes a keen eye to tell the difference.