It is done. Isgarren has been exiled, and the curse has been laid. Scudo. Falta. Santuro. Those words are only the beginning, however. I have since spent the past hours weaving a thread around our island, tying it to a lengthier curse, and binding it to the shadowstone at the heart of the spire. A curse that will not merely break but will become concentrated at the focal point of our most sacred of sites. Isgarren may, in his arrogance, attempt to return to Castora someday to test his mettle against the curse, and I must be prepared for the attempt. Thus, I have connected this curse to the very land itself, so that, on the chance that Isgarren sets his sights upon our island once more, it will drain his very life essence from his corporeal form. More so as he approaches the source. The only means for him to end the curse is the very thing that would end his life.