To whomever reads this:
I hope you find yourself in better straits than I. These will be the last words I ever put to paper, unless the gods intervene in my fate. I know not what Beriel was lamenting, but I certainly regret coming to this haunted place.
The skeletons moan in their eagerness to be at me, to shred my flesh from my bones. Truth to tell, I've been moaning a lot myself lately.
I see no way down from this place, no hope to survive.
I have only myself to blame for this. I fled the Imperial City to escape Urania's presence. I heard her voice everywhere, saw her face in every crowd, smelled her perfume on every breeze. Unrequited love has driven more men mad than the Elder Scroll.
Food is long gone. The water ran out yesterday afternoon. I can delay no longer. The walking dead will have their wish.
— Gordianus Fortunatus