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To whoever may find this, in the hopes that you are not one of my captors—
My name is Fovus Rivul. Please remember that. I lived in the small village not far from where I imagine you found this, my final will and testament. For years, my job was simple—mend the clothes of my friends and neighbors. Maybe even fashion a new design or two, as a lark. But the routine was nice. Perfect for someone like me, someone who just wants a nice, quiet life. I had no family, which was fine. Our village is … was tight knit. Though, I have no idea how many still remain there.
We should have been vigilant, perhaps. For so long we were left alone by the chaotic forces of the world. I won't say our lives were completely peaceful, but I never felt unsafe. Until the Order of the Waking Flame. At first, we saw their torches. A long procession of them walking into the mouth of this abandoned mine I find myself locked in now. As my neighbors and I gathered to watch the slow march of the flames, we could hear a low chanting. I swear I felt a small tremor in the ground, but I assumed it was nerves. I should have paid attention.
Soon people disappeared. From their beds, from the fields, or from the road. We would just never see them return. Naturally, we suspected the residents of the mine, but no one felt strong enough to take up arms.
Then my time came. I needed to travel to Mournhold to acquire supplies as my shipment had never arrived. Which, at the time, was strange since my man was always prompt. Barely any time had passed before I was set upon by shadowy figures in cloaks. They killed my horse and knocked me unconscious. When I awoke, I was locked in a cage, cold and wet. And here I will likely die.
I hear chanting in the distance. And a high chittering sound from some unnatural beast. So, I must hurry. I leave my tailor shop to young Rilasi if she still lives. And young Meden if Rilasi has died. My home and all its contents should be distributed to any of the village in need. I know this is not our custom, but those who are left may need shelter. And my bar tab, I leave to barkeep Drinar, that hilarious old fool.
Please forgive and misspellings or smeared letters. Writing with a bloody finger has proven challenging.
Signed and Authorized
Fovus Rivul.