Ozyletter03

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I die, my sweet. Time moves slowly here, but the seasons and years fade together. It seems ages since I smelled your perfume or held a lock of your hair close to my chest. So long, so long ago.

We hear nothing from the south, no news or rumors; all is quiet. We retreated to a silent place, and now that silence is a curse. Crinis left to find word, or perhaps to go to the aid of the others. She has not returned. We do not know if the demon hordes that attack our walls nightly took her, or if she is living in peace in the capital. One or two have tried to follow, but they too have vanished. (illegible)... How did we fall so far?

There was an accident today, but I fear it was no accident at all. Larquen Quen had summoned a pair of second circle demons to fight in the arena, and we had all gathered to watch, when the bindings unexpectedly failed. Aure Orchester was killed... he made no move to defend himself as the demons struck him down. My love, Larquen Quen seeks my death. I can see it in his eyes. He blames me for all that has occurred here. He blames... I have begun to build traps in the halls of the fortress, hidden with all the skill that Bax passed on to me. Quen is likely doing the same. If you should come, be wary, beloved. Do not step on any part of the floor which shows as white to the sight of a perceptive Sorcerer.

...(smudged)

We do not starve, but we are hungry. Our food is nearly gone, and the others are hoarding what meager supplies they have left. I had always suspected they were selfish creatures at heart, but I never expected it to go this far. I have begun to hoard my own meager supplies - it is important to deliver a proportional response. Oh, Mithra, if you could see me now, I doubt you would recognize me: my skin has faded from gold to bronze to ash. If you have received these letters, I beg of you to hear my cries and send some response. I long to hear from you... (the parchment is torn here)

...

Larquen Quen... (smudged) ...something to the Reality Engine... (torn parchment) damned fool can rot in Malfeas for what he's done... (illegible) intend to... (illegible) corpses of the dead... (smudged) what does he hope to gain?

We were wrong to come here.
We thought to live like gods while the world burned. Now we find ourselves prisoners of our own devices, our own fears, and of the demon host which lies in wait outside the fortress. We cannot get out.
We cannot get out.
How did it come to this?

Goodbye, my love, perhaps for the last time
Ozymandius




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