Auguste 5th, 1016

Bryden’s Ferry is lost.

What little of us still remain here after the Varghath attacks are all hungry, destitute, and without sleep. Every day a new group of wildmen from the plains come to raid us, killing and stealing as much as they can before running off back to their encampment.

Most everyone who was left over decided to leave last night. There are only fifteen of us left now, but I do not blame those who evacuated. With the imminent Hazon invasion and the Varghath pressing upon us, they left for Dranir lands where they hope they may find safe refuge.

Bjorskarn is still here, alive, somehow. The old cur, despite only having one arm, sure knows how to fight. In some of our darkest hours he has been our light, though now it seems the dark is upon us all. Bjorskarn has been sitting sullenly by himself lately. Not prone to the thought-provoking conversations or bouts of humor that he had encouraged us with earlier.

After so much loss and death, what remains of our ability to keep hope when the walls are closing in around us? We once has over two-hundred people in this town. The rift took one hundred and twelve. The Varghath killed thirty-two, enslaved eleven. Eight of us took their own lives in despair. Another twenty-two ran away to find better lives. And so the last fifteen of us remain.

We can hear the war cries and the beat of the Varghath drums as their war band approaches us in what is likely to be our final stand. So this shall be my last journal entry. Many wish for a glorious death upon the field of battle, but truly I have never felt so much fear before as I do now.

If anybody should find this, please, if you find my wife Jeselle or my daughter Lenna, tell them that I’ve missed them and that I love them with all my heart. I buried the last of our savings out back behind our cabin for them. To whoever may find this, please give it to my family to help ensure good lives for them. You may take some of it as compensation, but I beg that you act with honor.

The rest are arming themselves, but Bjorskarn seems nowhere to be found. Fourteen of us now I suppose. I can see the Varghath torches in the distance. This is it.

Time’s up.