I am tired as I write this. 

And I leave it here on the doorstep I created not as a final goodbye but as an explanation for my disappearance. 

I feel far too distant without my best friend here, Boji; he was a brother to me.

I have lost, and I have gained much here in this snow-stricken tundra, but in every snowflake, I see their faces flutter to the ground much as their bodies had before. 

The first was my mother, Malla, whom I left over a decade ago now back where colour thrived to go and find her husband, Languinar, who seems not to exist where it was said he did. 

I came to this place with my brother and met a few friendly faces. But only some grew kinder with the weeks that passed, whereas the one that didn’t mind as well fluttered to that same ground. 

It was as if he imbibed too strongly on the artefacts of this place, finding greater joy and purpose in piecing them together than in strengthening our party. Cen was the second to go. 

We travelled and persisted on roads my brother could not help himself make many terrible decisions. Ones this shield was not big enough to get in the way of. Nearly finding his end, until a sweet, darkened elf gave up half herself to right him. 

She, Ebeyanna, was technically the third, but found that other half of herself again. 

We gained another in her absence, but despite our many arguments to find common ground, it was always shaky. 

We procured many gifts and treasures, ones that helped in so many excursions. The greatest of all was earned, however, not found. She became a member of our party for many weeks after.

Until on one precarious precipice, the first face fluttered to the floor, scattering along the ice. He sacrificed his life for hers without a moment’s doubt. Harlow’s memories are carried with me forever, and Summer, his greatest companion, fled our party in search of a family, stricken with too much grief. 

Harlow and Summer were our fourth and fifth.

In such a short time thereafter, doubt and a little carelessness drove away another member who left to go catch up with Cen. 

Bardam was our sixth.

In his place appeared one incredibly worthy champion by the name of Haranakard and one other, who just kind of haphazardly flew around, by the name of GIzz. But neither found themselves particularly fond of the tundra, and quickly fled this biome. 

Grim, in the face of all that we challenged and overcame, we could still not agree and truly get along. Once the two newest members fled, he left as well, but to his own desires.

They were our seventh and eighth, and ninth. 

With Boji’s parents and childhood home burned to cinders by the hands of the crimson cult, he had not a place to return, and so we built up our sweet Camp Dread together. We sold many of our treasures and artefacts and, for a year, ran a wonderful respite in a place unrelenting against such things. 

But he carried around with him, a weapon cursed with such malevolence I, nor nobody clerical, could see.

It took hold of his mind and heart, and one fateful night he lashed out against me.

Thankfully, at this point, I had continued my studies and learnt a way to defend myself whence indefensible and met his blade with mine of ethereal force. Whatever malevolence gripped him, it held him with a wrought iron will, for no spell of mine could reach through to him. No containment could bear his rage, however tiny he was. 

In the end, I was the cause of our tenth. 

So now, my sweet camp, I am your eleventh. 

I can bear it no longer.

I must go out and find something, anything, to solve these growing and gnawing problems at our doorstep. Who knows, I may very well find a clue into my father’s disappearance. 

It’s just ironic that as I write this, I can now understand why he did what I’m now doing, first.