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I Marcus Tullius Varro, Wizard for the 1st Cohort of the 1st Imperial Legion of Ultima Thule was shipwrecked on this island of Hellís Landing on the ides of Eleasias, in the third year of the reign of Emperor Serverus. We had served our six year term in the wild province, and were due to rotate back to Magistania. However, seven days after leaving Ultima Thule, the skies turned black. The Cohortís Donablan augurer claimed the gods were angry, that they had brought a Cataclysm down on the world, such as we had never seen. The Hellstorm was worse than ever, even worse then when that Thonian ritual went awry years ago, feeding its power. The ship foundered within its midst. Alone among the shipís company, I was washed ashore after countless hours in the water on this island, saved by Donablas for some greater destiny. I shall survive as best I can, counting the days until I am rescued, for our ships use this isle as a navigation guide, and shall surely spot me.

There follows a series of marks, listed apparently listing the passage of three months. Finally, the following, chipped in a loose, uncertain hand.

I am forsaken by the Lord of Destiny. My strength has ebbed. I have eaten the all the scant seaweed and crabs I could find, and my ability to capture fish is pitiful. Alas, I was not taught such skills at the Tower of the 4th Cabal of Goap in Magistania. Now, I lie ill, soon to die. Where once a ship a week passed, no ships have come, so the augurers must have been right about the Cataclysm. For all I know my beloved Videssos has sunk beneath the waves. I shall soon be judged by Donablas, but I have no fear, for I have lived to the stoic ideal of the Varro motto, Persta atque Obdura.



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