[A simple, leather bound journal. Made smaller than most books that might be found on the shelf of you typical Human fellow. The writing inside is small and neat, written in tidy, black ink. It appears to be a rather uneventful journal of a farmer, a Halfling. At roughly half way through the tome, the handwriting and instrument change; messy and charcoal.]

It's cold. So very cold. I've forgotten just how long that it may have been; it is impossible to tell day from night, and I've not found sleep since the night prior to finding myself in this maze. I have set light to the last of my torches that I might be able to see enough to write this, in the back of my father's book. My dear father, please forgive me for soiling your book with my words. This darkness, it isn't akin to normal darkness; no matter how much time you spend trapped within it, your eyes never adjust, you never adapt. Blind, you become, unable to see even your own hand before your face. Worse than the dark, and the cold, is the silence. It grips at you, like the claws of some unseen beast. And many are the unseen beasts here; looming in the darkness, awaiting their pray to lower its guard. Not a whisper of sound is made, but the clattering of my own aching feet meeting the dirt and stone underneath. This place is coiling and endless; so many turns lead to trapping ends, and many more break off into several more. I've become lost inside of this place, inside of The Cavern. I await my death here, I have abandoned hope. I pray to Urogalan that I might pass on painlessly, though I know that even with an acolyte's prayers, no peaceful death will come for me.

The silence is ever present. The darkness all-consuming.

The final torch burns low.

[After a blank page, the scribbled writing continues;]

A light! Praise all of the Gods, I have found a light. It burned my eyes at first, I was forced to wait for my eyes to grow used to it once again. It is enough to see myself by; it amazes me how filthy, how thin, I have grown. My clothing has worn away completely now, and I walk on my way naked. So cold. How long has it been now? A tenday? Two? Does it even matter any more? The light is enough to write by, thankfully. So many times have I fallen to my knees, trying to read from my father's book, praying that his calming words shall chase away the horrors of this bitter place. I could never see them. I could never so much as see inside of the leather in this darkness.

This place is not the stuff of nightmares. This place is nightmares; it is evil. It is where all dark things are born of, where all foul things are concieved. And my fear has led me into it. A petty fear of being embarrased.

I have decided that I shall go towards the lights, to see what they could be. Though I have wandered so long without hope, I can feel it beading again. It felt so alien to me at first, so strange. Now I feel it growing, bubbling. So hard it is to simply contain myself! But I must rest. My stomache has never hurt me more. It is so cold.

[Again, the writer has left a blank page. Though his writing was sloppy before, his hand clearly shaking his fear and weakness as he wrote, it is now even worse. Though it is still legible, if enough effort is put in.]

A trap. Horrid monsters beyond imagination captured me. I barely remember their attack, and what they did to me after it is a blur. I remember that there was screaming. There was blood. There were tears, not just my own. There was pain. I have awoken free of them. My head burns; it is worse than I have ever felt a pain before. AT first, I couldn't do so much as raise my head. "Slow steps take us forward," my adoptive father had once said to me. Slowly, I managed to rouse myself. And now I sit, using the same light that I was lured into to write this. I'll set on my way once I am able, but now, simply writing demands all of my focus. My legs appear to have gone numb, and I can only hope that it is not perminant.

[After the ending of the rather arupt entry prior to the following, the usual blank page is left.]

Another light. Soft voices with it this time. Not voices to the ilk of the tenticle-faced monsters; they speak outside of your head, they do not hurt to hear. Much of my memory has returned, unclouding so much of my ordeal, and I wish that it hadn't. I have followed this light, I have allowed myself to hope again. They will lead me to safety. I will survive this. I must.