22 Flamerule 1489
Corellon, Protector of Elvenkind; hear my prayer; Sehanine, Goddess of Moonlight, hear my prayer.
The thugs have beset upon us on the road, swarming us like so many bitterflies, spitting their poison like a pestilence. They attacked when we were but three and they eight. These are men who have chosen to live as common wyrms, enslaved to the serpent Tiamat, and they moved upon us like a plague. Though they look as men, they have no minds of men, no will of their own, nor have they a scrap of honour among them. In battle they were not satisfied to fight with integrity, but they debased themselves and their unholy goddess with their cowardice dressed as strength. Not a true warrior among them. Yet their numbers are great and I am left standing alone, surrounded by the band of them, my nose filled with the sickening stink of their unwashed hair and their unclean souls. My path is righteous and my calling is true. I have the Moon in my soul and the blood of Persalor in my veins and they will not break me. But, alas, Most Holies, they may yet slay me and send me to the Daughter of the Night Skies.
I will go with my head held high.