As I sit amongst the drunken and desperate patrons of the venerable Pissing Crone, fungal smoke and base liquors assaulting my senses, I ponder.
I ponder on a Sun I have never seen. On a way that likely no longer exists. I ponder on a man long dead, and I ponder on his legacy. I ponder, and I conclude.
My brothers in Filth, I declare these things. I declare so that you might heed some small tidbit, and take unto you the strength of men distant and hazy. I declare so that one day, we might all again be free. I declare because I must.
I declare these things:
1. I declare that Frederick Bresley did, in Sanctuary's 12th year, depart for the surface.
2. I declare that Frederick Bresley, against all probable odds, acquired his lofty dream.
3. I declare that, of all Sanctuary's many and varied inhabitants, Frederick alone truly shed his shackles.
4. I declare that the Way of Frederick Bresley remains, if not in the paths and labyrinths of the Underdark, than in the hearts of men.
5. I declare that we have strayed from the Way, and enslave ourselves to bleak walls and petty politics.
6. I declare that those above us have grown complacent. The Way does not lie with them- as it did not reside with Melinda Bresley.
7. I declare that the Way above lies with us, the common filth and rabble, and only with us.
8. I declare, boldly and openly, that I subjugate myself to no man. I will live as Frederick Bresley- I will live free.
Brother Jones, a rickety table at The Pissing Crone, Kythorn 9th, Year 151.