Year 151. It were the 27th day of the month that is called Marpenoth.

That were the day that by the Traensyr commander and his host of pit elf soldiers was our Sanctuary's gate recently besieged. That were the day, through combined efforts of courage, sacrifice and diplomacy, our cherished watchmen, citizen's militia and esteemed councilor Bhast held fast and repelled our would be invaders. That were also the day two watchmen's lives were selflessly given us and numerous others suffered grievous wounds from which there can only be slow or no recovery. So, then, shall it be, by me, remembered, this 27th day of the month that is called Marpenoth; and should Luck allow myself and/or the gentle reader another year's life, let us what remember the battle make bright each coming anniversary of this dark day by preserving its memory in us, and in our children, and by honoring these watchmen and militia what fought and fell, and those young squarers who shall, then, wear the Watch armor and the responsibilities that there can now be no denying are to it, by duty and destiny, attached.

Yet why even wait? There are watchmen among us--brave soldiers who suffered to spare us the evils what both Sslal'teesh and pit elf, alike, had recently stored up for us in abundance. True, not every citizen agrees with the Watch's soldiers' politics--and as souls wiser than mine often do tell me, perhaps they should not, even for balance's sake alone--but did these men, men I say, not still bleed and die for us? Honor these men, now, for, at least, their sacrifice. Thank they in passing. More importantly, let us consider the more tangible needs of the families of the deceased soldiers who cannot sustain they'selves on a diet of honor and gratitude alone.

It were I, just a plain Hin called Clover, who, while hunting mushrooms to add to the Beacon's stewpot, became the hunted--hunted by pit elves what had lost their original quarry's trail: escaped slaves. It were I who tell what I had seen to the two heroes that would later assemble and lead a warparty to assist the escapees and cause damage enough to the drow to illicit their retaliation that fell day. And, though these heroes and their company received no punishments and were recommended by their judge, Councilor Matterheim, that they even receive medals; my own judge, the respectable Councilor Bhast--the man who's generosity in paying the pit elf commander 20,000 in gold lowre to abandon our gate saved us--in his wisdom elected your humble writer to coordinate the raising of a figure determined by he, 20,000 coin in thirty days, to benefit the families of the fallen, or else I may benefit them with my exile.

However, this randomly calculated number, I find it unfair. Unfair to the families. 30,000 in thirty days is a more appropriate and poetic sounding sum, and I shall strive for no less; and, this, I would do merely at the Councilor's asking: with or without the threat of never again seeing my dear Sanctuary and the people, whom I dearly love, that dwell within its gates. I would, then, implore you, gentle reader and kind citizen, to open your hearts and purses for the families, for myself and for all of us. There shall soon be a donation bowl for this noble charity erected in our town hall. Or else sponsor me directly with your gracious contributions so that I may record your name and offer you my eternal gratitude and also a token or potion from my stock which may aid you on your further righteous pursuits.

Sanctuary's and your willing citizen-servant,

Possum "Clover" Foxfoot