This small, neat folded note is left just barely past the entrance to the Shifting Cavern to the left of the entrance, behind a blue cap mushroom:

Dear Silk,

I am Senestia Avarscanti, the woman in the golden plate armour and red cloak. If you are who I think you are, I would wish to speak with you. I do not know if you picked up the responses I left with Rak in regards to your poems, but your pieces of poetry are not the only thing I wish to speak with you about. I am also curious as to why you tried to remain hidden.

Best regards, Senestia Avarscanti

*another letter is left behind the mushroom, by a person who quickly rushes out*

Smoke fills the cave at night, Drowning out all hope of light. This beauty, replaced by sudden fear. For soon, the spellguard will be here.

They will uproot, pillage and burn, The land itself will churn. For nothing but destruction they yearn, Peace, a thing they cannot learn.

I wish to warn you; Take heed, take care. They will take this place, if you do not beware. An unsettling silence looms, as they secretly plot your doom.

The choice is yours to make now, if this is something you will allow. Defend your home, defend the land. Rise up, oppose, together hand in hand.

They fear the havoc together you could wreak. To slay you alone and helpless, they will seek. Stay together, or else you will fall. This cave becoming another of their halls.

This is not something I wish to see, a warning, a request, to you from me. Please do not let this come to be.

-Silk

A response left in the same place:

Dear Silk,

I appreciate your skills with the quill but sometimes plain, spoken words are more appropriate. Will you share those with me?

Best regards. Senestia Avarscanti

*one more note is found*

The seekers came, took us away. Stopped the evil slavers at play. Homeless, to this very day. Searching for so very long, For somewhere I belong. Not wanted anywhere, Not here, not there. I am now alone, In the crone. If there you look, You may find a book. A book or sorrow and loss, Quite old, covered in a moss. Inside, the tale remains the same The tale of a woman, Silk, her name.