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Within the library of the Curio Shop, a book is pulled off the shelf by an invisible figure. The book bobs in the air precariously, as if whatever is holding it is struggling to keep it afloat. Eventually, it is gently guided to a table where it's slowly opened, and the pages flipped through. Coming to the last page of the book. A scroll appears and is pressed onto the page, some sort of sticky, glue-like substance is smeared over the scroll, adhering it to the page.

Whatever pulled the book from the shelf leaves it on the table, for the glue to dry, and for whoever passes by to read it.

Dear Mistlocke,

This is good bye. This village and the people it has gathered has been many things to me. There were times when I loathed my time in this village. There were times when I enjoyed my time here. Regardless of the bad or good, all things come to an end and so it is time that I move on from my editorial of this book.

I collected your secrets.

I heard your confessions.

I mulled your thoughts.

I delved into your dreams.

I pitied your hopes.

I have hoarded this knowledge simply for the sake of hoarding it.

And now I reveal a simple secret: despite all that I have gathered and committed to memory and pen, it will all come to an end, it will all disappear, and it will all be forgotten.

I am no scholar. Nor am I a historian. I simply wished to know and pry for my own personal pleasure. To see what it is that passes through the minds of mortals whose existence is no more than an unnoticeable chirp in a deafening and roaring jungle.

I am a pathetic mortal like all of you and like so many things in this dreadful world and banal existence. With my passing and the passing of others, time will corrode memory. And history. And the past. Nothing will be left.

I've witnessed and eulogized the deaths of many people. Some of them the deaths of simple common folk. Others the deaths of prominent figures. However, in dust, in the grave, in the ashes, all deaths become meaningless. All deaths leaves but a single blot upon the canvas. With each drop of ink, the canvas becomes that much more blacker. Time passes, the canvas absorbs more ink until eventually it is little more than a piece of cloth soaked black. All of the little blots and drops become one. All of them become indistinguishable and meaningless.

Mistlocke is no different. This pitiful village, lost in the Mists, isolated from the rest of the world: it is doomed and destined for death, destruction, and obliteration. All of you share this fate. To suffer and die amongst petty conflicts or to fall to the Lichess when she succeeds in stripping away the last of the Mist.

There is nothing you can do but pray and hope. Perhaps if your prayers are earnest and sincere and honest, you may be granted a swift and painless oblivion.


Ghost Editor

I'm pretty sure those purple circles that keep showing up in Old Stones are Sarisa's attempts at being clever. I imagine they're notifying certain individuals of her movements, or could be some sort of religious dribble involving Shar. I could sell this information, but I think I'd much rather make her angry.

I find myself growing truly proud of my family. I'm worried that there won't be many of them left once I'm done.

I was dared to sneak into the Old Stones. I couldn't figure out how.

I tried to learn how to use a spear. Tried to hunt down and kill a deer. Didn't go so well.

I walk  the Old Stones amongst the Conclave servants freely. I almost wish for  them to try something against me, so I can kill them and rid them of  their miserable lives.

I'm happy here. Please let go. I did.

Maybe if I was a better father and husband my family would still be alive.

I seek peace and salvation in the Curio Shop and Library. I always hope that I'll meet someone in there like me, but the place is always empty except for Cornelius.

I hope I die before I'm too old to carry my sword properly.

My wife is a slush and I love it because our marriage was such a bore before she started drinking.

I know that the Mayor is a spy for the Enclave, but I don't do anything about it because I am afraid.

I snuck off to MurderTown once and had the best time of my life.

I was walking through the Crossroads when I spotted a stargazer. I ran so fast I could've outran a leopard.

If I jumped into the River Tear, would anyone realize I was gone?

[I voted for Sosay. I won't admit it though.]

Page eleven.

[tface=callig]I did bad things to my older sister at a young age. She giggled. But it  quickly transitioned into a wail of agony. It wasn't deliberate.   Phaladrine helps me ridden these sights from my mind.[/tface]

[tface=salt]I can't find work in the village. I don't really mind.[/tface]

Sometimes I want to shove Egbert into that grave of his.

I voted for Sosay. I won't admit it though.

[I was loved by friends and family back home. I only ever started wanting to live when I got brought to this cursed island.]

Page twelve.

Back in Athkatla, I wanted to travel the world without my wife and kids. Thank you, Ymph.

My husband joined the Order. Left me behind. I ended up in the Old Stones. I hope he dies at Blackhearth.

I can't relax in a bunk because I'm afraid it'll fall apart. So I sleep on the floor instead.

My own Pa screwed me over. He could fix it. He could fix everything. But instead he says he's praying for me.

I stare at the  painted circles of purple on the walls inside the Stones and I spend hours trying to figure out what they mean.

I was loved by friends and family back home. I only ever started wanting to live when I got brought to this cursed island.

I'm in love with a murderer. I don't feel safe anywhere but in his arms.

Page nine.

I think Sarisa and Violet Colton kiss each other when no one’s looking.

Please put this in your book because it will make Violet mad. Which I find hilarious.

The above entry is re-entered into the book. The first iteration of the entry on page eight, vandalized and censored by someone, is left untouched, almost as if the very destruction of it was a submission of a secret itself.

Other new entries follow.

Though I pity the people of Ymph, I would destroy this island and sacrifice us all, to save the rest of Faerun. It saddens me, but I would do it.

Gods forgive me, I thought you had forsaken us.

The Old Stones was once a Order Stronghold, and something they awoke or did caused the curse, which spirals out of control now, with the Grue and worse stalking those halls. They even have a secret word that gets you in past all the anti-magick wards of the dell, a SECRET way in and out, to do gods knows what! I saw them! The way in lies in the Springs!

Go to hell.

Page eight.

All of my life I wanted to be a hero that folks told stories and legends about. I thought Ymph was my chance at that. Turns out I was destined for servitude instead.

I'm terrified about having this kid. Not just because of how shitty this place is. But because I think about all the mistakes I made and I don't think I could handle it if my baby make the same mistakes.

Every time I empty out the trash bucket or throw something away, I'm terrified my ring will slip off and that I'll have to jump into the trash pile to search for it.

Being a slattern around makes me feel strong.

An updated to page seven.

Page seven.

[tface=callig]I was raised the son of a  Cobbler in a small village in -----, which lay on the intersection of  two roads and on the bank of a boatable river, making it a lucrative  trading stop despite it's size. I was a happy enough child, playing in  the countryside and helping my father to make shoes during the day,  learning my letters and numerology by night. I never knew my mother, it  was a subject my father would not permit discussion upon, and I never  saw him associating with any women.

One evening he came home from the workshop in a terror. He told me  nothing, only that something was happening and I must remain in the  closet for the night and not exit no matter what I heard. He then  scrawled a symbol on the door with a shaky hand in chalk, then closed  the closet door and locked it. For hours I sat in silence, hearing  nothing. Then, beginning at a time I do not know, I began to hear  screaming - terrible screaming and wailing, the sound of woe and  insanity. And then abruptly as it started, all was silent.

I awoke after fitful sleep the next day to be discovered by neighbors  who were concerned when my father did not open his shop for the day.  They released me from the closet and I beheld our home - ruined as if a  great storm had blown through it. Blackened claw-marks, still weeping  tiny wisps of smoke, gouged the walls and floorboards. Of my father  there was no sign, except a final entry in his altogether mundane diary,  which recorded only the words "Twisting Shadows" in a sloppy, maddening  scrawl.

No one ever lived in that house again. It was burned down shortly after.
[/tface]

The spirits in Old Stones sometimes blow out my candles and control me. I've killed men, women, and children.
 
Sometimes I blow out the candles myself.
 
Sometimes I like it.

Page six is populated.

Page six.

I was going to go into the Old Stones and buy a night with a whore. But then the Summerset Act happened.

I lost my son when the Dominion fell apart. Now I wish every kid I see is dead, too.

I buy food two or three days in advance because wasting food stops me from killing myself.

I can't write good poetry when I'm sober.

Snorting junksnuff makes me feel like a better person.

[/I]

Page five.

When all the Hells broke loose in the Old City and the Night Risers started coming at us, I fled the Docks faster than a rat jumps off a sinking ship. I left my kid behind. Don't really regret it.

[/FONT]

[tface=callig]I pray to Sune every night but I can't help but look around at the people in this village and think how ugly they are.[/tface]

I wanted to be rescued by a knight in shining armor riding a white steed. Too bad we'd probably both drown in the sea--and the horse too.

I don't get what's with those Wyrm Watchers. Running about the wilds searching for their King or what not. Seems like an excuse to danced around naked with those hin savages.

[tface=salt]Folks who are cheerful and happy all the time piss me off. Them halflings and gnomes that are all rainbows and sunshine especially.[/tface]

[I can't understand how followers of Ilmater think that suffering in the place of others actually works.]

Page four.

Sometimes I think the Mist swallows us up completely, that if we die in it, the Gods won't be able to rescue us from the Fugue.

When I hear that Mistlocke's being attacked by something, I want to pick up a pitchfork and get myself killed.

I stopped by a shop in ----- once. It sold little bits and bobs of arts and craft. Jewellery, pictures, pretty stones. When the shop keeper was busy with somebody else, I slipped a small statue of a little girl into my pocket and left with it.

When I was a kid, I kept on helping myself to the cookie jar. My mom got angry when she found the jar empty. I blamed my little brother. He took the spanking I deserved.

I can't understand how followers of Ilmater think that suffering in the place of others actually works.