A parchment scribbled upon in drunken stupor, a glimpse of a tormented mind. Lost to the flames.

The text starts in eloquent form, He would have soaked some of the parchment overnight where he begins to be more delirious. Leaving a stain on the bottom half besmirching only parts of the text but they would still be eligible. ______________________________________________________ Dear sirs. Madams. To whom it may concern. I am not a good man. Though not completely foul. Should you find this, I am dead. Death has been the one constant in my life. Know this that I have played you all for fools. Though I so desperately wanted not to. I knew no other way. I have masqueraded as a sellsword for many years though I was only a competent warrior not a great one. Half of those years a thief. The rest I have played my parts. Aided by gold and rapidly changing good material fortune. I have wanted for nothing physical. I wore my faces. A noble. A merchant. An adventurer. The carefree rogue and womaniser. Much wrongly maligned. I have been a murderer. Culling criminals from the streets. Though I have murdered innocents too. Witnesses as well as in error. Which was true and which was not. Who was I. I do not know. Narratives are easy to make up as you go along. I got so caught up in them at times who can say. You will never find the bodies where they lay. You may as well let them decay. All I wanted was a family. One who would not die on me as Siward did my father. Cynewyn did. My mother. Leofric, my older brother. Calessan. My lover. Mabel, a dear sister to me. Hardoleth. My good friend. So many names now a blur. Aunt Ystcild. Fate unknown but perhaps we can say rest in peace. Baradar. My brother of another mother. Wherever you may be. A woman that would not foresake me. As Erinwyn did. Someone who would not play me. As Cyre did. Someone who would not spurn me after I had given everything to her. As Cressa did. My fear drove me away from my one true love. Rannie. My past transgressions drove us apart. They would not let me forget. I should have hung myself that night from the rafters as intended. Still, it is over now. And finally Kriea. Sweet yet oblivious yet not for me. It is much too late for that. I wanted to roam. To be free. I even began to deceive me. My son, my daughter. My little baby brother. I have one of three. But I want all of you. And if I am dead now they have none of me. And that is to be praised given all that I am. Rowena, Leofric. I miss you. Sigstaeinn I will miss you too. Smoke, blood, death. Fire. Voices in my head. Screaming. Deceit. Illusions. Masks. Now you have but a taster of what it was to be me. My father's blood runs in my veins. And my fate here is plain to see. One bottle, two bottle, three. The journal calls to me. One bottle, two bottle, three. It is time to be set free. No longer will you call to me. Oh, were you hoping to see? What good comes from confessing your sins to a book. Having conversations with bits of paper. I do not do such things. No lengthy confessions for thee. My pen is put down. Too deep does my story run. Suffice yourself with this reader. My journal burned and no trace of me. And remember. You knew not me. But wait. Cirywen. I have not mentioned thee. You might be the final composition of this crazy melancholy. It may be you who discovers this madness inside of me. If the one you call Katey gets through to me. I thought I could try and let you see. But the words would not escape my lips. A second try. Maybe. Delinor. You tried to help me. But I am as coward now as coward then. Taala, I am sorry. Neyaa. I am sorry. I am so sorry. Sigstaeinn. Kriea. Ystcild. Baradar. Anyone on Arda I know left to see.