Enderal:Chronicles of Golden Ford
These are the last lines I will write down in our chronic for now, in order to bring a little bit of illumination into the darkness, which has us in its cheerless and misty claws for already quite some time.
My decision is set: We will leave Goldfurt. We, the inhabitants of this castle, are educated in healing herbs and life-giving magic, but the grip of a sword something only the fewest of us have ever held; and for this, a fight seems impossible. Also, it is too late to call for help, for I am not willing to wait for further weeks for a messenger from Ark and in the process lose the life of more men and women. Maybe, at the end, this disaster is our own fault, even if I can only assume for now; for this bizarre sickness, roaming through our walls, has so far never shown its face or let one of us to remain sane long enough, in order to work our magic for protection.
This sickness is not controllable and is spreading like a wildfire, so fast that we almost can't inhume all the affected.
It is a too high risk. Today we will have our last meal in these halls and then we shall leave without hesitating.