Torkada, 
the deep depravity of this wretched place threatens to consume us.We are like lost sailors adrift in the sea of entropy, engulfed in a thunderous storm of trials and tribulations.
The toll in blood that we had to pay was high and broke the will of many brave souls. Too much. We desperately need reinforcements. I implore you, send us the bravest of hearts, unconditional allies to stand firmly by our side against the inevitable. May these hastily scribbled notes prepare you for your cursed journey:
By killing the first of Bakragore’s brood, we felt a dark change around us and deep within us: we had lit the flame of his wrath.
From time to time, the fearsome beasts that inhabit these desecrated halls now swap places with one of us in the midst of battle, and their hideous grimace appears where your eyes once met the resolute gaze of a steadfast ally.
When Bakragore’s second spawn fell, the abominable inhabitants began to attack us with a fourth element, as if three wasn’t enough.
Defeating the third child afflicted us with a grotesque monstrosity, carved out of bloody clay, born from the bloodied remains of his murdered brothers.
And with the fourth’s defeat, the spark of Bakragore’s anger erupted into a conflagration, fueling the damage inflicted upon us to separate us.
However, we endured.
Tarnished but defiant, we confronted and toppled Bakragore, hoping to annihilate him forever. But alas! The victory was fleeting, for it was all only a prelude. The filthy entity had dug its tainted claws too deep into the core of our being. We were now the sentinels of rot and ruin. With our mission unfinished, we move forward in this sorry state to become once again the executioners of Bakragore’s relatives.
Every affliction weighed more heavily on us than before, but in our distress we were able to procure the essences of his offspring. And as we were about to challenge Bakragore again, we found ourselves in a chamber with four altars. Oblivious to the burden we unleash upon ourselves, we sacrifice the essences and challenge Bakragore once again.
Words fail to express the torment that followed. Our blows, our arrows, our runes and spells, all lost momentum as he tore at our deeper wounds, assisted by perfidious reincarnations of the double twins. We had no choice but to retreat.
Now, we wait here, regaining our strength, tending to our mangled bodies, waiting for reinforcements. The scars we bear are not the furrows of defeat but a testament to our tenacity. The essences are our keys to the true form of Bakragore, and we must recover them.
Some of us are driven by the promise of unimaginable riches. Not me.
In decadence, there is challenge; In the absence of light, the ember of courage.
I am no longer Eadric the Exalted. I am Eadric the Decadent Defender.
