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Town is falling apart around me. Those things are everywhere. God knows what's making them rise. Half of Burrwitch is in flames and still they continue to multiply. No sense trying to stick this out so I'm packing some basics and leaving immediately. I hear the north is all but overrun so I'll try my luck in the south, through Wightmire.

Horace, if you are reading this note, I'll make camp at Devil's Crossing. Last place I'd want to end up on a good day, but the prison sounds safer than being out in the wild with those things about. Meet me there, if you're still alive.

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