These bones were once Penkus, so if you be reading this, I be dead. Laid low by the sick put on me by that foul dead thing! Yet even as my flesh wrecks know ’twas not the dead what brought my doom, but one until recently I called friend!
Vanderboren Vandertunt! Your name fills me with bile! Spineless, treacherous cur! You left us here to die, you left ME here to die after all what I done to get you into the Lotus! You’re designs on the Lady of the Lotus be clear now and with myself out of the way you doubtless move even now into power, slithering amid my vacancy like a hermit crab in a shell, or a cadaver worm to still warm flesh. CURSE UPON YOU!
To the one who reads this, if you have any honour or vengeance in your soul, know that Vanthus must die. He dwells in the lap of the Lotus, below the Taxidermist’s Hall. Seek him there, but before he dies he must know it was Penkus that undid him and guides your killing blow!
And, if by some cruel twist of fate it be Vanthus that be reading this; know with certainty I wait for you in Hell, where I intend to rival the pit itself in your torment!