None
~39 AD
Morin Khur Sewers, north entrance, hidden on top of the rafters in the first large storage room.
Beatel
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The lengths I must go to hide the records of my private thoughts…
The guards of this city are allowing the sewers and tunnels to fall to anarchy. Despite their promises that the scum that teem in these sewers like rats would be ousted, they still thrive and make our work more dangerous.
The elders of my tribe once shared that aside from the slaves, even the lowliest of people once existed with some meager dignity. They mentioned a small village of tents where the slums sit now, where all one had to do was merely provide for themselves.
Those times are long behind the city of the mountain now. The taxes are unpredictable and one cannot predict what strange fines may arrive at one's doorstep.
Those who decide such things have learned from the Tindremenes well.
Regardless of the past, we must work.
One of the few organizations accepting people of all levels of skill is the urland that maintains the sewers below, the Ugiyan Urland.
It is an urland full of those with no where else to go. Criminals, misfits, outcasts—All banished below for hours every day to maintain the sewers.
As one with skills in reading and writing, I do not belong here. They see little worth in my skills beyond my ability to read aloud the notes left by the overseers.
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