My name is...is no longer important. If you are reading this, do not bother to search for my remains. My grave is a place I would unwittingly mistake for a realm of purely nightmarish fantasy; a mirage that would frighten the most steadfast, but is so unbelievable that it could only be found in some other form of ethereal existence.
I am writing this as a warning. If you are ever approached by a man named 'Mr. Fleuric,' please, for the greater good of your mortal soul, do NOT accept any wager he may offer you. First, read what I have scribbled on the last bits of leather that was in my possession. Once you have reviewed my unreputable account, you will realize the severity of this message, and wish to advise those whom you hold nearest, and dearest.
It was seven years ago when I initially became acquainted with the aforementioned Mr. Fleuric, but allow me to describe the events, and circumstances, surrounding the appearance of such a serpentine scoundrel in proper order. I must begin by informing you of the most recent course of action my life had taken before Mr. Flueric's arrival. Then you will understand, or better yet believe wholeheartedly, that this is no tale of fiction.