Found scrawled on the stone wall inside a cave near a long-abandoned tribal village:

I am Sir Ansley Weatherby, and on these walls I will chronicle how I became trapped in this tomb, and in the interest of scientific pursuits: what happens to me within.  Several weeks ago my expedition party was set upon in the night by some manner of terrible beast.  It shredded the tents of our porters and our porters within seconds.  My assistants and I took flight, but they too were soon cut down.  It is only by Divine Providence that I remain among the living, though the number of days I will be one of that number will certainly be shorter than I ever thought.

After my flight from the beast, I stumbled into a village of primitives.  I rejoiced in my good fortune, thinking that though simple, they were not savage.  I was given food and shelter… for a
time.  I seem to have offended them, though in what way I do not know.  I was sealed into this cave with what seems to be several weeks of food and a children’s game.  I do not understand what this is about…whether it is punishment, or possibly purification before I can become
part of their society, I do not know.

What puzzles me is the game. There seems to be no purpose, no way to win.  Composed of a single vertical tower with circular slits cut in, the two players trade turns dropping in differently colored tokens. The denizens indicated to me that the point of the game was to place two like-colored tokens next to each other.  However, with only one tower and alternating turns, this is an impossibility.

These days of solitude weigh heavily upon me.  Even though I could not speak the language of my captors simply taking part in society and seeing other people helped to feed my social appetite.  I hope that maintaining this journal of my imprisonment may soothe that need, even
if only somewhat.  I have begun playing the children’s game when I can no longer bear my
own thoughts.  Pointless though it is, the sound of the tokens clacking together is one of the few sounds in this prison not generated by me.

I measure that approximately one week has now gone by.  My food supplies are reduced, but not enough to cause worry.  Well, no significant worry.  I spend more time thinking about the game now.   I believe there are complexities to it which I had not previously divined.

Patterns, colors, space… are these not the humours of the world which surrounds us?  It is just as impossible to bend the physical world to one’s will as it to win at this infernal game, or so it
appears. I no longer know how long I have been in this cave.  I can scarcely bear to take the time to write this, I have more important studies to complete.  I feel there are truths beyond this reality which we cannot perceive for lack of focus.  My time in the cave and with the game, I
feel as though both are changing my mind.  Making it keener.  Could I possibly learn to shape reality to my will?

I have entered a state of fugue.  I can no longer sleep or eat; I feel as though that time is wasted.  This riddle can be solved.  It must be solved.  I can no longer write these entries, the strictures of  language have begun to dull my senses.  To limit my thinking to what has been traditionally possible.  Perhaps without them I can break free.

[At this point the writings are interrupted by unintelligible markings.  It unclear whether these markings are meant to be words or drawings.  WIthin these markings is a brief section that uses a familiar alphabet.]

Hyarlothon juntond kh’ilmay buquond errassit chervuk.  Miagshe untolo fh’tagn ollipherut anshe.  Pungolor estreagin molor.

[These are the last interpretable writings.  Beyond are only more nonsense markings, and at the very end are deep scratches.  There are bits of what seem to be teeth embedded in these scratches.]