Death by a thousand cuts (camerons sunday evening game)

Reynauld's Journal - Entry 5
I am angry. Angry about Adran.

[This entry appears to be written in a similar, but different code from previous entries]

Since my last entry I have helped oversee a successful military campaign, performed in a successful charity concert raising over 36000 gold and obtain a solid gold fiddle from a devil in a musical duel for my soul. One would normally expect elation or pride at such achievements. Other events however have left me exhausted and with a constant pain behind my eyes.

The “military campaign” which was really just a genocide of a tribe of fire giants. I wouldn’t say they were paragons of virtue but I have my doubts over such an action was the right course. I’m trying my best to be a better person but it seems at every turn I’m faced with either universally bad options or people try and stop me from doing the right thing. The charity concert went well but I did not play anywhere near my best, it has been some time since I played on a stage but who knows how much more I could’ve raised had I played better. Still my time in the capital paid off, between gathering maps of the world and pre-cataclysm planes, and asking sailors about any strange happenings I managed to pinpoint the next plane in construction. I put my case forward to the party and managed to convince them to investigate although Rathal was rather difficult to convince. We readied the Vice and went off.

Then Rathal showed me his journal mid-flight and it made for an interesting read to say the least. Alder had Volernth assassinated, something he freely admitted when confronted. He tried to justify his acts by claiming that Volernth was a mad man (mad dragon?) who would drag us all into a war and that we would be powerless to stop him. I do not agree with such an assessment and even if it were true there were multiple other courses of action with murder being the very last and most unacceptable! What’s worse is the bastard is likely to get away with it, as something much more important has come up that has forced me to postpone justice.

We crossed the planar boundary and arrived in a land of fire and darkness. Great volcanoes covered the land and thick black clouds the sky. In the distance rain clouds appeared and disappeared. In the centre of it all was an average figure in plain clothing. It first appeared to enquire why we were here and I told it all about a voyage of discovery concerning why exactly the planes were coming back. Satisfied the figure disappeared so we had to try and summon it back to answer our questions. It was as I expected, Io had survived his clash with Yog-Sothoth and was in the process of reconstructing the Planes. We learned much more. The gates to the realm of the Great Old Ones have not been closed, Yog-Sothoth may return but could be permanently slain if defeated and all gates are closed and our fates are somehow tied to something to do with the gates. Sounds vague but Io did look through time to find this out and it would probably be wise for us to for such knowledge to be vague.

However I think perhaps the most important discovery for me personally was that Adran has the Spear of Gilgamesh and Alder has given him Gorum’s sword! I admit I lost my head finding that out but it’s difficult to control myself when things go this wrong. Quite honestly all this leaves me tired and frustrated. At every damn turn there lurks Adran. He has the spear, he has the sword, he has godly power, he has legions of worshippers, he most likely has his own private army, he has immense wealth and political power. He has been outmanoeuvring people more powerful, rich and smarter than I since before I was born. Hell I’m probably handling some minor affairs for him right now considering almost the entire population of the town are Adran worshippers. An inquisitor of Adran sits on the council. Adran Adran Adran Adran, always god damn Adran. I think my mild distrust has festered into a full blown HATRED of that accursed man. He even had the gall to show up as a priest of Sarenrae and heal my burns. I bet he thinks I owe him too the git. It takes all I have not to throw away the progress I’ve made worshipping Sarenrae just to spite him. In any case, the bigger they are, the harder the fall and when he falls and I pry that spear out of his cold, dead hands it will be all the more glorious for it that a stupid, arrogant, puny, stubborn whelp like me tried to stand against him.

I probably shouldn’t get this angry, it can’t be good for my health. In other news Mephistopheles has been overthrown by some strange Asmodeus/Cthulu hybrid offspring. The devil I summoned to find this out challenged me to a musical duel, a fiddle of gold against my soul. Well it was a bet he was going to regret because I’m the best there’s ever been. It’s a rather heavy instrument, but it plays pretty well although it is a bit tacky, can’t see myself using it often. Despite it’s material value I don’t think I’ll be selling it, considering what I risked to obtain it I don’t think it’s right for such a thing to be merely bought, sold or stolen. It needs to be earned.

Still Mephistopheles fall is an interesting turn of events indeed, perhaps it should be looked into further…

Reynauld's Journal - Entry 4
An unexpected act of kindness

[The entry is written in the same code as the previous entry but the handwriting is almost illegible, as if written by one with an unsteady hand]

Did not see that coming. Was “reading” in library when Rathal arrived with unknown. Apparently priest of Sarenrae. Rathal apologised for previous injury, brought healer to repair kneecap. Furthermore seemed sincere in apology, not fishing for favour. Will have to chat about that later. Accepted help, knee cause of great pain. Priest was kindly throughout procedure. Procedure itself was short but intense burst of pain but kneecap better. That not important however. Retired to chambers after “reading”, took off hat before sleep. Did not feel scar tissue. Investigated further. Turns out spell healed my burns. Symbol and reminder of past gone. Shame and guilt lifted. Can actually wear own face without disgusting others. Despite considerable reading on multiple languages cannot find right words to properly describe feeling.

Not been one for gods but incident has me interested in Sarenrae. Feel filled with drive and growing sense of purpose. Also paradoxically a great amount of uncertainty. Must consider events, gather self. Shall retire to chambers, hopefully remain as undisturbed as possible.

Rathal's Journal - Entry 3

My life has been a never ending search for acceptance and meaning. I was shunned by my people from birth and witnessed my God die as she failed to protect her followers. In desperation rather than strive to uphold what I considered sacred I turned from the dying light and embraced the darkness. Norgorber seemed to be a God that would if not care for me at least value my abilities. Going through the initiation was as close to hell as I ever want to go, but I overcame it. I spent my life searching for secrets to use the knowledge as a weapon. Not necessarily even use but just to have it as a tool. Then I came to this “Kingdom” and everything changed. Initially doing what I deemed necessary to guarantee a position of power and authority and have at least two accomplices. But I thought if I was to be marshal I should at least get to know the people I make the law for. The concept of the worship of Adran revolted me. He’s the Prime Minister of the human kingdom after all, isn’t that treason? But then I realised that he was a kind, caring and sympathetic god. I went in and spoke to the priests, having tea and biscuits of course, and discussed conversion. I mean someone has to represent the actual majority religion of this kingdom. He came to me and washed away my sins. I no longer felt my compulsion to kill and hurt that had manifested over years of devout worship of Norgorber. Although with this came a new sensation guilt. I now actually regretted what I have done, for the first time since I can remember. I immediately asked that he heal a… friend, I hurt. Badly. He became a priest of Serenrae and I took him to Reynauld to heal is shattered kneecap. It felt good doing something because it was the right thing to do and not as a power play. Strange but good. Reynauld is changing too, after Adran healed his facial scars he seemed to become calmer he has become a follower of Saranrae. Probably for the best. He wasn’t a huge fan of Adran

Rathal's Journal - Entry 2

Well there’s not much point in coding these as extensively. Risstha appears to actually be a competent investigator and she will eventually find this. Hello. Although she hasn’t made any more progress than I myself did, I still fear she’ll keep spying on me. I need to find something on her; she must have some secret she’s hiding. And I will find it. I have managed to make some progress on the councillor who betrayed the late king. I just have to keep everything quiet and maybe some semblance of order will be restored. I’m also not really sure what this group want. Half of them seem to be working with the human kingdom in some capacity and the "president is sleeping with the goddamn queen. While the other half fear them, apparently they had a sword capable of killing anything including a God and they lost it to Athan. And that’s another thing. Why are they allowing the cult of Adran here? Isn’t that just asking for trouble? I don’t understand these people…

Reynauld's Journal - Entry 3

Decoded Excerpt:

Destroyed old journal. Destroyed research notes. Will hide this one when done. Research notes not required, mask will retain information for me but still unfortunate loss. Inquisitor tortured me today, most dangerously did not even concern assassination of king. Interest in research fields. Received crossbow bolt to knee and awful poison. Survived relatively unscathed, final goal of research successfully hidden. Made up story about compulsion magic, appeal to paranoia. Despite this, can’t help but feel connection to inquisitor. Told me his reasoning, his past. While clear omissions did not press. Too similar to my own past, one bad day from becoming him. Had to give up much of past to conceal research but acceptable loss. Research hit difficulties, will pursue other avenues before returning. Bid for king failed, succubus now queen or “president” as position is called now. Somewhat disappointed, will have to help in spare time now. Have much of it considering current position. Obvious corruption in display with dragon. Dragons don’t just give up claims, suspect large amounts of gold involved. Concern at proposed state monopolies, unsurprised at both business owners jumping at opportunity. Continued lack of trust in fellow councillors except ironically my torturer. New councillor, ratfolk investigator. Apparent detective from human kingdom. Examined papers, if forgeries they are exceptional. Mild concern natural inquisitive nature will turn up past. In tandem with possibility of recognising past self due to their previous professional capacity will tread with caution. Perhaps investigation of my own required for contingency plan.

Acquired group of tengu for kingdom. Mostly drunks and gamblers. Good company, not sure of practical use. Glad to have someone to gamble with, good to have hobbies other than research and intrigue. Cleared out monster nest and noted position of isolationist sea giant. Harmless for now but concern for development of nearby area. Will solve issue when it arises. Will suggest investigation into how and why exactly this plane is here. Should be impossible after cataclysm. Perhaps most important event currently, discovery of mechanics behind this extremely useful. Will recommend to council.

While hidden and encoded current journal still not safe enough. At next opportunity will buy books of letters to replace damaged book and a cypher book. Two levels of code make decryption much more difficult. Nothing terribly damning in journal but fellow councillors dangerous, best not take unnecessary risks. On other hand paranoia not terribly healthy or stable and discovery risks further suspicion. Acceptable loss.

Sciutos Diary 2
Dead dragons and investigations

So the dragon got assassinated. That’s a shame. I think it was his old advisor, he was the only one to get this message and I never trusted him anyway, I bet he killed him in an attempt to frame me. He is creepy too, and jumped at the idea of taking the dragons place on the throne.

I asked the queen and she doesn’t know of why Adran would have had him assassinated, he was reluctant to admit that it was even him.

This investigator had sneaked into my room to investigate me and the queen was there already – apparently it was very awkward and the whole thing has definitely outted me…

I have offered to step up and take the dragons place, assuming that weirdo doesn’t try to assassinate me too… After all, I was the one that originally asked the group if we could try to create a settlement for the expansion of my business. It has become more than that, but I think I’m the most sane person, and most likely to do what’s best for the people instead of striving for power….

I shouldn’t really write a diary if people are reading my crap, but at least I have nothing to hide….

Reynauld's Journal - Entry 2
Goodbye Volernth

Things were not exactly going great before but there was potential with a little convincing we could actually create a stable state here. Vast expanses of land, ripe for exploitation. A state without woe or worry, a populace that wouldn’t know the starvation, poverty and suffering of the past. A weapon of great destruction, safely stowed. Of course it all had to fall apart and the situation is rapidly deteriorating and requires rapid mending lest all this infighting dissolve that which has so much potential. Even if the poor sods worship Adran they are just misguided, they don’t deserve the miseries that poverty brings.

After our foray in which the Orc was dispatched and riches of a purple worm claimed (my fellow councillors actually attempted to converse with the worm! Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one trying to make this work, most of the time I feel like I’m the only one trying to make this work.) we returned to the standard day to day work of running the state (or rather I sat in the library doing research because my job leaves me with little to do). Volernth approached me one day to quickly mention he was invited to a private audience with representatives from the Elven King, bearing gifts. I personally didn’t like the idea of him going off on a private meeting mainly because he was not the most restrained of beings and I wouldn’t be there to clean up any mistakes and stop him from doing something stupid. Also I’m the Grand Diplomat, I should really be clued in with these things! Furthermore whilst he is was a dragon, it’s not becoming of a king to rip apart all threats with such violence, he should have “bodyguards” to deal with things in a more… noble way. However not long after I received a magical message, obviously strained and oddly desperate from him stating that he’d been assassinated by Adran.

Not even ashes remained, only his equipment. I assembled the council and informed them of what had happened. None of them seemed terribly concerned or upset perhaps maybe the Tree. Given our state could rapidly deteriorate without rulership and considerable Adran influence over the populace I moved to considering who should inherit due to the lack of heirs. Stupid, hasty move made me look right suspicious but considering I’m almost certainly not the one behind it I’m not too concerned. All bar the priest nominated themselves, although the Tree eventually pulled out. Given the possibility that a traitor may inherit I couldn’t sit idly by so I too nominated myself. Given the impasse it seemed sensible to inform the Elven King and defer to his judgement. He is considering it currently (eager to continue development of tax revenue no doubt, can’t blame him really) and has assigned an inquisitor to investigate the matter. A suspicious fellow himself, an inquisitor of Cayden Cailean? I suppose it’s not impossible, but where it not for him being assigned to the investigation I would be certainly pressing him on that. However he’s conducted the investigation well enough so far, admirably so considering he isn’t a professional investigator and the assassin leaving almost no physical evidence. Apparently our killer is an assassin of exceptional skill, rumoured to be equipped in strange technology, some of which is reputed to be Illithid in origin.

Although the assassin is of little concern, merely a tool. What is far more important is who is responsible for agitating for Volernth’s death on the council, as I am certain someone has. Given the evidence so far there is no real reason for Adran to call for the assassination, doubly so considering the sword was stolen away from us a week before his murder (such cunning, wonder if I’ll ever get one up on that sly bastard). Currently for me no one is beyond suspicion, although my prime suspect by far is the succubus. Shade seems unlikely as he has only focus for his religion and not much else and Glorious Resplendent would simply challenge Volernth to a duel and slaughter him.

For everyone else it seems I’m a prime suspect, bearer of the message, viewed as a manipulator and a puppet master. Even when I offer myself completely deprived of magical aids they fear to ask questions of me. I hadn’t even considered I struck such fear into my colleagues.

Despite the unfortunate fact that becoming King would make me a target and take me from the comfort of the back line I fear that I may be the only one capable of creating the kingdom it is supposed to be, free from the evils of poverty and immense toil. Gods help us all, what a mess.

Oh, one final thing. It’s rude to rummage through others belongings and read their personal journals, Rathal but don’t worry I’ll pray to Cayden Cailean to forgive you for your trespasses.

Rathal's Journal
Entry 1

W̗̥͉͖̕e͏͈̞ͅḷ̶̹͈̯͚̪l̯̤̥̩ ͔̩̹̝̘̦͈t͎͕̹̖̞h̹͍̘e̷͇s̼e̵͈̗͉̫̝ ̡p̀e̶͈̟̳̳͔̺̝o͟p̙̠̜̯l̰͖̠̺è̬ ̵a̪r̳̣̝̤̜͝e̺͉̤̤̳̳͓.̯̜̯̠̫̜.̣̺̳͍̜ͅ.̢̩̲̲̟ ͇̖͎̲̣i̜̫̘̦n̴̞͈̦̻͇̺̲t̲͇̻e̕r̡e̺̤̟̰͔̟͓s̹͍̜t͇in҉̟̘͖͉̤͓̜g̀ ̶̫t̙̼͟o̖̪̼̙ ͔̱͡s̶̬̻ͅa̶͙̣̱͇̻͚y͈̖̻̝͢ ̮̘́t̩̜̥̥̳͖h̲ͅe̛ ̵͉͎̦ḷ͖̘̲̼è̜͎̣̼̻̜͚ạs̫̘͕͇͈͇͇͠t̰̯́.̦̜̤̩̪̹ T͎͉̭̮̭͔he̗͚i̤͎r̳̭̮̥͖̰ ҉̗̬k̴̳̣̰͚̤̰̩ị͖̜͍n͍͈̟̯̙͇g̪̤̪̗̳͔̙͘ ̸d̯̲̳̭̗i̫͔͍̲e̤̯̗̗̥ͅͅs͢ ̩͕͠a͍̖̰͜nd̙̬͍̩ ͔̳n͕̟̹̬̹̙̫o̘͠t͞ ͏̮̭̹2̖͙͕͉ ͖̞̱͔͝ho̳͈ù̱̘̳̝͙̦ͅŕ̝s ̣̥ḷ̘͕ͅa͈̫t̞̠͉̝͚̙̱ḛ͕̙̩͙͍̻r̠͙̺̺ ̗̘͚̻̟th̠͙̻̻̘̲ȩ͖̗y’͖̼̦r̺̳͔̀e͔ ̨̺̣̙̞a͙̲̠̞ŕg҉u҉̟͕̲͍i̴̙̥n̤̘̤͉̳g͚̘͎͟ ̶o̸̗̼͈̺̣̙ṿ͓̫̼͍͙̼͝e̟̫͎ṟ͖͖̝̭̹ ̣̬ẉho̩͔͚͈͇ ̪͓̖s̺͚̫̹͍͔̤͢h̳̜͇͖̳o͓͎̳̕ͅul̮̖͖̝̻̰̝͡ḑ̹͕̼ ̫̘̼̞r̴̳̱̙̠̤̗e̜̪̲͚̪̘p̭̫l͉̘̞̗ͅa̴̯̙͉c̰̭͚e͉̺͓ ͅh̪̣̲̣͍̳̕i̜͚͍̱͎̜m͙̻͚̝͞.̦ ̪͍͇͍͈͖̜I͇͕̫̞ ̜̀ͅư͎̝̬̪̹nḏ̮̪ḙ̶͖̰͈̣r̯̠ͅs̨̺̝ţ̟̗̙̥̘a̮̮͇̥n̪̱͓͉̣͚̞d̼̩̠̼͢ ̶t҉̩̝̻h͙̳͟e̷̱̜̰̖s̵̗̣̩̹͚ͅe͚̹̳̤͉ ͎̻̤̖̳̪̹t̰̺͟h̼͠i̻̰͇̰̺͇n̘͉͔͓͇͓͙g̱̼͉̯͉̺s̮̘͔͡ͅ ̡̠a̼͎̙r̡̺̲̮͉͈̳ͅȩ̜̟̙̦͓̮ ̨̟̯̱̖̖̲ͅim̜p̛̭̜̱̮o̼̭͇̼̮r̻̥̹͔̯̲͡t̴̖͙̱a̷n͍̜͠t̙̹̼̭͔̥̝ ͎̥͡b̼͉ͅu̷͓̰̫̫̳̣ͅt̬͎͖͓͇͇̘͜ ͓̰͢t̮͍͡h̸̹͓e̷̝͚̮̜y ͙̪͓̖͕͔̘d҉̫̻̣o͏͓̳̝̫̜̤͔n͓̝͍̯̭’̵̥͕̩̳t ͈̪r̳͚͔͚͍̤͠e͔a̜̻̖̕ḷ̲͖̖̣̣l̰̬̟̩̺͈y̯̩̦̳̟̩͉ ̹̮̜̞͇ha̶͎v̡̞e̘ ͘a̡ ̺̲̰̙k͉͇̱̘i̫̩n͈͓̦g̮̜͉̲do̧͉ḿ̹̼̫͎̳.͖͖̗̗̮͚̝͠ ̵T̖h͖̮̞̖̙̫̥e̲̼̕y̼̜̙̠͍̺̟͢ ̳̳̳̦h̝̟a҉͖̯͎̗̪̙ͅv͚̯̹͢ͅe̩ ̸a͔̫̫̘̤̺ ̲̺̖̯t̷̬ͅo̜͎̰ẃ̤̳͓͈ͅń.̳͉̪̲͞ ̖͓̫͖͈O̞̭n̲̬ḛ̴ ̨̺̙w̳͈̪̺̝̤͈͢h̜̕i̵͈̞c͈͔͓̻̫ͅh ͖͚̱̖̙̘̤t̟͉̠̳͔ͅh͓͝e̱͉͎͍y̧̜̳̲̤̣͇̥ ͕̘͉d̰̜͙͟o̦̭̤̹͠n͈͓͝’̶͍̝̭̜̜͙̺ţ͓̙ͅ ͖͙̥̮͞r̲̟̺̬͙̰̝e̙̮̘̗a̝l̛̳͇͕͈͈̣l̘͔y̫̝̹̖͙̼̰͘ ̣̱̝c̞̮̥̼̙̞̙o͓͍̻̫͈͢nţ͚̣̩͓r̛̯̰̺̼͈̝ol͕͎̖ ̮̺͔a̮̹̪n͍͇̰̳ͅy͈w͈͖̪̤͉a̜̘̻̩̳y͏͕̗̥̘͈.̢̞͙̘͓̰ ͇͚̪̬͖B̮̗̣̝̬͍͜u͍̜̖̭̞t̨̰̺͙͎ ̦̮b̫͠e̘͈̖̞͠s͕͓̖̣̱͈̹͡i̝͈̪̘͉ḓe̠͍̱̯̤͍͡s̰̬͡ ͈̞t҉̟͕̪h̦a̻͈̼̟͖̳t͔̤̰̲ ̲͈̫̭̟I̫ ̮̥̪̟͍̲c͏͔̝̭̥͇̪a͏̲̤̞͔̼n̻̹͉͓̻’̠̞̺͔͙̘̤t̸͍̙ ̬̪̹̳d͓͜ec̮̱id͏̫͓̞e ͈̤͘w̨h̠̞͍͙̕ͅi̵̗̜͓̣̪c̠͎͇̞͙̲͠h͍̭͖͎̭̣̻ ̻͖̩̲͉̞o̪͖͘ͅf͓ ̷̪̺̣̱͈t͇h͜e͖͇ ͙̞͓̰̘̭̠"͏̹̦̱̜̻̗c̪̠̪͎̝͝a̙̞̜n̻d͈͎i̷̻̙̪̣ḍ͓̞͚a̺̝̬̝͈t͈e̠̖̦̹s"̞̭̟̺͙͠ ̬͈̭̫͉͉I͚̯̺ ̙̬͓͉͎̙̩͡p͔̜͖̩̗͍r̠̘͉̤̙͓̣͢e̡̗͕̦͈f͙̯̺̼̟͔e͏̝̖̗r͢.͚̹ͅ ̡̣̫̫͕I̜̳̯͞ ͔̻͓̫̟̼͍me͙̘̗͔͘a̱̯̟̣̤n҉̱̙̜͎̤̹ ͇̤̖͟M͔̜̥͜r͍̠̲͟ ͈R͚ͅẹ͠s̥̘̼̺̪͔̬p͈̟͕̘͕l͓ḛ͔̳̻n͍̝̗̤͍̱̮͘d̤a̷̖̪̮̥ͅn͓̞̖̦̫t̻̱̟̝ͅ ̸͎̩͕i̵̮͉̙ș̢̞̭ͅ ͎͙̖̮a̶̰̯l̲͉͎̰̪̖l̠̯̺̠ ͎w͔̱̩e̥̼̘̟͖l̬̙̯̲̲̱l̜ ̥̼̖͈͓ą͖̪̦n̜͕̯͔̬̗͘d͖̪̺ ͓g̸̠̮̠̯̘̗̠o̪͍͇o͖̖̤̗͔̼d͚̳͓͢ ̹̞͚̗b̫͜ụ̘͇͍t̡̬̙ ͕̰̜ͅh̦̖͈̜̮̞e̗͞’͓̣̯̖s̹͇ ̞͝j̞̳̘̝̜us̞͉͚̟̪͍t̸͓̤͉͚̺̥ ̹ͅt̴̪̯̘̦̘̪̝h̞̤̤a̹͚̭͔͞t҉̥̲̟̱.̷ ͇̤̞̤͡G̱̫͈o͓̳o̰͇d̴̗͖̙̲͉̘.̛̳̳̲ ̢͔̠Í͙͍̺͚ ̤̗̙͙̞̱͝f͇̞̫̗ͅe̲̯͕͠a̳̥̳̠̜͖̠͜r̦̘͉ ̭̣͢ḥ̦̖é͚̼͎ ͓̥̹̣͕w͓̻͉͙ͅou̹ḻ̛͙d͎̺͉̮͇͉̙ ̧̭g̡̟̘e͓̯͈̗̣̘͢ͅt̪͈͖͎̳͢ ̤i͇̦̲͉̪͍̠n͢ ̝͔͉̘̞̟m̧̮̖̣͇̝̳y͔̱̗ ̟̤͓w͍͖a̡̭y ̸̺̳a̰̹̫͍̮̯̤t̙͙̬ ̝͔̗͙̫͉̣ơ͎̹̫̤̩n̰̳̬͕͇e̥̯ ̧͇͔̦̮͇̝͓p̬̗͠ͅo̘̼̠̹̦͕i̧̼͈n͇̖̘̥̖t̵ ̵̹̱̤̙͇͎o̳̱͉̭͎̱̺͠r̢ ͈̤̼̝͇͍̦̕a̭̬̞͕n̙̭͇̕n̥̞̞̭̘̭o̵͙̳̟̠̖̪t̯̞h͉́e̲̠̜̦͢r̳̲̗͞ ̶͓a̰͉̱͉͚͉n̛̯̯d̠ ̲̦͕̫̩̙͉i̤̩̯͎͕̥̝͢t̵̤͎̣̼̲͕ ҉͎͓̜ͅͅd͞o̖͙̺̦̞͖̱͡e̴̪̝̲̘s̖͎̗n̼̫͖̟̟’̞̺̣̮̻͔̺͘ṯ̵͚̝̫̱̳̰ ta̬̲̝͙̬̙̜ke̸ ̮̫̫͎a̮̮͓̻͓ ͕̮͞g̤̗͇e͍͈̮̝͉͢n̘͔͟i̜u͔͚̭̭s̜̝̹ ̛̬̬͕̙̥ț͓̝o̟̖̯̰͠ ͓̗r̴̺̜̭̰͈e̮͍̗̼͖͇̟a̸̝̬̻̮̟̤̟l͖͎̼̖̭i̫̥̟͕s͕̺͖͞e̙͓̜ ̢̤͚̱̝̞I̯̕ ̦̜̥̩̹̘͢w̠̖̝̠͖̱͔͡o̥ͅu̥̙̻̞͔̯͉l͍̤͖̠͉̝d̦̮̬͍̻n͉̩͈̤̥̰̙’͕̜̱t͔͔̗̲̕ ͔̺̤͓̺͎w̪͡i̝̜̭̫̘̬̩͢n ̝̱͓̺̤͠ț̲͚̘̖̀h̦̘at͚ ̤̠f̫̗͔͜i̳͉͙ͅg̜̫̞̙h͕̲͉̜̗t̥͝.̸͍̻͚͕͓̱̬ ̴̟̝̭̘̳T̶̼̪̫h̖̗̝̟͕e̜̲ǹ̞̠̰̖͖ ̣̦̼̦t̟͈͇́h̰̰̭e͖͎͈͢r̺̯̤̙e̶̟͎̟’҉̠̞̭̰s̶̠ ̧̬̖̺̖R̟ẹ̴͎͖̰̣̣y̨͇̫̻̤̦̥n͙̠̯̠͙̟͟a̴̝̙̹u̺͇̱͔̳̥l͡d̫̹̥̰͖̖ͅ.͍̙̖̫͓̠͉͟ ͍͉͖̲̠H͇̞͝ẹ͖ ̯̕I̛ ̸̪͎̫̰̻̭g̸̲ưe̛̙͉ș͈͎͈s̹̯̥̹͇͇ ̛̲͓͓w͚͙̬̯̟̘͠o̞̗̞̜̰̖ͅu͖l̸̻̬̺̩͇̹̟d̤͟ ͎̺͈̖̰̖ͅḇ̮̜͖̺ͅe͖̺̩͘ ̸t͔̜̝̘̥h͍͎̫͚e̞͘ͅ ̀b͎͕̕e̵̞̫̖͖s̪̲̺͚͠t҉̺͓ ̩o̲̞̞͘f̭̤ ̱a͏̯ ҉̰̟̙̥̗͕̙b̥͔̖̮̬̯̠a҉͓̼͚d͇ ̤̥̭̗̩̣ͅb̡͎u̳̭͉͜n͎͇̩͝c̸͚͎̩h͉.̢͙̩ ̣̠̣So̜ḿ̫e̮w͍͙̗͞h̛̝at̙͇̰͢ ҉c̯̪̩o̵̪͉͖m͔͍̼̞̝͡p҉͖̞̫͎̙e̥̠̱͕̘͝te̻n͔̗̰͇̩t͓̗̰̠͍̻ ͖͎̟a̜ͅͅn̶̻͖͉̤̖͇̳d̗͚̯̬͚ ̸͚f̟̟̗̜̞͖͔o҉͇̬r̞̻ ̪̥͇̻w̺̦͚͖͟ḩ̯̘͖a̩͚̘̣̯̙͠t҉̫̩̺̥e҉̯̣͖v̡̱ͅe͔̘r̻̤͚̦͞ ̩̤it̖̯͍͙̬͍͜ͅ’̵͈ͅs̜̞̯̳̗͔ ̸̦̦ͅw̟̥̞̤̖o̡͍̤r̵ț̞̟̮̺h w͏a̷s̮͇ ̸̠͍͇̱̻̩t̛ḩ̩̹e͎̣̜̤͘ ̹̜̲̻̦̗con̲̞͇͜f̟̞̻̥̜̖i̺͓̩͓̗͇̜d̨͉͉̥̠̣̲ͅa̡̤̰n͓̮̖͕͖̜͎t̹̼̘ ̰͕͓̩͕̫o̡̠ͅf͇̬̣̯ ̞̹̫̣͝th̬̺͟ͅe̫̯̙̻ͅ ̡̫̥͙͉̬͍̦d͖̗e͙̻͍̥̣̮ͅc͈͍e̜͓͜a͚̰ş̳̟͓ed͏͈͙̳͓̮̭̻ ͚̩̝͈́k̛͎̟̪̱̯ḭ̶̖̻̟n҉͙̫͓̱͍g̠͚̱.̞̱̥͍̰̮ ̭͔͖ͅS̗̱̝̫͈̫̞p̛̥e̷̤a̠͓̤̟̭͍̪ḵ̮͓͓̭̘i̜n̳͔̼̩̘͈̮g̸̘̥̩͈̮͇͙ ̙̙o̧f ͍̳w͖͎̙͇̥h̫̩̹͇̦͉̺o̪̝͈͞ ̡̥̻̠̦͎t͔̠̻̙͢h̞̻̀e͇̝̜̣͓̰ ͇͚̼̝̜̖̟͠h͔̩̗͙͞e̜l̥͖̗͈̩͟ͅl̶̰̝̹ ҉ͅh͚̣͍̝̱a͈͠v̪̹̞e͚̭̲̙̰̫ ͏͙̣̦̖̣̬t̡͙̰̞h̜̥e̪͔y̗͙ ͖̤̱͠ṕ̻i̞̝̰͍͍ss̩̪̬e̼̰͕̻͕̟͎d ̭̞͙̱͓̀o̴̳̩̤f͓̥͕̤̬f̯̪͚̞̘͖ ̙̟̳̙̖̰b͓͙͍̝̹͉ͅe̗̳̫͔̳c̸a̪͈̤͢ư̹̲̗̲̮͙s͈͚͍͇̳͘e̮͎̩̟̹͖ͅ ҉͙̻t͍̲̭͓h̦̝̫a̸͍ͅt̮̠̀ ̵̰͚͙̳̣͍w͓̭̹̹̪̩a̵̞̼͔̣s̻ ͍̻̩̰a̺̭͇̹̕ͅ ͙̭̞t̠e̹̝̭̰̩̘̠̕r̸͇͕͈͎̭̯r̩̗ͅi̠f̖̣̞͜ͅy̧͔͖͉͎̤i͖̝̝̤̯͝n͖̺̱g͚̭̦̭̮̭̫l̝̝̯̹̞͔y̨ ̙w͏͈̲̮e̹̻͝l͚͕̦͔̦̥l̙̺̟̣͢ ̡̩̞̹d͈̤̝͎o̺͓̼̺̖ṉ̫̰̱̩͕e̮͕ ̟̖̳̟j̨͚̬͚̱̰o̧b͉̭̟̼͎ͅ.̴͉̪̯͉ ҉͕̰̥̲N͈͖̜o̩͢t͍̣̳̬̜͖ ͏a̙̲͎̰̦͓ ̲̙̹̲̗̯͎̀s̱̲̞͠p̳̱̘͖͇͞e̶͔̜c̝͘k̰̦̳ ̘͉̲̟̪͚̼o̸̮̲̗͚͍̺̼f̻͈͉͉̩̳̗͢ ̶̹̳̜ḛ̻̬̱̖ͅv̥̥͓͔͞ì̲̥͖̲̪d̥̼͎̯̘e̖̮̼̩n̡̝c̜̭̱̺e̳̩͈̠ ̡͕̜͖o̭̰̣̰͔̬t̫̣ḫ͙̖̬̖͕͡e͓͈̰̠͜r̹̠̜̘̤̜̙ ̝̖̺̠̥̖͈t̡͔̖͈hàn̨͖ ͔͕̬s҉̥̹̟̬͓̠o̜̠̺͈̭̟ṃ̼̺͖e͍̭̮̠̞ͅ ̧̝̜͙̖̰c̘̱͘o̮̞̙͓̖̜̠á̭̞͉ḷ̙̺͇ ̪́r̵̞̪͍̗e̵͔̲̯s̭͚͚̺̜i̷d҉̩̺͔̼̞u̲̩e̤̞͔̘̕ ̭w̩̪̞̹͔̲͔͠h̴̞i̤͚̰͓̥̥̟͜c̖̜h͕̮̰ ̷w̲̘̮̖̳o҉̖̦̫͉̳̫ṷ̫̝̮̖͔̗l͇͙͚͖͔d͚̺̯̘̝̠̕ ͔p̧̳͙̱̳o͇̣̪̙͙͝í̦͉̗̥ǹ͈̲̪t͓ ̷̭̻͈̹t̪͜o͙̩̱̦͖̗͎ ̸̗̻a̮̮͍̞̮͓s͎̜͍̕s̬̠̀a̛̤̣̺̯͎s͉̦̹͇̩ͅsi̠̼̥̼n̫̣͚̙s̴͉ ̜͓̺̥̙ͅͅin̝͈̥͖̲ ́t̤̤͖h͎̖̹ͅe͙͔ ̨m̢o͈͢st͓ ̰̫̦̝̝̯͞ͅe̮̻̯x̱̩̮̱ͅo͏̝̲r̬͔̘p̣͇e̢̤̹̪̠r̫̞̲̠̻̳̘͞ą͚̦͎̼̼n̸̖͔͍̪͔t̖͓̤ ̦̲͚͙̜̹̻͡g҉̙̞ú̙i̹̼̝̯ld̴͚̟̺͚͉̗ ̪͍̟̺͉t̻̮̲̜̤͚h̖͚́e͏r̴͓̲͍ę̮̼̱̣͙̩ ̯̬̬i͟s.̙̣̦̰͞ ̮̟̻͖̰͉T͍̝͖̬͕͚ḫ̮̻̟̜̱̲e͝se p̞͚͓̭̪̬͕e̛͔̞̺̝o͏͇̦̪̻p͎͇̠l҉͔̗e ̦̘̩̫ͅh̸̜av̹͎͠e͓̤͎͜ ̕e̴ń̻̥͚̙͍e̟̟͙̦̫̖͢m̨̫͎͇̮̤̪ͅi̫e̙͓̯̫s̳̣̤͜ ͇̘i͕̗n̺ ̧̥͕͔͓h̻͍ͅi̸͍͔͕gͅh̹̬̻̦͚̞̗͞ ̧̻͙̗̬̲p̠̲̱̯͝la̵͚̙c̰̟͓̳e̸̘̘̱̥̩͔͍s̡ͅ ̤͕̦͖͚a͎̥n͉ͅd͕̬ ̶̝͈͈̻͎I҉̙͇̞̼̦ͅ ̘͎̖̫̠͠f͘e̮̭͈͈̗̰a̤̣̪̤r̘̠ ̘̫̙̼̬w̥̳͇̙̳͘ẖ̷̳̠̪͔̱a̫̼̩͡t̜ ̡̮̭̝̬̮͕̯w͙̹͉̞̫̪iḷ̛͎͚̜̞̫̙l̺͈͇͇̯ ̙h̲̀ap̫̳̪̦̪̞p̜̞͔̗͚͓͉e̢̬̬͔̻n̙̪̜͙ ̧̘nò̼̹̱w̩ t͇͈h̵̬͚̩̥̮͕͉at̶͕͎̖͎̳ ͖̣́I̛ ̯̩̮̼̻̀ͅh̞͙̮̻a̡̹͉͇͕̟v̟͉̹̳ȩ͙͉̮͇̟ ̛̣̦̹j̲͍o͖͙̱i̯̥͉̻ņ̗͇̪̤e̫͈̱̬̰̟d̙̱̯̻̠̫̭ ̻̜̫t̀h͈͇̟̹̭̘e͔͠i̻̱̻̞̤͞r͎̳͞ ̰͖r̵̪a̰̣n̗͍̕k̥̥̳͖͈̯̪s̡͎͕͖̹.͕̮̥̹
̣H̭͜a̠͙̥̝͓̥̭͠v̦͚̪iṇ̤̬̫̹͞g̦̖̟ͅ ̞re͉͘a̳̝̺̝̮̯d̴͕̮͚̗̭͈̗ ͚̥̘̭́t͕̫̼͍̰͎̪h̬͙̖̠̱́r̙͈͕̹̬̙o͘u͚̘̳̗̩g̖͇͔̖̖̬h́ ̘̻̦͍̯̮t͇̮̥̠̠͚h̞̭̘̪̻̳e͚ ̲͖̠̬j̭͝ọ̩̟͍͙u͓̩̤͚̟͉̱r҉n̻̯̰ạ̟̯̻̱̭͜ͅl͖̘̦͖͕̫̩͠ ̛͎̬͇̮̯̜ͅo͍̤̜ͅͅͅf̯̖ t̵͔̘̞͙̮̼ͅh̕e̸̻͉̺̲ ̬̪̱s̞̥͕͍̖u̳̟̭̜c̛̲̫̻̖̙͖̖c͍͔̳͚̫ͅu̦̣̭̻͉̺͞ͅb͕̟̙̭̮u̱̞̰̻̬͟s̞͉͍̺̻͝ ̶̞̗ḁ̟̱̼̳̙n͓̟ḍ̛̞̜̮ R̹̼̠̺e̘̙̻̞̜y̴͓ń͕̙͙̫̞a͕̭͕͜u̡̠͚̠͕ld̛̼ ̱̳͝I̟̜͓̹ ͔̲c̠͎̭a̵̞̗̥n̛̰̪͍̝̦ s͖͉̣̗̕e͢e̥͍͉̜͞ͅ ̪̪̗̘̫̯t̸͇̮h̤a̫̜͙̲̖̭͜t̮̣̰͙͙͢ͅ ̙̺͡ͅt̵̖͕͔͉h̯͙̗̘̲i̝̝s̰̖̬̭̟ ͉̠͈̞̣ǵ̤̟̫̟̼̻r̮̥̥o̦u̧̺͓̻̦̟̻p̬͙̜ͅ ̨͎̻̼ͅí̯͕̗s̘̲ ͏͓̣̰͈̫e̠͚̰̖̰̰͘x̱͉͙c̷̜e̺̗͓͖̲̞͡n͚͞t̻̣͚̖̪͢ṟi͙̜c͓̪̱̰̣̮͡ ̥̭̗̩́ͅt̫̦̼͜o͏̬̹ ͎̩͍s̖̀à̪̬̝̟ỳ̟̪̰͖̫̭ͅ t̙h̻͠e̸̺̠̻̭̲ l̻̙̲̹͈͜ͅe̸̥͉a̛͎s̮̻̺̣ṯͅ.̙͖͟ ͇̱͓͕͙́B̝̖̯̲̬̰̫e͔̪t̘̳͠wee̸̩̮̱ͅn̡̠͕ ͖s̘̻̠̠̬̫̻̀ṭ̥͇͓͇̺̟̕ar̤t̷͚̺i̥̫̯̺ṋ͟g҉͈ ̙̦͖̟͠a̤̞̭̦̝̮̝s͏ ̷̞̯̣̬r̰͍͎͎̗͎̟e̷̥͎̹̟͚̭v̭͚͇͟lụ͖̺̬̺͕͠t͞i͍̟̼̬͎ọ̙̺͖̺͔́n͓̘̯a̖͚̳i̜͈͖̘̭r̟̯̯̻̦͉r̻e̪̤̞̲̝̰̳s̱̯̱̪̯ ̳͉b̻̩̟e͏̱̥̬fo̫̠̺͖͔̖̙r̻̼̪̦̝̰̻̀e̸ ̸̜̠̫̻̙̮̱b̯̫͝e̛̟̫̦ͅt͖͇̺̰͙r͈͉ͅa̴̪̺̻͈̖y͇͓i̴̜̼͙͖͇n̰̻͇̖̺̙̣g̝͖͔̳̱̮̟̀ ̣͙̮̞ͅţ͎͓̬̩̜h͏̫͎̣̦͖̱͖e̺̮͕͝i͓r̲̤̟̙͙͟ ̸̣̦̠̺̺l̩̠͎͔̲e͈͚a̰d͍e̝͞r̺̘s̖̺̭̰̖h͓͔̟͇͜i̴͕p̥͚̙̺̼̝ ͖̭͟ͅt̹̖̳̮͓̪̙o̹̦̘̣̮͖̞͜ ̻̞͕̮t̢h̰e̫ K̪̟̺̖̖̮͠i̩͙̺n̩̮g̭̜͖̱d̡͔̘̣̥̥o͓͓͍͖̬͖͞ṃ̯̝̩͔̫ ̴̫̱o̮̼̳͍̣n͔̳ͅl̰̮̪͉̞̞͈y̶̠͚̯̟̠ ̶͎̹̠͕͖ț̱̭̤͉̹o̡̘̗̫̻̺ ̲͉͎̰͙̰̝t͎̹̙̩͚͇h͉̟͎̮͘ę͍̙̜̝̼ͅn̵͎̤̞̬͖̣̥ ͍̙b͕̯͍e̷͖͈t͍͡r̸̫̘̠̼͖͈a͠y̠̟̝͚̱͢ t͖̲͈̼̜̜͔h̝̱͙͓̮̘͍͘e̝̭̦m̛̹̻͈̖͔ ͉̘̖͘f͈̹̀o̮͎̺̝̠͟r̼̹̝̼ͅͅ ̪̘͡t̘͎͈͢h͓̳̩̹̳e͓͕̗̮ ̘E͙̦̣l͖v̨̹͖͙̰e̮̻͍͈s̴̫̜̺̼̬ͅ ̪s͈̥o̘͘ ̵th̺͞at̙̮͙͍͔̠̺ ̘̘̪̞̺t̵̘͇̣͚h͕̜̺̘̙e̩͡y̺̼͈̝͘ ̼̻̥̤̲̖̙ć̻o͎͈̲͈̝͎ͅu҉̹l̸̙d͇̠͇̭̬̀ ͍̙͚̪f̵̭̤͙̪̜͙o̱͙̹̗͙͍͈u̜͕̜̥̳̹̣n̝̫d̥̜͈̺̰͓ͅ ͜t̯̫̤h҉̫̗ͅe̷̪͕̖̙͖̟͍i̠r̖͇̖̹̩̱ ̺͖͓ͅo͕̣̘͇̻̩̗͞wn̘͉̥̘̮̻ͅ ̫̩͙k̖͢i̗̯͔̻̣̗̹̕ngd̷̯o͖m̢̹̜̠̟͔ͅ.̞̠͔̼ ̥I̧̮̖̮ͅͅ ̘̫̟͈͡c̡͉̳̪̻a̮͕̪̹͔̖͙n ̳̟̰̼͔͢s̀e͚͕̞̫ͅe̗̗ t̠̖̖̗̬h͘at̹̲̞̙̙͓͢ͅ ̺̙͔͉͖t̪̺̯̲̩̣͓h͎̗̞͖͓̗͘e͏̦ͅ ͉͈̼͚̯͕̰D̤͟r̗̜a͉͙̤̙̩̫ͅg̱̘̠̠͡ͅo̟̳̜̝̞͜n҉̻̣̳̲̭ ̷̫̝͕̖̤̞̤w̻͍a̲͞s̳̩̗ ͇̰̘̠̠̗̫àn̰̩̘͙͡ ̴̳i͙̣͓ͅs̵̪s͡u̗̥̞̪è̪̫̠̟ ̸b̷͕̮̰͚̺̰ͅṵ͓̯͍ͅͅt̫̞̖̖̙ ̰͙͜as̶ ̝̲̗R̕e̺̯̪͞y̖n̪̹̩̯̱̱͈a͚ul̖͕̜͡d̰̹͖͖̟̗͓ ̨̞͚̜͈̲̠̼p͉̤͕̭o̻̖̪͈͟i̫͈̦̱͎ͅn̗̬t̞e̶̞̼̙̞͚d҉ ̲͇o̝̣̹u͏̟͔̻t҉̜͇̣̙̩ ̦͉̘h̨̭͕̬͔̞e͖͞ ̪̰͖wa̡̰͉̙̗͖ş͎̱̱̣ ̩͖̻̬̝̮͚s͈̥̰̖̩͕̘̕u͔̬̖͇̬r҉p̭̟̲r͉̲͚͚͇̕i̖͔͠s̛͍̜i̦̞n̰̪̝͕̪̲g̛͎͕͎̟l͈͙̟̰y̹̻̬ ̳̠͞m̘̺̟̞̱a̫̙̳̪n҉̥̜a̴̗͖g̸̞̰ab̫̲͓̼̼̬͍l͘e͖̩̣͟ ̻̫oṉ̢c̶̞̜e͜ ͚̪̪̼̜̫y̧̱̗o͕̥̤̼u̹͔̫ ̜͎k͈n͍͖̩̼̦e̮̭̜̫̦͠w̷ͅ ͓̣h̸͖o̹̦̟͕̯͖̻w͓̖̹̜̰̤ͅ ̘͔̘t̮o̸͍̘̠͉͉ ̯͉̞̹̟p̟̹͍̪͔̯͙u̡̦̦̹͔͖͔͖s̢̖͍̭̰̩̖h͟ ̤͈͈h̖͉̹̯̬̀i̡͓̮̞̰m͚.̭͙͕̥ ̸͙̥̩̘̲A̫̖͞l̷͎̫̯̝͇t͕͍̘h̦̬̞̙̭̥o̫͇̝u̢̼͍͍͇g͖̼̥̞̜h̟ ̰͓͔̯̹͟I̵̺̠̻͎̪ ̸͉̪̫̬͈s͏̥͇ú͇͍̞͉͚͈͙p͓p̼̟̮̞͔̲͜o̶͎͚̮̦̹ͅs̠͙ȩ̰͓ ̼̞͖̼t͏̖͖̭̮͕͕̗h̸̹̠̳̮a̸̘̱̼̜t̲̜̤͈̹̪ ҉̤w̘͓á̩͈s͏̟̤̬͇̱ͅ ̢p̡͚͉a̴̖r͞t ͍̳̤̝̀o̵̺̯̘̠f̰̟̹̦͈͡ ͓̻͈̫t҉h̨̠͉̰̦̙e̬̖ ͕̬̗̞͈̼p̸̼̥̘̫̙̬̤r̭̲̦͙͈̞͓̕o̥b̙͔̗̖̩͚͘ͅl͚̯͉e̘̼̱̹͚̟͞m̳̖̹͍̠,̪̤̠ ̮̣̣̬̭b̗̭̰͖̪̹e̳̻̹̻̟̙̗͠c̯au̻̹̻̖̹ͅse̜̫̣̰͍͍ ͖̳t̛͖̪͇̭̜̜h̦͕͕̼̭̞͘e̡ ̦͠O̤̦͙r̟̘̯̪̩͉̝c̹ ̨̬k̦̙̕n͉̹̙͝e̟w͢ ̶̦̘͕t̵h̜̦̼͕a̫t̥̖̳̜͚͇ ̘͕̻t̻͉o̭̮͉̻o̥͖̺̺̞ͅ.̗̘͙̺ ̥̰͔̼̳Q̪̮u̜̙̞͜i̵c̜͈͓͕k͖ ̱͓̮̼ṯ̻͓̘o̝̭͙̳̤ ̨̻̥͉̟̙̠b̝͚e̳̫̭̗̠̺͝ d̯͎͕ͅr̞͕̹͚i̞̠͢v̵̗̙̥̜e͚̹̝̯͟n̗͢ ̭̰i͇n̨̺̺t̴͖̮̝o̜̝͕̘ ͔͖̝͇̹͝a̯ͅ ̧͇r̟̗̳̣̝͖ͅa̜g͕̱̗͚̲ẹ̼̬ ̬͓̻͖̤̯t͏̝ͅḫ̘͙̠̥͠a̷̳̯̹t͔̀ ̖̞̟̥͉t͇̮̠̦̪̞h̘̝e̹̮̕ ͕̺̟ot̕h͇̲̦̻̦̳̼͜e͖r͏̹̮͓s͞ ̬͈̹c̰̘̳l̤͉é̘a̠̳̣͎̯͖r̞̹͇͉̤͢l͕̞̼̰y̮̣̠̞͍͍ ̡͔͔w̷̗̠̱̖͖̩e̤̼̳̜r̶e̟̲̫̤ ̨̩͉̼̞̦̥ͅn̴͎̪̰͍o͍̞̥t̮͚͈̱͞ ̭͖e̗͕̖q̞͔̹͠u̼͢i͙̬͉p͍̣͈̫̤͙͝ṕ̺̦̲̹̥̩̱e̴͓͚̤̼d͟ ͙̺̟̺̺͚ͅt̸̘̙̖͎̭̠o҉̠̱̬̦ͅ r̻̭͙͞e̸ś̹͙̲ţ͙̭̜̟͇̣̞r̟̳̠͍̠̖a̩̪ị̸̜̥͕̖͉n̵̦͚͕̣̤̤ ̵̗̘̼̰̮t́h̘̱̳͔̀ͅe̦̩̟̘͎̘̩͟ ͇̯̱̗̱͕O̮̜̤r̰c̤̫ ͚̯̗̥͡á̯n̡͖d̜̯̫͓ ̯̹͜ţ̮͙͚̳h̥͈a̳̘̜̤t̡͍̺̮ ̩̻́D̪͕̻͠r͖̤̻͍͘a̪͎̪͎g̻̱̗̦͡o̧͚̤̤n͓̮͇̬̣͚͞ ̡̹̘͈̖ͅw̷e̵̘͎͔r̷͍̞̫͕̪̝͖ę̮̖̜̱̣̥ ́á ̥̘͓̞s̬ư͕͕̺̬̻̥͍r͙p̸͖̗r̴̙̝̞i̩͖̠͔̠̤͜s҉̼̱̳i͓̳̤̙n̨͍̘̼̟̲͉g̹l̬̥͙̼͖̺̖͝y̻̠̦̺̟͝ ͏͔̰̥v̤̮̻̫o̧͈̪̹̰̤ļ͍̟͚i̫̳̯͔̹̲t͉͎̥̪̱i͘l̡e̝̪͉̘̱ͅ ̶͙̞̤t̮̭̪̖̬͞h͇̺̼͠ṛ̭̣̮̯̞́e̥͈͉͖͕̞a̝̬͓̣̗̪̠ṱ͎͕͍.̬̭͔̫͞ ̢S҉̱ț͕̞̭͙̻̖i̴̮͎̤̠̤l̵̖̫ͅl̡̫͇̞͈̤͇͈ ̟̦̣t̯̹̱ͅo̺̻ ̵b̘e̮̻͙͚̰̪͠ ̨̺d͓̞̜͔e͘s͕̫̩̩̳t̶͍͖̭͖̞ͅͅr̩̫̘̠̦̲o̬y̖͓͕ͅe̻̦̜͖͞d̡̻ ̼̙͕́şo̵̺͇̺ ̧̪ͅc͘o̪͚͍͚̱̜m̡̪p̻͓̥̥̙l̴̦̼͙̪̲e̴̮t̹̮̗̪e̷̖̮̪̼̬l̙̮̠̯̬̰̣͢y̦̘ ͕̞̩͉̪̤ͅI͓̬͉͚̗̱ ̛̫̱̩̬t҉̪̗̹͖͈̪h̰͙͡i̜͇̳̞͠n̡̖͎̱͈k͇̤͖ ͕̘̖̪̪͔̘w̼̣͚̻̱͇̺͡a̲̜͔͚̗̟̲s͏̥͖̹̱ ̼̰̪ạ͚͇̦͍̭ ͙̠̙͓̰͔b̗̩͇į͖̲t̪̲͚͇̹̩ ҉m͏̘̯̠̠̩u͏͓͉c͞h̼̻̯̣͡.̠̯͕̗̝̗ ̳͓̤̲̰T͖̣̭̟̘͢ͅh̹̰̥e̥̱̗ ̠̲̪D̩̣̫̠̠r̺͚̝̤̗ag̫̣̬̳̰̩͉͝o̜͖͇͇̺n̘ ҉̭͉̖m̯̯̞̞͠ͅi͉͓͖̱n̸̜̖͖̲̘̜͎d͎,̗͕ ̧̞̲n̺̱̭̻͙͚͈o̴͙̗̺̪̥̙ţ͎͖ͅ ̷t̢͎h̪̥e̗̺͔͎͇͠ ̲̤̰̱O͞r͎̳c̢.̢̲̘̺ ̝I̧͈̝’̦̗̣m̷̰̼̼̮̥͈̝ ͖̪̮͈̫g̹̞̭̖l̢͚̫͔͇̰̜̮a̛̻̻̻͎̹͍d͏͈͚͚̘̻ ̗̬͢h͡ḙ̥’̦̭͇̟̺̜̯̕s̬̩͉̙͈ ̙̞͟g͏͍o͜n҉̞̫ę̤.̧͇̣̞̙̳͈͓ ̼͍͘G̬i͈̟̺̤͕͚͕v̶̹̲͖̼̘͕e̟͓n͢ ̺ḥ͍o̩͚̜̪͚͖̮͞w̙͔͖̟̩͠ ̡̫͉̤̭t̛̘͔̱̣̪͎e̴̟r͏r̢̠i̠̱͇̖ͅf҉̞ị̣̫̙̺̹e̮d̡ ͉̫̖͇̭̻th̬̞͓̕e͎̙̝̤̗̙ͅ ̗̻̜̤t̷r̛̭̗͓̞̼̟e̩̕e̜̯͍̟̪̥͢ͅ ḷ̪o̩͎o͞k͓̩̙ḛ̟̗d̫ ̶̤̘̗̻͕w̗͉͎̣h̯̙̹e҉̖̘̮̦͉ṉ͖̳̩̰ ͕̙̱̻͞w̧̥͕̯̘̱ẹ̴̪̣ ̝̦t͓̣h̥͔o̗̟̞̦͖͎ṵ̠̦͉g͙͉̦͈̰͎̦h̞̠̭̼̙ṭ̩̜̹͚ ͏̩͍̪̳͎̦h̡͚e̦ ̡̰͔͉͎m̗̞ìg̛͔͕̠h̗̼͡t̢̼̻̰ ̢b͔̺͔̞͚̟̩͠ȩ̲ ̣̝̭b͏̪͈͈e̸h̴̠͓i͔͈̜͍ṉ͖̖̼d̶̜̙̺͇̺̦ ̷t̬̪̳̗͇h͕̜̯̥̣͕͡i͏̯s̳ ̳͕̕I͚͈̼͍’̻̭̺̠m̸͇͕͕̣̳ͅ ̛̝͍̬̲̦͍͎g͓͖̥͉͘l̗̫̼͍̺a̲͚͕̯̮̼d̨̳̜ ̺̤̩͎̗̬I҉͚̘ ͔n̹͎̤̱̙e͉͉̞͎͍v̨̼̻̙͔͈e͚̹̗r̪̙̰͍̝ ͓m̷ḛ̫̠̦̯̪ͅt̥͓̤̙̮͈͕ ̵͖͓̹hi͎͟m҉͇͖̣͚.̻̘̟̮͡ͅ
̹̼̜̝̣̜̝Ą̰̱̟̪f̭͡t͙͔͙e͓͞r̩ ͝a̞̦͚̤l͍͈̟͢l̥̹̯̞̱ ̸͈͈͙͇͙̼͕t̢h̰i̬s̡̫̠ ̺͎̻̥t͎̺̟̥͙͍h̸̘͎̰̮ou̯̭͘g͈̻̤̟͜h ̨̙̗͎̯o̡̳n͔̤̟ļ͇̥͖̪y̰̻̤͝ ̦̖͈͇̺͓ͅo̲̯̗͢n͎͓̟̠̘͖ͅe̸͓ ̳o͕̤͔̫̤̰f̰͙́ ̞̙̭̫͍͟t̲̞h͉̫̟̘͙ͅe̲͚̩s̩̣e͉̼͜ ͏p͈̟e̷̬o̰̖͖͙̤̪ͅp̨̦̪l̳͕̹̮e̘ ̦̪̟̝̟ͅh̩̹̤a҉̤̗̖̬̝s̱̥͓ ̡̮͖̖̹̥̗̺c̱̠̜̩̩a̧͉͍̥p͖̠t͍̫̝̬u͍͓r̖̩̗̭͙̮͞e̤͖d̲͕́ ͍̰̦̦̜̗m͏̺̮̦̜̰͈̯y͎ ̸i̡̗̤n̬̦t͔͜e̳͍̠͇͚r͎̦͍̤eͅs̺̳̖t̯̟̘̟,͇ͅ ̫̟̱̘̭̹͠Re͏̬͉̣͙y̲̦̯n̞͔a̢̭u͏͙̣̼̜l͝d̯̭̠͡.̖͓̭͇̺̣ ̪ͅI͚ ̢̟̣̱̻̘̰̰kn̤̗͍̙̳͔̮o͓̗̗͞w͍͈͈̲ ̗n͏̺̥̰̞̫o͕͎̹̼̱ͅt͕̜̠͈̹h̤̳̙̳̫͔͠ͅi̘͕̺̼̞n̞̦͙̥̺͍͕g̲̙̼͔̭̪ ̝̮o̷̟̼͈̘̩͎̲f̡̹͚̗ͅ ̡͍̹ͅt͞h̝͖̗̻e̶̗ ̶̲̖̤͈̦͚m̨̝a̛̩̙̘n̲̞̟̹̥͚͓.̗̤͓̠͖ ̼͈̲H̥̻̜̯e̪͇̖ i͖̱̖͇͇̬̗s̵͖͍͔̣̭͚̹ ͈̳͓̳͓͎͢ͅa̶̬̯͍̙̥̪̬l̗̻͖w͔̜̝a̺̦y̴̜̝͙̲s ̵̗͚̦̫̝̜i̵͓̼͉͕̪n̷̞̦͕̭͚͙ͅ ͚̮̜̥̜ͅt͍̩̹̯͡h̛͉̯̫a̶̭͓̮͉̥ṯ͉̘͍̣̲͠ ̶l̢̲̼̬̺i̢͙̰̬b̸͕̼͇̠r͏̪͚͈a̺̯͔͉̞̕ͅr̝̫̮̟͢ͅy ҉r̫̯̻̜͙̘e̦͚͚̻͜ͅs̢̯̰͓͚e̯͟a͕̙̯̬̟̤̩͝r̞̤̞c̡h̪i͡n̖̫̯̠ͅg̼͔̰̖̯ͅ ̸̫̯͍͈͎͉̥ş̹̻͇͇o͔͕̼͍̣̫̪m̼̹̞̯͖et̯̙̻͔̹̀h͏̳i̧̹̗͈̲̹̹̳n̸g͓͍͠ͅͅ.͓͇̯͕̝̗͇̀ ̤̞̭̲Ì͔̰͕̦̘’̧͔ĺ̺̝̗ḻ̻̯͎͓̲̞ ̴̫͓̼̦̲̝͓f̗̭i̹͙̦̗̫ǹ͈̳͚̱̩̹ͅd̨̗͉̠͕̣ ͙́o̙͔̩̻̗̻͔u̙̜̹͈̰t͓ ̠͇̰̼̯̱͙w̯̗̰̙͘h̹à͎t̘̫͞.̶ ̠̩͈̠̜͈I͎̦̘̺͉̹̣’̠͕l̵̬l̮̣̘͔̩ u̘͢sẹ̥̝͎ ̴t͕͔h̠̩͈̟̞̺e͔̘͠ ̫̼̘́e̴̘̩x̳͙͖͉ͅc̜̼̱u̮̦͎̫̫s̭̖̘̞̝̗̼e̻͈̺̭̭̹̗ ̺̹͕̹o̸̬f̰̮̙̺ͅ ҉̣̬̘̬͓t̖̘̺̗h̯̦e̳̣͚̰̞ ̤̘͘i̘̰n͞v̥̬̩̯̥̳͍e͚̬̺͖̳s͔̼̫̘̘̰͚͟t͏͕̪i̝͚̭̺̭̙g̨̥̥͈̝̪a̗t͎̬̥̰̞͠i̘̖̝̙̤͓̬o̡͖̖̲͇̬͚n̰̳̫̮͕̼͘ ̫͕̲̲̘͠i̵͙͈̹̜̼n̦̜͔̪͇͠t̥͙̲̬͎̩͞o̳̰̰̘̣͡ͅ ̖̲͍͓t̬̼͎͈̟̀h̪͎͓ḛ͚̮ ̼͘ṃ̞̼͓̺u̥͍̝̣̭r̻̣̤̳̦̞͎d͎̖̥̫̰e̟r̳̮͕̫̫ ̨̗͙̖̮̦͚a̛̯̹̗̯͈͚ṣ̞͓̗ͅ ͕̮̤a͖͢n̩̗̘ͅ ̠̥ḙ̹̞̀x͝c̻̫͞u̴s̛̯̞e̻̪̟̣̞͚̘ ̰t҉̟̬̘̝̗̰̘o҉̝̱̞͖̠ ̨͔̱̦̱͍̞i̛̮̰̫̲̝ͅn̸̝͚t͕̤̲͎̣͇er̳̩̦̰̯̳r̷̗̝̣͚̖̟ͅo҉̺̮̖͖̪̘g͔̯a҉̲̱̙̥̼t͔̟̪͉e͞ ̱͚͉̪̲̭̱h̭̙̤i̩̗̱͙̥̞̹m̫̹̦͈̞ ͍̮m̡o̡̰̗̘̗r͍̗͉̖̀e̢͉ ̨t̖̥̫̬͙̮̙h̺or̗̫ͅo̩̖͓u̟g͓̲̗̩ͅh̯̰̞l͍̻̟y͔̰͓̲̘̳.̬̪̳͇͈

Translation (Good luck otherwise)

Well these people are… interesting to say the least. Their king dies and not 2 hours later they’re arguing over who should replace him. I understand these things are important but they don’t really have a kingdom. They have a town. One which they don’t really control anyway. But besides that I can’t decide which of the “candidates” I prefer. I mean Mr Resplendant is all well and good but he’s just that. Good. I fear he would get in my way at one point or annother and it doesn’t take a genius to realise I wouldn’t win that fight. Then there’s Reynauld. He I guess would be the best of a bad bunch. Somewhat competent and for whatever it’s worth was the confidant of the deceased king. Speaking of who the hell have they pissed off because that was a terrifyingly well done job. Not a speck of evidence other than some coal residue which would point to assassins in the most exorperant guild there is. These people have enemies in high places and I fear what will happen now that I have joined their ranks.
Having read through the journal of the succubus and Reynauld I can see that this group is excentric to say the least. Between starting as revlutionairres before betraying their leadership to the Kingdom only to then betray them for the Elves so that they could found their own kingdom. I can see that the Dragon was an issue but as Reynauld pointed out he was surprisingly managable once you knew how to push him. Although I suppose that was part of the problem, because the Orc knew that too. Quick to be driven into a rage that the others clearly were not equipped to restrain the Orc and that Dragon were a surprisingly volitile threat. Still to be destroyed so completely I think was a bit much. The Dragon mind, not the Orc. I’m glad he’s gone. Given how terrified the tree looked when we thought he might be behind this I’m glad I never met him.
After all this though only one of these people has captured my interest, Reynauld. I know nothing of the man. He is always in that library researching something. I’ll find out what. I’ll use the excuse of the investigation into the murder as an excuse to interrogate him more thoroughly.

Reynauld's Journal - Entry 1
Considering our situation.

Well that escalated quickly. Although I never really intended to return the sword (people who ask for giant swords capable of slaying anything are generally those who should not be given them) I did not expect us to leave the kingdom behind and become vassals of the Elves. That said there were no other options that we could trust so I suppose it was inevitable. Also having a stationary base of operations will aid greatly in my research not to mention we now have the hand of a god! I could scarcely ask for better conditions. Perhaps the lack of a comprehensive library is a slight issue but I succeeded in obtaining a Mask of Tomes which should offset such an issue. Our “kingdom” is currently struggling forward but no major crises have occurred so far. Although there is definitely one brewing under the surface with the populace being part of the cult of Adran. I have no doubt they will become instruments to steal the sword and possibly the ship from us, this must be prevented at all costs. In council news, we must bid farewell to our temperamental half-orc friend after he had to be dealt with after trying to set fire to a building we were in and now welcome Resplendent, a golden dragon we encountered that truly knocked the living hell out of our own dragon. He brings with him 100 kobolds (finally someone who doesn’t worship Adran) and is now General of the Realm and Leader of the Armed Forces. Which will be wonderful when we have an army. As for the Rakshasas we encountered, I do not trust them one bit and will see to it that they understand what should happen should they harm our citizens. I have no intention of starting any conflict but I will see to the end of them.

Such excitement however greatly detracts from my primary research, and my new field of secondary research which is only marginally less important. How exactly is this plane here? Who or what caused this? Between the threat within and the threat without I believe it is this question that our council should consider and attempt to find answers for.

Vollernth's Journal

Ok so maybe I got a bit ahead of myself. Turns out that I’m not the greatest being there has ever been. Well how was I supposed to know?! All I’ve met in these damned planes are creatures inferior to me in some way! I mean a tree whose greatest ability is to die explosively. An Orc with massive anger issues. A succubus… need I say more on that matter. Even the leadership of the kingdom… MY KINGDOM!! are inferior. Rumour has it Drake is a drug addict of monumental proportions, somehow. The Queen just sits with her harem gaining popularity seemingly based on her inactivity and then there’s Adran. Although I’m convinced he’s weak, I’m still wary of him. He’s up to something. Which is why he can’t have the sword. My sword. But then we meet this huge golden dragon. But he isn’t as I was raised to believe a barbaric brute with no civility. If anything we were the savages. That Orc and I charged in screaming bloody murder, well until he beat me to a pulp as the cowards fled and the Orc did bugger all. Thankfully the others convinced him to join the council as general; he’s quite good although all we have in terms of army is my ship and a few troops. But with us leading the way how could any hope to resist. But if I was wrong about him, what else am I wrong about? Maybe I shouldn’t be ruler. Maybe it’s for the best if the others take over. All I’m doing is making problems where there were none. (One failed vanity check later) But how could I ever allow that to be. Clearly without me this would all fall apart!! It’s thanks to me we have the land, and thanks to me we’re allies with the Elves! I will be king of this land and of the Human Kingdom! It’s my birth right! It’s my destiny!! (One failed wrathful roll later) And I’ll kill anyone, ANYONE, who gets in my way!


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