I find myself in something of a situation. I have a problem.
This problem has a name. It has palpable presence, to be honest. This problem is one Klaus Von Meyer.
Saying that Klaus Von Meyer is slightly offensive is comparable to claiming that dwarf troll slayers have some slight personal hygiene problems and lack some of the finer social graces. The man, the human, is revolting. Quite aside from allowing his base passions to lead him on a merry trail of murder and callous slaughter of helpless civilians wheresoever he should find them, the man’s moral compass is clearly set several degrees off, possibly with a small child running around it with a magnet. His motives are hardly impregnable, but they are truly confounding. Never have I met anyone so assured of the rightness of their own action, that scares me beyond reason, cousin, truly it does.
But what I fear most is my own ineptitude cousin. In the midst of combat, I left a mage at the hands of an undead creature because, in my vanity, I felt I could destroy a dark wizard in one stroke. For my hubris, my ally was struck down, and my own stroke fell wide, far too wide. I was a fool, having been savaged and inconvenienced by one a shambling monstrosity and being unable to avoid it’s clumsy blows, I had let foolish pride get in the way of what should have been my duty. Worse, I was forced to watch as another practically defenceless human stood up to aid my fallen comrade where I had obviously failed miserably. It was truly fortunate that the wizard survived, but now another greater fear has set itself in my heart.
Should the time come to cross blades with Klaus, will I be able to strike true?
Wonder upon glorious wonder, we appear to have stumbled upon several upright buildings and humans to inhabit them. Truly this young race are masters of civilisation. I can’t wait to see what they do when they develop functioning plumbing. Really, I mean that. See if you can send an engineer.
I think perhaps the people of the Empire have been greviously misled into thinking that they can control international trade lanes with their most prominent export. In many cases this might work but unfortunately the Empire’s chief export appears to be batshit insanity. Raving lunatics wander the streets and appear to make sweeping judgements that everyone else seems to think is a really good idea. I’m not sure who is more insane here, the ones that want to torch people for fidgeting at sermons or the unhygenic masses for not barbequing them on their own pyres. They want to burn a whole family on the basis of guilt by association.
Ghosts, cousin. Or, to be precise, more ghosts. Truly the walking dead seem to regard us as the highlight of their social calender and never fail to drop by for a cup of tea and biscuit. This is also how we met our first proper witch hunter, verily I see the path of destiny laid out before Klaus and so do I hope he accelerates to the stage of being a windowlicking simpleton long before he reaches a position of authority.
I can’t watch this happen cousin, I won’t allow it to happen. Something has to be done to save those children before those domineering sycophants have their way. I have a feeling there is a delicate game I can play here. But I fear the consequences.
Oh yes, darling cousin, beloved of my relatives and closest of my kin. Next time you decide to suggest I go to the land of the knuckledragging dungmonkeys, try to point out if there are any members of that family I’ve been attempting to give a wide berth to. You know. The reason I took up such self imposed exile in the first place. They are here. All the second rate worthless burgs in this goblin’s tea party of a country and they have to set up a trading outpost in mine. Them…and their wine. Oh dear sweet poorly represented Elven Gods it’s GLORIOUS. I’ve had two glasses and I’m already starting to have second thoughts. I have little doubt that thirty seconds in a room with the vacuous spastic will change my mind, but damn if it isn’t tempting.