I've entwined myself with a gaggle of muppets, who have managed to land themselves and myself in a situation proportional to the goonies.

Theatre is always something I secretly admired, but never as much as the luxurious, heaving, supple breasts of someone’s mother. The whims and flair I will soon forget, but the Mothers’ I’ve lay with, accompany me for eternity.

Thomas is gone. The sting of loss is nostalgic, but at least barfights with miscreants are more fulfilling with comrades at your side.

I am familiar with the macabre, often leaving a grueling trail in my wake. Our engagement with Berengar guarantees we will maintain that stasis of calamity.

I have been to Sharn many times before but have never been met with such atrocities upon arrival. I am jaded, no longer fatigued by my emotions. Even the metallic sphere encased in a man’s ribcage could not rouse vehemency. At least the luxury we will soon retire to can soothe my physical form.

I have stumbled upon an eclectic enclave of charlatans. Whomst, after narrowly escaping a train crash, boldly slaughtered the clay pigeon hag holding a pitiful flock of orphans hostage. I have indulged them in their exploits and thrills and now find myself unexpectedly enamored by their dauntlessness; I think I will continue to accompany this unruly collective.