Cicero Liao
Cicero Liao
Mental characteristics
Gender Identity
Cis Male
Social
Family Ties
Cicero is the only child of the Lil Malla Ilharess of Orthae Malla Talthalra Morwen Dumitrenteau however he considers Luthien his father.
Religious Views
He was brought up as a follower of Lolth however he's abandoned these beliefs. Very recently he has begun worshipping Vhaeraun.
Speech
He speaks in a thick southern accent though sometimes it seems that the accent has completely disappeared during extreme stress a low gravely voice in its place
Full time flirt part time cowboy. Armed with a gun and southern charm, a man full of life and stories to tell.
View Character Profile
Alignment
Unknown
Current Status
Battling Gnolls In Hollow Oak
Species
Ethnicity
Other Ethnicities/Cultures
Honorary & Occupational Titles
Heir to Orthae Malla Talthalra, Warden of the Black Path, Anathema, Mage Slayer
Age
87
Birthplace
Orthae Malla Talthalra
Family
Children
Current Residence
Hollow Oak
Pronouns
He/Him
Sex
Male
Gender
Male
Presentation
Masculine
Eyes
Red
Hair
White w/ SIlver Streaks
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Pale Purplish Grey
Height
5'8
Weight
129lbs
Belief/Deity
Vhaerun (Dark Seldarine)
Other Affiliations
On the Road #7
IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT IDIOT YOU ARE AN IDIOT.
How could I be so naïve? This is nothing but my own doing--the consequences of my own actions. I knew I was foolish. They ruined me--and I thanked them. I am aware, yes. I am aware. Catastrophically aware. I am a tool, a means to an end until I am no longer useful.
Why did you do this to me?
Why does this bring me such agony?
I have learned that I am inconsumable. I cannot be swallowed. Merely choked down. Spit out. It seems there is not a single room in this world where I belong—No bother, I will make room. It’s inside myself that I must seek someone who will understand--it’s so difficult. It’s so incredibly difficult.
LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR EVERYONE LIES.
I have survived, but I have not been spared. I am the shape they made me. Filth teaches filth. I’m not the person they left behind anymore. I am Lesaoloth Ansiir'th Elgg-hor'ana Dumitrenteau, born under an ill omen. I am not Cicero Liao, the person I hoped to become here on the surface. I am Morwen Dumitrenteau’s reflection. I am Luthien Despana’s monster. I am Lesaoloth Ansiir'th Elgg-hor'ana Dumitrenteau. I am the puppeteer of Cicero Liao. I hate the rain. I am Lesaoloth Ansiir'th Elgg-hor'ana Dumitrenteau, and Vhaeraun favors me.
Father, you used to love me, at least I thought you did. I hope you did. “Look at you” you used to say to me with a smile on your face and pride in your voice. Oh, when you used to sing me to sleep..the lullabies my mother was too ashamed to do herself. Did you love me then? When did you stop seeing me as your precious boy and start seeing me as your way to get ahead? “Do not worry little spider the moon cannot reach you here, soothe your mind and I will keep you safe” You always provided me comfort in a place where it was scarce and yet you took and took from me until I barely existed. How much can you take and get away with it, before it’s some sort of murder? How long has your greed festered? What else could you have wanted!?! How dare you? Why was my adoration not enough for you? Why wasn’t I enough for you? My blind devotion to you shattered my body, slicing me open my insides bared to the world. Even now I find it nearly impossible for me to hate you. I’m scared of the love I have for you. Because I fear know it will ruin me.
The rare times I find myself in front of a reflective surface I often discover you staring back at me. We exist as mirrors of one another in ways no one else seems to understand. I try to explain, and they tell me you are evil, and I reply “Yes, I know.” Mere hours before I left, you had entered my room sat by my head and whispered, “I love you. My dark child, my love, evil of my evil.” You cooed at me and kissed my hair. It’s almost ridiculous when for the majority of my life you implied the most heinous thing I had done was exist. I wonder if you knew I was awake? It’s then I ask you, mama, my ilhar, my mirror, my mother, evil of your evil, my l'forn, my heart, mother, the despair I feel. Where do I put it? Where, Ilhari? You’ve instilled an anger in me, Identical to your own, drilled it into my soul, placed it in my hands, hid it beneath the soles of my feet, it’s mine now. There is something wrong with you. There is something wrong with you that is also wrong with me. How deep do our similarities run? Where do you stop, and I begin? I could write it hundreds of thousands of ways. It all boils down to this: I loved you and you abandoned me, leaving them to sink their teeth into me and rip me apart like wild dogs. I don’t forgive your failures.
Being a person doesn’t come naturally to me the way it seems to for others. There are days I feel so disconnected from myself I wonder if I am really a person at all. I do exist, don’t I? People who are so sure of themselves awe me. I study them and attempt to mimic their ease. I tried to make my own person. Cicero Liao. I wanted to be him as foolish as it sounds. Assimilation is useless, I realize that now. Despite this realization the pathetic situation I find myself in now is one of my own making. Against my better judgement I allowed myself to be vulnerable and now I have paid the price. I feel so inescapably lonely, like childhood again—walking the expanse of my library with my only company being the sound of my own footsteps. No Luthien, no mother, no no-one. I can’t help but think I’m right back where I started 7 years ago. I cannot even escape within my books. I left my beloved Gunslingers Glory with Gaelia in Swordia and Gods only know if she has kept up with it. The others I’ve collected over this journey are useful yes, when it comes figuring out what I am and how it connects to everything, but I feel the more I read the more confused and lost I become. I miss Gaelia more now than ever. I long for the nights we’d spend together, in the field under the stars. She would look into my eyes like she was searching for something, and I wanted her to find it. She didn’t care what l lacked...Or—how broken I was. She saw me, for what I--am, as I am. She was happy to see me. I didn’t know what to call it at the time, what was happening between us, but I liked it. It felt silly, safe, and good. It’s shocking how a person can feel like home. I think if someone got to know me, they could love me like Gaelia does. But if they really, really knew me, perhaps they’d never want to see my face again.
The idea of friendship has always been a foreign concept to me, before Gaelia I mean. I wanted to replicate these feelings with Legacy and Anastasia, and I did partially—with Anastasia atleast…I thought I had. They asked me to be their brother during this journey and I was stupidly eager to accept. They said they cared for me. I believed them. And maybe that was more my fault, than it was theirs. I thought maybe it had meant something to them, too. I never imagined they would use my weakness against me---to punish me. They knew what they were doing when they took my gun. They knew it would violate me---they knew I’d feel like an animal backed into a corner without it. All over some wretched insignificant topsider trash. I try over and over again to understand what happened. Betrayal?! That implies I knew your love for me would be conditional--why does some filthy fucking human’s life outweigh my chance for happiness!? Accusing the one person to ever choose me—defend me—that put me first of being evil? Why is making me a priority evil? Why is loving me such a monstrous act? Despite everything I’ve done it still feels like the worst atrocity I’ve committed is wanting to be loved. I mourn my progress—I want to be normal. I just want to be normal.
I dread my anger. So I displace it, attaching it to superficial places or people. The real problem I face is what to do with the anger. I have suppressed it for so long that I have packed it like dynamite and with the tiniest spark it threatens to explode. I feel it’s my anger that has helped keep me alive. I have never lived. As far back as I can remember, I have done nothing but endure. Enduring things is what I do best, gritting my teeth and bearing them. I have spent my life holding my hands in tightly hidden fists, biting my tongue keeping quiet and complicit. To try to understand what it would mean now, to hold them open--I have always been ashamed there is nothing more humiliating to me than my own desires. Nothing that makes me hate myself more than being burdensome and anything less than self-sufficient. I am hoping it is enough to be both angry and alive, whatever is burning in me is mine--and I’ll split this world in two and everything in it before I’ll let anyone put it out. If I have anything else I have time--I will play my role to perfection, smile and laugh and play their games. The world is my sava-board, and I intend to win.
On the Road #6
We’ve made it here. My Cicero’s image in Eastrin has been muddled by these filthy fucking topsiders. I have worked tirelessly for this image only for it to be damaged by some masquerading fools. Killing people in the slums in my name? I don’t even have time to repair the damage done by these ingrates—The falconeers won’t even send my letter to mother… either way I plan to visit a wizard named The Godhead they have a monopoly on scrying. I fear father may not be telling me everything. Anastasia continues to hire for their crusade. I am not sure how I feel anymore.
The past couple of weeks have been nothing but a nightmare. My body was broken almost beyond repair. Gods Gods Gods.Its always Gods. Why am I always in the middle of these awful situations.
Why.
Why?
Anathema—Anathema?
Why? I don’t understand. Why does it seem like my biggest crime was being born? I have been continuously used and beaten like an animal. My body was finally feeling like mine again. Like—Cicero’s and they have ripped this away from me again. It was mine. Mine. Now it’s not again. My memories aren’t even mine—father has been muddling around in there. I did this for him—for him. I never said anything before so mother wouldn’t punish him! Almacia…she said he must’ve known—and what does he do? He calls me creature to those fucking duegar he’s with. How dare he?! I had to have a child Anastasia assist me. I am completely helpless again. All for him. For a lie it seems. Everything hurts. I can’t think clearly—I cannot walk and i’m being doted on by a 20 year old. This is awful. My gun hangs heavy on my side. I won’t fall to my impulses. I did not escape just to blow my brains out here on the surface.. like some coward.
I am tired of being referred to as drow or as if i’m some servant. I am finding it harder and harder to control myself. I cannot let my anger get the best of me. I need to accompany Anastasia not hinder them. I hope the dog I bought will allow me to become calmer during this journey— Seeing my insides may explode if I turn to my alcohol perhaps.. a puppy is a better stress reliever. But It isn’t all terrible I have wanted a dog since my arrival here on the surface—there was one at the Bakers… I cant remember its name. I had a rock spider as a boy—I wonder if it’s still alive? I’m not sure.. I’ve named it the puppy I mean— Voiry..she is cute and curious. I would like to teach her to hunt when we get home. My body is mostly healed except one of my ankles—this filthy noble won’t even let me into his stupid town without being in chains. I hope he chokes on his spit in his sleep.
The shadow showed me the way beneath its watchful eyes. Scion was a crinti? What does this have to do with me. We did not get caught.
I dream in their shoes. They targeted the moon worshipers what does this mean?
I am not Morwen’s mistake nor Luthien’s pawn. I am Cicero Liao, a name I picked out of a story book. I am a Warden of the Black Path, a friend, a hero. I am not Leon Bakers drow boy farmhand. I hate the rain. I am Cicero Liao, I am helping complete a crusade against Castigar.
Every time I close my eyes— I can see my body being sliced open.
What does Scion, and this forbidden god have to do with me?
I am in unimaginable pain.
On the Road #5
I found myself wondering if it is odd I greet my journal as if it is its own being. It is something I’ve done since childhood. I never had any friends, and my only companion was Luthien and on the rarest occasions my mother. I was lonely—maybe that is why I first enjoyed the extra attention they gave me. Perhaps it is my own fault.
I’d rather not think about that.
I spoke to Anastasia today about what happened at the Bakers—against all our better judgement. I trust her. He gave me some good insights about it I suppose. It was self-defense. Either way, I hope this doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass. Being vulnerable with someone is strange—especially when they are so much younger than you. Anastasia has promise though, and a family who loves them—gods who look upon him and smile. I haven’t ever put too much thought into the gods. I prayed when instructed but I never worshiped. Why would I worship something and give it power when it has done nothing but give me pain?
We now ride back to Hollow Oak home, I believe to collect the bard and check in with Legacy and Vaygrade. Then we will leave for Eastrin.
Note to self: don’t let people buy you 32 drinks and talk you into drinking half of them.
My head hurts.
The Beginning of The End.
Gods, please
You scream at the sky, but it’s empty. Get up. No one is coming to save you. Get up.
I will stay on my knees, begging. For I am a good person. They have to see that
Your knees are bruised from kneeling. Get up. Your knees are hues of purple and red. (If you squint, it looks like the sun setting on a lilac sky.)
Is it beautiful? Can you call it that? Is that sacrilegious?
Your knees are bruised, broken. Why do you still kneel?
It’s all I have ever known. Until the end of time, at the beginning of the end, you will find me on my knees, asking for forgiveness.
For what?
No reply.
The Gods are forsaken. We are forgotten. The sky is empty. Get up.
I will not
There is blood on your hands. You are not clean. You are not human.
I am not.
But your humanity weighs you down. You are dirty.
I’m not weighed down.
Sinful creature. You are going to burn.
I’m trying.
It’s not enough. It’s never enough. You always fall short, and you always will until the very end. You are anathema. This is how you have been made.
I will try.
Stubborn thing. Reckless. Foolish. The cage is open, yet here you stand. As hard as a rock. You are shaking. Why do you stay? What great being justifies your suffering.
You can justify any amount of suffering if you can do it just right. Is that not just existence?
And it isn’t still just a cage? A gilded cage, but still a cage nonetheless.
I’m free.
So says the bird that can see the sky, the fish that swims in circles. But one will never soar with the wind and one will never feel the salt of the ocean. Your freedom is an illusion. It has been spoon fed to you since the beginning.
The beginning? Then what is this?
Silence.
The end.
Have the Gods forsaken us? Or us them?
Maybe both. Maybe Neither.
Two survivors looking into the blood red sky.
The beginning of the end.
On the Road #4
Arriving in Last Stone has brought me many pleasures—more than I’d generally admit being around Swordians again…strangely makes me calm. Anastasias uncles odd bird came to fetch us when we arrived—I had never seen an albino raven before. Nonetheless we came to Ana’s siblings home which is rather large for just two people. His siblings Ivan and Ivana are quite the characters and Ivana offered me a drink which I’d gladly taken except for the fact it was quite literally the worst thing I have ever put to my lips and I’ve drank awful stuff—Ana spoke to his family Kaz the girl Opal we had met her before apparently he’s entwined with that prissy Silverstag bastard we met back at Hollow Oak home. His sister keeps looking at me oddly while Ana shows off his psionics I assume they’re speaking in each others head if Ivanas out-loud comments have anything to say--Ah yes we’re going to go get some proper liquor--green grass whiskey! I shall return--
I have the most amazing news! Not only have we collected proper liquor enough to sate a small army—While walking with Ivan She likes us—who has shown obvious interest in Cicero I have discovered there are signs Father is alive and in Swordia! This brings me the most comforting joy while not explicitly confirmed to be him—the person has raided a small gnome village by the bakers which specializes in prosthesis—who else could it be?!
I will see him soon I’m sure of it I have eagerly awaited this moment my chest aches at the idea. I cannot wait to see him again! I will show him in all the ways I’ve improved..er well I don’t think he’d like me Cicero very much—and I have lost a considerable amount of my academic abilities over the past years. I hope his dissatisfaction or disappointment in me won’t be too severe I honestly don’t think I could take it I fear this the most. What if my actions cause him to regret assisting me to the surface? [An ink blot of consideration] I am his prodigy there is no way I could disappoint him that grievously. He will forgive me considering the present circumstances.
After returning to the Aleeva’s home Anastasia had gone upstairs with their brother while Ivan spoke to me. Confirming my suspicions she obviously quite fancies me—however she is more attracted to my intellect than anything else it seems.. talking to her is startlingly refreshing especially when discussing literature. Although, I am not a fool, I didn’t miss the comments about her favor towards scrawny “little” men. She boldly flirts with me. I am not sure how to feel about the situation of course the usual sinking feelings of dread prickle at my neck just like any other conversation of this nature— but.. [Another larger ink blot dots the page seemingly from a considerably long pause] I am unsure it doesn’t seem entirely from lust although like I said before, I may be losing my edge. During her mild- what I could only assume was an examination of my person she did not just flirt with me we discussed writing, academia, and she gave me interesting insights regarding “clans.” She believes father is wrong for doing what he did to those gnomes— I couldn’t make her understand without potentially raising suspicion towards myself. The discussion wasn’t entirely a disaster though she mentioned how I could choose my own family. I find myself quite fond of the idea. I wonder if Anastasia and Legacy would like to be a part of my family. Sometimes, I wish I would think before writing such nonsense.
During our conversation she invited me on a walk— I assumed originally to initiate sex..though I was abnormally mistaken—though leaving my guns behind felt almost physically painful she held my hand as we walked. I assume this is some sort of romantic gesture- it was ..mm odd as she is much taller than me, but it wasn’t terrible I’ll admit. We went to a river and caught- frogs—I somehow lost, but I am not bitter over it. It was enjoyable—fun even. I even agreed to look over some of her writing later I haven’t done that in years--! I believe she interpreted my lack of eye contact as me ogling her chest which I quickly corrected but perhaps I should find another way to avoid looking up at people.. I wouldn’t want the miscommunication to cause issues later. I walked her She walked me back to their home after our excursion and she confided in me she usually is too overeager and breaks her boyfriends. I dared not ask what she meant. Even so I am hesitant to entertain her advances—she is Anastasia’s sister, and he is my our friend. I wouldn’t want my broken responses surrounding intimacy to cause upset in her and in turn Anastasia. I will think about it I suppose.
After a respectful amount of time, I snuck back out I left and went into town to find the library I had heard about earlier in the day. Asking around while trying to contain my improper excitement was almost impossible—a Swordian farmhand shouldn’t be near shaking from the idea of a library. I found it soon after and it was gorgeous despite being much smaller than my own. It still stood there magnificently its wonderful secrets encased within its three stories-- The guard outside was rather annoying but I couldn’t find it within myself to care. I had to be supervised my entire visit and the moon elves once upon finding out I am in fact not one of their own began to avoid me. Usually this would greatly irritate me, but I was too happy to allow them to ruin this. Being back in a library brought me a welcomed sense of ease I have ached for during my time on the surface. I read for hours and when it began to get dark, I used my dancing lights to illuminate the books just like I used to. Despite Swordian literature lacking more educational aspects and having more fantastical recalling of people and events it was my happiest moment on the surface. I do not think I have smiled this much in a very long time—it was very hard to contain it and my giddy laughter. Being happy feels good. I would like to be happy more often, I think… Though on my return to the house I was caught by Anastasia and found myself struggling to keep my act straight Cicero present.
On the other hand, maybe this over-excitedness is damaging to our successful assimilation. I don’t want to ruin my progress—I want to be normal.
I’m going to edit these stories for Ivan and go to bed. I have decided I will tell Anastasia about the Bakers tomorrow.
I wish Legacy could’ve gone to the library with me. I miss Luthien, he would’ve liked the library as well. I will do better at controlling myself Lesaoloth tomorrow.
Goodnight
On the Road #3
I think I have once again found solace in journaling much like I did long ago as a boy, I wonder if my journals still rest around my desk.. does my desk still remain? What parts of me have been erased from Orthae Malla Talthalra.. is there any trace of me left there? I find myself thinking more about Crinti Illhan more now in the past few weeks than I have in my entire 7 years on the surface. I do not know why. It is not my home anymore. I’m not sure if it ever was.
We arrived in the Goliath commune earlier today, Anastasia told his mother about his past in the war, the people he killed, the things he did. I felt strange listening in even though I had heard this before from Anastasia himself. It felt like a last confession—a vulnerable moment with his mother that I wasn’t supposed to be there for. I don’t think I have ever been that vulnerable to anyone— not to Legacy, Anastasia, or even Luthien father. I have always omitted things, or twisted the story. I wonder what it feels like— I wonder if I should tell someone about that night on the Bakers’ farm. Would it help me fully assimilate? Lesaoloth would never ever tell someone something that could be held against him like that. I’m not sure.. but his mother listened without malice—Would father do the same for me? If I told him what i’ve done here on the surface? What i’m trying to do? [Some words are completely marked out and unreadable] We’re leaving for Last Stone, Anastasia plans to ask his uncle Kaz to come with us—being in Swordia again will be nice.. I look forward to it I think.
I miss Legacy.
On The Road #2
While riding on the road today towards the Goliath commune, we had a conversation about Legacy, specifically about his increasingly impulsive behavior recently. The destruction of the Aniplex was apparently a wizard crime— not to mention Anastasia believes them throwing the orb at her in Casriga was Legacy trying to kill her. I hadn’t particularly thought of it like that I had honestly believed that Legacy was just being ignorant… which isn’t an excuse either and the very idea agitates me—however it makes me wonder if I am losing my edge… I hope not, if father knew he’d be sorely disappointed in me. Around dark we found several Black Dog corpses and Anastasia’s sister Evgenii’s dog critically wounded- and her nowhere to be found except for a teleportation circle from.. some foreign wizards. More than likely this is Castygy’s doing as well.. he’s baiting Anastasia and it’s working perfectly. He’s young, naïve, and on a suicide mission. I believe.. if he were to die while I was with him, I would feel g’tilasili [Another ink blot sits on the page from another long pause of consideration] Oddly I am quite fond of having friends and I’m not too keen on the idea of them dying—I’ve stared into it’s crimson hues twice now— I’ve escaped the grasp of the council of 7 Matrons— I’ve stared death in the face more times than I can count. If I cannot keep one of my very few friends alive then I’m rather useless and maybe trying to fix myself is a lost cause, normal people don’t let their friends die.
The thought makes my chest hurt.
I don’t like it.
What is happening to me?
On The Road #1
Hello again, little journal.
Each day I find it harder and harder to assimilate gracefully with Cicero—I was doing very well—We were one..there were no harsh differences no traces of my internal influence instead they—we had begun to blur. The current stress of events has caused us to differentiate once again I suppose.
I have encountered ghosts from the past—Galio the swordian boy, my dear Galia’s unfortunate brother is now a falconeer, he came to deliver letters to Legacy and Anastasia. Apparently, from what he said the ones in Swordia believed me Cicero to be dead after the fire, these people who kicked, stole, and harassed me mourned his our disappearance, even Dhaarta vowed to look for him… how heroic—honestly the very thought of it disgusts me. Galio tells me there is even a headstone for me on the Bakers family plot..oddly this interests me enough to see it myself and I plan to visit it when I am there in the coming weeks. Still no word from father—his lack of response worries me to no end, and I find it quite embarrassing how I went running about Hollow Oak hoping for his response. It made me look pathetic hopelessly seeking my father’s correspondence like some needy child— In one of his letters Anastasia learned his uncle has been kidnapped by the Castygy/Castagar figure and we agreed to go with them. Cicero cares for them considerably—Legacy declined to join us. This bothers him me [An ink blot sits here seemingly from a moment of consideration] This bothers.. me Cicero Liao, I am Cicero Liao, a Warden of the Black Path. I am outgoing, charismatic, a friend, and it bothers me that Legacy didn’t join us— It seems we are less like a team these days and more like just Legacy and Cicero, or just Anastasia and Cicero. I don’t think they’d like me Lesaoloth very much.
#1
Vendui lotha journal, Usstan inbal naut utulaia ulu dos wun natha ves verve draeval Ol aturr ulu honglath uns'aa Usstan xun naut zhaun vel'bol ol orn xun jalamzild.
Usstan desu ragar usstan xuil excess amounts d'duul'sso draeval nindolen tangin, tu'fyr l'malarin lu'kyo'feirin doeb Casriga, dealing xuil issues pholor l'revis, lu'ussta sel companions abbilen Usstan inbal muth usstan xuil. Inbalin duul'sso draeval aturr ulu treemu uns'aa, vali jal ji los'vuthil senses d'haruk harl ussta uitfly. L'klew'ar Usstan wasn’t xundus folbol hass'len foluss dkinoss gumash xun folbol ulu uns'aa. D'elezz ghil ol zhah endar, Usstan shlu'ta s'tharl lu'drital lu'naut satiir rahi dragging phor uns'aa wun places Usstan xun naut ssinssrin. Usstan tlun izil ulu telanth ulu byrren xuileb ust aluin areion channels lu'kyorlin ka nind ph'attempting ulu inbau haggan lu'tlu keffal a ussta ilhar. Ghil Usstan tlun naut Lesaoloth Ansiir'th Elgg-hor'ana Dumitrenteau.. Usstan tlun naut Morwen’s duanda, nau velendev Luthien’s prodigy nau nau uss ghil zhaun vel'uss Usstan tlun, vel'uss Usstan llaar tlun. Ghil Usstan tlun Cicero Liao, natha kaas Usstan picked doeb d'natha statha voiry. Usstan tlun natha Warden d'l'Renor Menvis, natha ih'ara natha sea'an. Usstan tlun naut l'Ilythiiri wiu dal l'Bakers, laellmorin ulu telanth rivvin rena lodias ifa uns'aa wund l'Leurl. Usstan tlun Cicero Liao. Usstan tlun belbaunin bel'lain, Usstan phlith l'kluchud'ssussun to'ryll, Usstan inbal abbilen, lu'nau uss uriu yorn phor uns'aa jalamzild. Usstan tlun flexible lu'adaptable. Usstan xun naut zel'polr vel'drav lodias lor a uns'aa. Nindel zhah vel'uss Usstan orn tlu tlun. Usstan tlun whomever Usstan ssinssrin ulu tlu. Usstan tlun Cicero Liao, natha Warden d'l'Renor Menvis.
Altho nindolen periods d'duul'sso draeval, Usstan ragar usstan nau'vine anxious. Daewlin whol l'venorsh lu'isolation d'ussta zmenkh, l'filut d'haruk b'veknin vacant. Ghil pholor l'shinduago, Usstan ehmtu jinique, Usstan inbal klezn wun Cicero Liao's ussta kaas. Uk uriu ukt Usstan inbal ussta ehmtu cuass'ili; Usstan tlun izil ulu doer lu'alu 'zil Usstan qualla. Usstan xun naut fridj inbal natha zmenkh xuil ussta kaas pholor ol. Usstan tlun nau velendev jaluss’s jinique. Usstan tlun naut Leon Baker’s nauxxizz farmhand. Usstan tlun naut To'ryll Baker’s delomaeth. Ghil pholor l'shinduago, Usstan tlun ussta ehmtu iwaotc, Usstan saph ol nindel i'dol.
Usstan inbal tlus helothanninin xuil Anastasia lu'Nass'rilsun, udos ph'l'Wardens d'l'Renor Menvis; udos ph'natha basilia. Nind zhaun Usstan xun naut l'amith olt l'inya pholor uns'aa, nind inbal keffal olt phish hues. Usstan inbal jousus Anastasia l'expanse d'ussta zmenkh lu'golhyrus wund ussta shar, lu'Nass'rilsun uriu keffal l'p'obond'l'khelen nind zet rathrea uss ichl mzil drasven ish'o. Nind ph'abbilen xuil Cicero Liao. Qua'laen ussta alur khlurysten Usstan ragar usstan khalessin mina, Usstan kyon whol mina Usstan brornine saph inbalin abbilen. Anastasia zhah mziln natha ilythiiri, d'ril uk zhahus roxucul xortin topside jhal ol’s dubo ulu elhear vel'drav uk jivvenn l'nibele sickeningly al, Usstan aturr ulu talinth uk zhahus saph uns'aa—uk zhahus saph uns'aa a ust, Usstan talinth a mzulst. D'elezz wanune nindel uriu lakr'ia, Usstan ragar usstan reiyal naak'e d'l'ywrazz. Uk zhah waelin lu'stumbled tir l'xusst menvis uk’s nin rerouting uktan ulu ol. Usstan treemma ol’s ichl gajen whol uns'aa ulu xun l'toha.. Usstan don’t talinth Usstan zhahus tangis'pholor l'menvis ulu kre'j xuil Nass'rilsun zhah natha kor, l'ust usstan’ve keffal wun ywrazz, Uk zhah insanely yutri, friendly, outgoing, lu'empathetic rilbol Lesaoloth zhah naut. Usstan saph tluin bauth ilta, phor ussta draeval ghil pholor l'shinduago Usstan z'reninth usstan’ve acquired rivvil sensibilities lu'Nass'rilsun uriu er'griff morfel mina garethur jal rena tluin natha thry d'b'vecko sel ussen. Usstan dimonae wun i'dollen Usstan neitar ssiggrin Usstan gumash, lu'ragar usstan ridiculously naak'e phor inlul waele klezn. Usstan z'klaen’ve atsus natha sickness altho udossta draeval wun Casriga, d'elezz natha aglust d'uns'aa believes nindol zhah untrue. Nindolen kulith ph'unfamiliar lu'naut saph l'ussen usstan’m aturr ulu. Usstan ragar ussta stylad racing mzild desu taga naut vel'drav nind ph'wun l'cuass'ili, mayoe Usstan tlun allergic ulu tressums nindol kluthak mzild ves'aph.
He is an old man