Journal Nine

We have finally arrived in this accursed, wretched, piss-pot little village. Some foul malaise has hold of me and I fear I will never see the light of sun again! I am dying, Maximus (my dear old school chum – if you should somehow come to read this, know that I remember you fondly in my final hours, and I trust you will see me buried in a manner fitting to my station).

Journal Nine

Brash Young Fools destrin Contention