Rumors are terrible things. They create hope. Hope can be powerful, hope can be good. But too much of it can be a dangerous thing.

I'm hearing whispers around this town, whispers that I'm not alone. Whispers that my kinsmen are still searching for me, whispers that my clan has not been forgotten. 

We still have a chance, a chance to push back the growing darkness, but the company needs to be restored; needs to be returned to its former glory. 

 Groping through the inky black suffocating, smothering void. Following a tiny flickering star, a writhing rose of illumination casting a milky glow on the way ahead, the heaps of crumbled masonry, sudden yawning chasms on one side or the other – or both- of the path ahead. Once, long ago, the way had been lit by a cleverly placed system of mirrors, many of which were still in place. For even orcs cannot see in utter cave darkness.

(December 24th, 2015)

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This is related to the following:
A Merry Yule To Everyone! (Grand Order forums)
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(Previous chapter: Sun and Stars)

"Open the gate!

Open it!"

Yesterday, in the evening, I was at Mr. Brablo’s library.
Upon arriving, I was actually quite shocked: I found him sitting down in his chair, sleeping. Waking up, it seemed as though he had slept since noon, or so, but I did not say much on the matter: his sleeping habits are his own, of course.

It was yesterday that I had visited Mr. Brablo’s home.
His burrow was grand, and every piece of furnishing inside seemed to bring the other pieces together: paintings, sculptures, and maps. Several bookshelves lined the walls, also, which sparked a great deal of joy in me – I was standing in the burrow of an author that I admire, and everywhere his books were.

My home in Barleywick is quite something: the locals are already questioning my odd habits, I do believe. Though I have yet to swim, or boat – for which I fear I shall receive a great many stares.

Mimzi and Trimzi

The Story of Two Brothers

There once was a brother named Mimzi,

His beard was strong and smart,