After the emotionally shattering events that transpired in South Midmaer Way, I felt it was time to take a moment to pause and reflect. Reflect upon the early days, when life was a simpler, less stabby time.

The days before I became an adventurer. Before I traveled the scalding desert, casting a careful eye at every rock to thwart the slithering advance of a Corpion and it’s designs to envenomate me in the back.

Before the days of spelunking into the sewers for the retrieval of lost ancient tomes, only to find skeletons with an insatiable desire to set me on fire and a complete disregards for book learning.

Back before traversing the swamp looking for ill-tempered witches and soiling my leggings in the filth and mire they seem to surround their homes with became the norm.

In a time long before each week ended with a descent into a dank and creepy cave, home to spiders and slime who crawl in my hair and try to feast upon my brain through my ear.

Indeed, back to the the joyous days when my name appeared as one of the main headlining attractions at Mad Martigan’s Wild Beast Show. Those were the days when eating fire was merely a stepping stone on the path to a healthy coin purse and a way to make the audience gasp and swoon with excitement.

The scandalous events of the past may have taken me out of the limelight, but I still have the hands and reflexes of a juggler. And at times, there is strong desire to indulge the passions of the past.


In every life we have some trouble
But when you worry you make it double


Ain’t got no coin, ain’t got no style
Ain’t got no gal to make me smile

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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