People of Sapience,

How long will we tolerate this treatment? How long will we suffer these so called "adventurers" who deal only in death and their own personal enrichment? They claim, as the psychopathic often do, that it is all for this ideal or that, that behind every sword in an innocent's belly is salvation or greatness. But I have seen through their lies!

In my possession is one jar of pickled Royal Lemon. It only holds one more lemon, for the rich have already eaten from it. As the sick and downtrodden coughed their last coughs in alleyways and ramshackle huts, the nobles were already feasting on zesty cures. I saw it firsthand as nobility partook and their gums became a healthy tinge of red, and when asked why them and not others, we were met with "well, YOU didn't find it, did you? Go dig some more up."

I protest this injustice. I protest the very idea that some, through birth or murder, are simply more worth saving. I protest thrice because now I, and you, KNOW that we were lied to!

These lemons were not to be found digging, despite this theatrical performance telling us that, yes, maybe that stone, or that one over there, hid more jars of pickled lemons. An absurd notion already, and now doubly so when we know it was the Knights, sworn protectors of titles and prestige, who were distributing these cures to whoever they deemed worthy. No doubt they had these cures stored away in their ancient castle all along.

Was the peasant toiling the fields worthy of said cure? Was the guard whose life was always at risk for this nobility to traipse about as they would worthy? Was the humble caretaker of the elderly worthy?

No, it was only the noble adventurers sitting on mountains of blood-stained gold.

And now we hear of them gorging themselves on bottles of curing wine, and of them chopping down a tree who could hold more answers. Why? Because they can, and because their "ideals" tell them that it is right for US to suffer so that THEY can claim victory. Wine is for the adventurer, they say, and the commoner is not worth salvation if it means supporting whoever they decided was their mortal enemy today.

I say to you: no more! Rise up, commonfolk of the world, for ahead lies not just a life of ignominy, but painful, coughing death in ignominy.

With fervour in his heart,
the Phantom Cure.


Penned by my hand on the 1st of Lupar, in the year 979 AF.