On the night of the 13th of Ero, 403 years after the fall of the
Seleucarian Empire, tragedy has struck Delos.

...we blame Calithandir.

He was wandering around Delos, as he usually does, when suddenly he
began screaming like a little girl, as he usually does. But this time it
was kinda different, because he screamed more shrilly.

Panicking in a huff, he pleaded that all Jesters come to Delos, where a
large...clown began stomping into the village. Whereupon he came to the
happy Jester guildhall, he proceeded to...well, pick it up an eat it. In
a fit of fury caused by the clown's callous activities, Calithandir
showed a rare streak of bravery in chucking a large trout at the
offending clown.

Disrupted in his chewing for the briefest of moments to be thrown off
balance by a large trout, it gave me an opening to gnaw on his ankle
like a beaver on wood. This may or may not have been his imminent
downfall, that's more his issue than mine, since he downfell onto a
shop's spire, impaling him.

The clown's last words: "I failed, Greyface."



So this one goes out to you, Greyface!

We've seen through your little trick, and your use of agents to destroy
your mortal nemeses was once again foiled by superior nautical warfare.
Your methods may have changed, but it still shall not save you when the
day of laughter comes! We shall paint your office in the colors of the
rainbow, and then you shall be naught but doomed of the methods you
brought about! And then you'll be ENTERTAINING!

...and then, you know, we'll have a few pipes of cactus weed, throw
around a few pies, standard fare.

Until then, we claim your clown as a trophy in which we will install a
bar. You know, hell, out of all the twisted clowns you could have found,
you had to get the one without the fully stocked bar. Lame bum.


-Kuntar Semshan

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Ero, in the year 403 AF.