Recording Forty Six
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Begin recording forty six.
Inasmuch as I would like to say that things have been rather uneventful, they have not.
What with rats found leaping at my door. A door with cryptic notes from forgotten fellows pinned to it ... things became more odd from there.
Mr. The White has gone missing, and apparently has created such a cult of personality that he has followers wishing so much to be him that they have soaked up his experiences and imitate him in his absence. This one particular Pretendaros I met was so adamant in his insistence that he was indeed Mr. The White that he harassed me for quite some time about made up holidays and how he was made into a Knight of the Ebon Blade (a preposterous thing indeed, the manner of the making would have this particular Pretendaros be a ghastly ghoul).
Mr. Axe returned, a bit kinder with more of a violent edge, if that can be said. Doling out compliments as if they were children's candies, he stalked about with his two swords like some sort of Orcish Varian Wrynn on a duplicitous rampage.
In other news, Arhena Dawnwhatever is dead.
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