Nothing exciting ever happens here. Sure, Ruffini's spirit medium skills were fun... for maybe a month. But who wants to know you're just part of a game? Who wants your mortality and lack of autonomy spelled out for you by a little white dog? It's sobering, it's humbling. It's depressing. And I know I'm doomed to stand here every day selling the same old stuff to the same four kids because that's my lot in life and I know it and I hate it. I just can't wait to go home and sleep and dream of a world where I'm the master of my destiny. Ha, not even that. Nighttime is just a convenient illusion for the "player."

An old page restored from an old bestiary. Amongst realworld species, there seems to be a contradiction. This creature is described as having "jaws that rend adamant" a "bellow that shakes the mountainside" and that "its hide deflects all pain." This is highly dubious, and even the pigmen on this page defy explanation. The mostly likely suspects are that this is some children's boogey monster meant to scare them to bed, taken literally as time wore on. Or that the attacks and attributes described are from accounts of multiple beasts. That is to say, the stories became rolled up into one, making some kind of ultimate chimera.

A treasure gleaming amongst the overwhelming drab greys of the terracotta dig. Gilded armor, an ornate warrior. A deadly grimace adorned its faceplate. It seemed possessed of life despite remaining motionless. A flash of vibrance in an army of still death. But it was not of this dig. Its inner workings were beyond the scope of ancient man. It took its time dissecting the excitable excavators. It had field research to conduct as well, after all.