I hath joined a new world full of discovery. I enter thou world with experience. And yet, thy experience faileth thee. Thy new world appears to be similar to thy past. Thy past hath no love. Thy past hath only war, fear, love, and hatred. Thy past hath no meaning of loveth. Yet thy friends hath no fancy for war, only love.  

I hath thousandths of gold, of wood, iron, and of course clay. Clay to mold, to do with what I will. I hath no more fancy for the absolute emboss of war. I hath only fancy for the knights of love. For the vets, the knights abroad, the victory caravan, I write this for thee!

I shall record my journeys through this world we call Elgea and I shall find thy village, and I shall pay thee back, for thy journey would not be so without thee! Thy journey begins this day, and thy beard grows an extra inch today, upon the face that holds potential for victory, for love, for fun, for all that hath been done upon't!  I hath no time for thou orcish spoils of war, Nor for thieves born abroad,  I shalln't cry "Bàsaich, jiarg-noid, geddyn baase! ",no, thy time shall only be spent on thy beard-like spoils of settlement! 

Outcasts fancy that outcasts hath cunning addiction to cause trouble amongst thou power of painful fear. Thy love consists of no power of thy vile zany fancy for crime. No Thieves shall commit thy victory march, nor shall they call for mi Dietes. 

Now that thy statements hath been declared, who shall bring forth the torch of honor, of love, of cooidjaghtys, and of thy victory march, who shall appear declareth of thy troublesomeness? Who? WHO?!!?? And yet... what shall stop those who shall oppose thy victory?!? Why, of course, we hatheth an agent who hath condaigys and cridhe! Thy agent is Trouble, Tribal Trouble! Goit lesh bwooise.