Internal chat log: Day 33
I fear that I hath gone mad. One month past, new arrivals to my kingdom appeared. Strangely they spoke no words and their repeated entreaties for the might of my legions also went unnoticed. Leaders from across the digital landscape, both friend and foe alike, beseeched the wizards of Biyhaitchjee to end the curse plaguing all kingdoms both grand and humble.
After a fortnight of sorcery, alchemy, pacts with pantheons of gods and demons, and undoubtedly dalliances with products of the grape, their representative appeared and proclaimed, "A fix doth be prepared!"
The assembled noblefolk joyously returned to their kingdoms to resume their lives.
Alas, the pact 'twas not made with a loving god, nor a god of wisdom. Nay, 'twas a trixter god of olde who had ''blessed'' our lands. Loki, perhaps? He's not doing much lately. Or maybe one of those daedras from the Elder Scrolls games.
For even though new allies could again ask for a boon or engage in the pleasantries of idle conversation their words were tinged with echoes of madness!! Remembrances of sparring contests long past...utterances of conversations half-remembered, best-forgotten. Requests from former allies long expelled from the kingdom.
The lords and ladies returned to the gates of Biyhaitchjee and beseeched the Metal Warrior who spoke for the wizards, looking for answers about this most curious affliction. And with a voice like the thunder of 10,000 charging elephant archers he spoke, "We are aware of the issue and are looking into it. Meanwhile, here's a museum."
The assembled nobles looked at each other mouths agape and minds vexed, and then........?
AND THEN.............................................. ......?
FINI (?)