đ A Message from Sir Percival Ashby-Hawthorne Explorer of the Extraordinary, Igniter of the Occasional Cataclysm
My esteemed colleagues in chaos and curiosity,
I write to you today not merely as a scholar, nor as a gentleman of leisure, but as a man who may haveâentirely by accidentâignited a series of events that some would categorize as âgeologically alarming.â
Picture this: Iâm enjoying a rather spirited afternoon spelunking through a delightfully warm cavern when I stumble upon what can only be described as a glimmering circlet of soot-stained majesty. A relic, unmistakably ancient, smoldering with power and just begging to be admired. Naturally, I tried it on.
Or ratherâI placed it upon what I believed to be a decorative pedestal. Tall. Black. Ominously veined with lava. As one does.
Well. The moment the Ember Crown touched the altar, the walls pulsed with heat, the air shimmered, and the floor expressed its disapproval by violently cracking open. Which, Iâm told, is a bad sign.
I fear I may have rekindled something beneath us. Something old. Something⌠extremely warm-blooded.
Now, strange creatures crawl forth from the deep, embers swirl where air should be, and the Crown grows hotter by the hour.
I would very much appreciate your company as I ahem attempt to make things rightâor at least dramatically wrong in a more productive direction.
Bring your strongest blades, your coolest heads, and your most fire-resistant boots to 2360, 1400 at September 21, 2025 10:00 AM.
Yours in deeply inconvenient discovery, Sir Percival Ashby-Hawthorne
đŁ NOTICE FROM FARMER CLEM Something weirdâs happeninâ on the farmâŚ
âNow I ainât one for drama, but somethinâ real peculiarâs going on with my cows.
Theyâve been beefinâ up. I donât mean eatinâ extraâI mean bulking. Rippinâ outta their stalls, flexinâ in the moonlight, liftinâ feed troughs like dumbbells. One even bench-pressed the chicken coop.
And then⌠they just left. Walked out, silent as stone, into the dark. Didnât even touch the salt lick.
I went to check the barn this morning and found this poster tacked upâwasnât there before. Big olâ fire bull starinâ down at me, callinâ himself⌠The Steakholder.
Donât know what it means. Donât know where theyâve gone. But if youâre the curious type, Iâd appreciate you stoppinâ by and takinâ a look.
Before they come back stronger. And madder.â
đĽ 3650, 600. Come investigate before things go fully medium-rare.
Local Rancher ⢠Crisis Survivor ⢠Beef Appreciator
âWhew⌠that was a close one.
Canât say I ever expected to be run off my own land by cultist cows and a fire-breathinâ steak demonâbut here we are.
Thanks to all of yâall brave folks who came runninâ when the barn started shakinâ. I saw courage, I saw teamwork, and I saw someone wrestle a minotaur with a fishing pole. Didnât even know that was possible.
The cows that didnât combust are wanderinâ back now, lookinâ confusedâbut normal. Mostly.
I reckon the worst is over. So from the bottom of my heart (and the top of my still-sizzlinâ haystack)âthank you. The farm stands another day.
Now if youâll excuse me⌠I gotta go take down that spooky poster in the barn before it starts mooing again.â
đĽđ Stay safe, and remember: not every cow is your friend.
đŁ A Somewhat Alarmed Message from Sir Percival Ashby-Hawthorne Relic Hunter ⢠Amateur Fire Safety Risk ⢠Absolutely Innocent
Ahâsplendid! Just one hour remains until our little excursion begins!
Now, full disclosure: thereâs been a slight development.
Upon placing the Ember Crown upon what I believed was an âornamental altar,â I may have inadvertently rekindled the faith of a long-lost bovine cult. Yes. Cows. Flaming ones. Possibly devout.
They call themselves The Scorching Graze, and theyâre joined by very large minotaurs with very small patience.
So! If you hear chanting like âMooâl Karthak risesâ or see a heifer in ceremonial robesâdonât panic. Just assume I made a small historical error and weâre now correcting it with swords.
đ Assemble at 2360, 1400 in one hour. Bring your bravery, your bucket of water, and your best cow-related puns. Iâll bring the crown. And possibly the apocalypse.
đĽ This is either archaeology⌠or arson. Either way, Iâm thrilled.
đĽ Post-Battle Buns & Baubles đ§ From the Desk of Sir Percival Ashby-Hawthorne Victory Taster ⢠Crown Relinquisher ⢠Pastry Enthusiast
Well! That was absolutely harrowing and just the right amount of flammable.
To those of you who survived the bovine inferno, thwarted the cult of The Scorching Graze, and helped silence the unholy bellow of The Steakholderâmy deepest thanks. Youâve proven yourselves brave, resourceful, and just reckless enough to be lovable.
As is tradition after accidentally summoning ancient firelords, I invite you now to the bakery in Duskreach, where I shall be personally distributing buns, pastries, and loot of questionable origin.
Come for the sweets. Stay for the shiny things. Try not to touch anything still glowing.
Youâve earned it.