We gather here to mourn the passing of this goblin, Nik Wik. As a pacifistic troll who weeps rivers of anguish at the state of the eleventh earth, I’m here to condemn violence in every form. Why can’t we stop these battles which butcher innocents like Nik Wik in the name of Mythrall, a god we can’t even be sure exists? Sure, there is a reliquary within the Palace of the Ancients, said to possess holy cups which can unravel the fabric of this world, and if the Dark One gets it, he’ll remake the universe according to his mad delusions. But I’m tired of this war. I’d like, too, to plant the sweet asylum that smells like honey and peace where we don’t have to defend kings or fight evil, and just let a dreamy, all-enveloping languor possess us.
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