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My Dearest Reader

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To whom it may concern in the future:

My dearest reader,

I am in trouble and only you can help me. I live in London with my wife and two children in our estate just outside her majesties grounds. It is 1904 in the year of our Lord and it is quite an unsettling time. I write to you in an hour of great distress in my household as well as in the town of Lordshyre (for that is what our village is called). My wife, Mary, fell ill to fever and my children are suffering under a similar sickness (lye poisoning I believe). Her majesty, the queen, as well as the city of London, are being plagued by an unknown assailant. The good people are afraid to leave their homes and fear the streets that once housed such famed vendors and performers that London so lovingly housed. I myself never liked these vendors. Always yelling and smelling like cabbage. I was actually glade to see them off and leaving the streets nice and tidy. Their carts were broken and burned by this assailant, sending the vendors away in terror. No one knows who this man is but the one name was written in the fire: CONQUEST

The next to go were the street thieves that plagued my lovely town. These chaps (mainly children) stole from the decent people of Lordshyre with no remorse. This one particular lad stole from my father’s baccy shop and ran off into the marshlands. My dad raced off and found the lad nailed to the scarecrows stake. Particularly gruesome business that. He called Constable Smith to help bring the lad down from his perch ever so carefully. The boy lived in an orphanage on the border of Lordshyre and London. I was glad to see them off as well. In my opinion, they deserved every single slash that came their way. When they took the boy down, words were etched in his chest: CONQUEST.

Finally, the clergymen of the town underwent their own atonement. Each member under Gods employ was falling ill to hallucinations and a sickness of the mind only known to those living in institutions. Strange as it may seem, these men wish to fight and not die. If I were under such a spell I would more than happily take my own life. The odd thing was these men underwent these “aliments” right after I told them what I did to my wife, my family, the street venders and those bothersome thieves that would so much dare as steal from the white horsemen. I told them a similar fate awaits them if they do not do as I command. But I guess they would rather be driven further into madness than do a simple task for me that I ask of you now. So dearest reader I ask of you in the distant future: ride with me… or die.

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