Hello, reader. My name is… Well, that’s not important. You may call me “The Author.” What is important is that you are reading this account of events. That means the world hasn’t ended. Yet. It also means that you are one of the worthy few. Not just anyone could hold this book in their hands. If you aren’t one of the worthy few, you’re in for a world of hurt. In a few seconds, boils will start to break out on your hands. They will spread up your arms and neck to your face. You will go blind and eventually pass out from the pain or the boils in your throat clogging your airways, whichever comes first. (I’d make the “whichever” part of the previous sentence).

If you’re still reading, then you are definitely one of the worthy and I can get to the reason you’re here. You have either stumbled upon or inherited this tome and are about to be given a lot of information you didn’t know you needed. It took me years to collect all of these accounts from each individual and it wasn’t easy. Some of them are dead(new sentence starting at “some”). Do you have any idea how hard it is getting a dead person to stop rambling about all the things they should have done, long enough to get a story out of them? Of course, you don’t. Not unless you’re a chronicler who happens to know a little bit about necromancy. Not to say that I know anything about it. Necromancy that is.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Anyway, let’s get into this. I’ve done my best to put all of this in order, please forgive me if it jumps around a bit. We will start on the day they met. Who are they, you ask? You’ll find out soon enough.