Reevor has once again pressed me into service in his storehouse. All reports suggest that our feline forces have turned traitor and that the rats are on the offensive. It appears that I am our last hope in the face of such an awesome display of power. Farewell, dear Journal. Farewell.
Mental Note: Don't join the armed forces. They never inform you of the full danger when you enter and they always pay you squat when you leave... Reevor gave me all of five gold pieces for putting my life on the line in there... Isn't there a Candlekeep People's Revolutionary Front I can join, somewhere??
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