From the private diary of Prince Casimir.
The sordidness of the common people knows no nadir. I am buried in this forsaken stinking hole of Coscarla, accompanied by the Bearded Lady, Rat Boy, and some sort of robot man with an obsession for phallic imagery. And they’re the ones on my side. Why were weapons of mass destruction invented, if not to bring His Mercy to this place?
We are bivouacked in the Hellhole Hostel, the world-renowned meeting places for fleas, bed-bugs, slime-molds, and their glorious overlord Maxis Draylock. I swear, if we’re woken tonight I’ll strangle him with his own innards and feed him to Rat Boy.
It seems we’re sorting out some of the filthy mundane intrigues of this place. Warden Locan is a doped-up waste of carbon who is being controlled by fear of the remnants of the Tantalus Combine. The combine is represented by Mr Moran who rules from his rotting ivory tower in the Tantalus Alms House. The ever-so-wicked Mr Luntz roles from his high tower in the Workers’ Union, magnanimously dispensing ambrosia to the delight of the thriving proles. May they both rot in their own filth!
Evardzed, no doubt a model of virtue, is alleged to spend his time at the Templum. May I be spared from learning what the attraction of that parody of Paradise may be… interspecies orgies is my best guess. At least the Bearded Lady will feel at home.
First order of business in the morning will be to settle accounts with Draylock, for better or for worse, then a look in at the Templum, followed by little cakes and tea with Mr Moran. God help that slimy bastard Draylock if I don’t get a good night’s sleep.