They came in droves again yesterday. Sunburnt heathens. They twist and mangle their bodies whenever they bow to their gods, their idols, the Ancients.
They bring too many mouths to feed, and hold out their hands for alms instead of getting to work! I'd send them back to the Kindlewastes... why would Orindell's drought be my problem? The Kingdom of Meldore belongs to us! These are my crops, my riches!

They won't fool me. I buried my treasure in the fenced lot underneath the small shelter, not far from here. They won't find it when it's hidden beneath the mud. Tonight, I'll sleep deeply.