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Guest The Reverend

The Holy Butcher - Reverend's Memoirs

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Guest The Reverend

You find a little black, torn leather notebook lying on the floor of Trade Post's bar. On the first page there is an unusual drawing, under which a couple of words are written in Latin


Deus adiuvet et fame populum qui surrexerunt contra quos occidit

On the next page a list of unknown to you formulas is written down, with hand drawn pictures of DNA structures and notes. It does not tell you much, but you understand that the owner of the book is an intelligent man with strange believes and goals. You become interested in the book and take it along with you to the camp fire, where your friends are resting. When you reach the fire, you sit down, making yourself comfortable, and open the book once again.


[align=left]This is private property of Companion Daray Laurent, given this title for the excel in the Fields of Bio-Chemistry, Medicine and Radiology. Know that this book contains the private thoughts and knowledge of Daray Laurent, so do not open the book unless given permission.

[align=left]Blood on my hands. Blood on my face. Blood on my soul. The blood of another man whom I had to kill for money. And I have so much that I don't even know what to do with it. Well, not that much, but I have everything I need. It is nice working for my father, with him knowing everyone around town and knowing what to do. But nobody knows me, and nobody must know me. Or at least my real identity. My job requires such things.

After months of studying politics, after years of studying science, I end up back in Russia. Russia, the one country that still has the nerve and the power to stand up and show it's middle finger to the rest of the world. I am proud to be a Russian, when it comes to thinking of it like that.

Anyhow, I now work as a hitman. I am payed to kill people. I can't say I enjoy it, but it does make you calmer, you constantly blow steam off. And it is an easy business. You just have to be creative. It is too suspicious when you find a bullet in a mans head, but no gun to confirm it was a suicide. Here, you have to stage something like poison gas, or acid instead of water in a bath. Leave no evidence.

But I can't always do it. No, I am not that hard. And my father knew it. He knew me perfectly well. After my mother was killed by some Czech scumbags, daddy became cold and calculating. So, one day he put up a price for the head of my girlfriend. And gave the orders to me:

- Bring me Masha's head, or I will serve yours on a plate - he told me. And.... I had not other choice. I ran. I ran out of the country, I fled like a rat from that movie, to Italy. The only country the Russians would go to. The mafia there is too big.

I knew only one place to be safe, so I as soon as I la-

Here a couple of pages have been torn out, and the next full page was around 10 more ahead. You flip through to it and keep on reading.

[align=right]More Coming Soon! Just seeing how people will react to this.

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