We realized that we've been doing this show for four years as of about two weeks ago.

And there has to be a better use of time.

We happy crew, we joyfully join the fray.

No doubting do, we wouldn't pursue, but thinking it's true that isn't the drive away.

Picture, if you will, a glorious decrepit old brownstone in the money quarters of Daggerford faded now but good bones, a remnant of a once glorious old family, the Hofferman's.

Paroud Patriarchs.

What happened, Dave?

Proud! Proud! Proud proud patriarchs, but a family nonetheless in decline.

Allow that picture to further focus and see Jovian Hofferman by the fire.

Calumshite double standard whiskey in his hand.

See also Magritte at a small armchair in the corner nursing, a ginantonic upstairs, Diametra Flotian Ney Hofferman, hair braided clumsily by a half fork,

nevertheless having a good time while sipping her honeyed wine. Realize also that it is 8 a.m., something I realized in the break.

This is a family that starts to drink early.

The Hoffman's have many reasons to drink.

There has been a death in the family.

Proud Constant Hofferman now dead.

Mysteriously, perhaps at the hands of that hideous cult, the order of the

lampwick, that have evaded the dragon friends thus far. We have learned much, all of it

confusing, but there have been rays of hope. The dragon friends have successfully interrogated,

some of the family, but even... You forgot smiggins. Picture also a filthy, besorted, bolding, disgusting, decrepit,

standing, poisoning a teapot with poison out of a small glass bottle with a skull and crossbones on it

that looks like it's full of poison

...