Greetings dear readers. I must apologize for my absence last week, I was unwell. Fear not though because this week I have the dubious pleasure of taking tea with General Ironfoot of the third bridge. He is one of our newer masters having been brought in to replace the poor fool who held the job last. If memory serves that poor individual proved to be so unpopular that he was lynched by the people of his district, and they rioted with such ferocity that the general had to bring in his mercenaries to subdue them. I must say I love what he’s done with the place. Post-Apocalypse is the height of fashion this year after all.

The man himself met me at the front door of the mansion, a door I had to be escorted to by armed guards. I might have asked the reason for such security, but the people of the district are not as cowed by his oppression as they appear for there is a hard glint in their eyes. The only reason they have not rebelled is that the man himself is harder still, walking with an unbalanced step due to the iron appendage he’s named for didn’t stop him from cutting an imposing figure. His eyes took me in briefly and then swept across the ragged men and women of the district. Hard they might be but every last one of them looked away.

Although the man himself is quite austere his house is anything but, and it soon became clear that the general likes living in luxury. I was seated on a sofa so soft that I found myself sinking into it so deeply that I ran the risk of suffocation. Every morsel of food was delicious, perhaps more delicious for him as he watched those starving fools outside salivate through the window. Our conversation often strayed to those impoverished souls, and I began to see the cruelty of this man lurking beneath military decorum. I am a cruel woman by nature, but this casual brutality I was witnessing was something else entirely.

Our tour of the town continued downwards and it soon became clear that the comfort of the upper levels was designed as a mirror for what lurked beneath. A dungeon dedicated to torture, violence, and all under the control of a towering mute who struck fear into my heart at his appearance. I have never seen such a giant in my life, and his strength was such that even the most casual movement had bruising strength behind it. For one dreadful moment, I wondered if I was to be his latest victim if I had insulted the wrong person with my words. Only a moment though, because we soon returned to the luxury above, and I left shortly afterward.

I confess a certain amount of trepidation about continuing my articles dear readers. I might have survived my encounter with Ironfoot but it feels clear and obvious that I was being sent a message when that invite was sent. To the person who sent me this message you have shaken me, but I warn you now that if I find you then you will regret it.

Your move.