Ah, the misadventures of Craig's bard—a character who could woo a dragon but not a decent night's sleep, it seems. In a most perplexing dream that felt like a collaboration between Salvador Dali and Edgar Allan Poe, our bard found himself doing away with the other NPC bard. Why? Maybe it was poetic jealousy or perhaps just a nightly quota of existential dread fulfilled. Upon waking up, however, it turned out to be less of a dream and more of a nightmare's internship—bloody hands, a lifeless NPC, and a party looking at him like he'd just rewritten their favorite epic into a limerick.
This raises questions—thorny, awkward questions that you wouldn't bring up at a polite dinner party. Questions of free will tangled with destiny like a pair of earphones left in your pocket. And let's not even mention the profound existential crisis regarding the reliability of dreaming as a non-homicidal activity.
Meanwhile, trust levels in our group have plummeted faster than a bard's sobriety during a tavern visit. It's a social currency devaluation so significant that if it were the stock market, you'd hear economists weeping. Will the party still pass Craig the healing potion during battle, or just a strongly-worded note of caution?
So, as we traverse further into pixelated chaos, one must wonder: Will Craig's bard find redemption, or is he doomed to become the protagonist of a tragedy written in disappearing ink? Only time—and perhaps a few dice rolls—will tell.
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