Alright. Okay, Everybody listen up. We have good news and bad news. The bad news, the bad news is that as you've likely already noticed, The Beast without Measure or Mercy or Knowable Form has once again begun descending nightly from its highland lair to ravage our humble farming village, we are, once again, being ravaged. You've likely already noticed. That's the bad news. That's bad. The good news is, uh, the good news is that right now it appears to be exclusively attacking and devouring all of the, uh, all of the very small children. Specifically the babies. No, hang on, shut up, shut up, all of you shut- No, I don't want it eating the babies, Jesus, lady, let go of me- I'm just saying that it's not really negatively affecting our ability to respond strategically by doing so. Because besides a few bouts of grief-induced catatonia we're still at like 99% operational capacity here, right? The babies were all very cute but they were not gonna be the ones packing into this hovel to come up with a game plan. Babies weren't the ones with institutional knowledge of how this thing was banished last time, babies aren't the ones who know how to forge pitchforks and light torches. In fact, babies didn't do shit around here! Easily our weakest link. If it was starting with the twenty somethings we'd really be fucked. I mean forget about the athletics involved of the monster hunting, we would not be getting the harvest in before first frost
Look, everyone, just- okay, I get it, many of you liked your babies, a couple of you still do, I get it, I get it, I get it, but put me down and think big picture here! We are a humble farming village. We were always gonna lose a bunch of 'em to mountain scurvy and mumps and all that humble farming village shit. It's just that this time it's a Beast of Form Unknowable that bursts through your wall at night and eats your kid right out of your arms, so you're experiencing the loss as a sudden sharp shock instead of as a long winding despair where you're watching it happen while knowing you can't do dick about it because the marauders marauded off with all our seed corn. For example. It's not part of the, the background radiation of your life yet, that aching, ambient sense of failure, yours or the worlds, you aren't quite sure. You'll never be sure. But once you've gotten used to never being sure? Well, compared to someone of fighting age, the turnaround time on a new baby is actually pretty- guys. Guys. Please put me down
