I'm not good with start¡ngs.. or endings... So lets make this simple. It all started on a stormy night in the midst of "The Good Fellow..."
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It was dark. To dark even to see one's own hands. No moon shone in the heavens, only the claps of thunder and the delicate pitter patter of the rain could be sensed. He must've been special then, for he traipsed on as if to walk through a swaying meadow on a cool, sunny spring day.
"Tis' not polite to walk through a cemetery at this hour." The guard had said soon before he met his bittersweet end. For this was no time for one to fool. There was a mission at stake. "The Good Fellow" and his subjects were at stake. Their lives shan't be put to chance, so said by The Good Fellow himself. He thought this to himself whilst pondering an unrelated topic. That he hadn't bothered with maps (of the cemetery, in this instance), nor would he ever and, quite ironically, had no idea where to look or vaguely, what to look for.
A bolt of lightning lit the gloomy scene before him. A box. A mausoleum, per say. And a letter "M" clearly carved above the mossy, barred door which from years of brutal exposure had been left rusted and ajar. This was the same scene he'd witnessed in his sudden vision, revealing the dangers to come. He knew that "The Good Fellow" had seen it as well, for, "The Good Fellow" sees all.
