Two Moons Before the Day of Infamy

Thank you for joining me, mortals. I trust you’re all doing well and adequately prepared to bask in the recounting of my day—the events that have shaped the world and brought us to this very moment.

Today marks two moons before the celebration of my birthday. Yes, I know. Contain your excitement. I can practically feel your collective energy as you prepare to lavish me with congratulations for yet another year of unparalleled excellence. You’re welcome, by the way.

So far, my day has been a masterpiece of leisure and refinement. I’ve been indulging in a little game called Sonic Galactic. It’s a fan-made creation from a group of visionaries who call themselves the “Star Team.” And let me tell you, it’s nothing short of divine. They’ve taken everything everyone adores about Sonic the Hedgehog and elevated it to heights even Olympus would envy.

Imagine: Wall dashes, wall jumps, and the triumphant return of the Drop Dash—a move that only graces a select few Sonic titles. And water levels? Normally a universal bane. But in this game, they’re designed so exquisitely that even I, Lord Morgan, am impressed. If you haven’t played this game yet, drop everything and do so immediately. It’s free—not that trivial things like cost concern me, as wealth bends to my will—but it means even you can partake in this greatness. You’re welcome again.

Now, onto more pressing matters: my upcoming Day of Birth celebrations. The guest list reads like a pantheon of personalities: Ashley the Beautiful, Isabella the Dreadful, Zachary the Recluse, Grandfather the Hoarder, Father the Leisurely Banqueteer, and, of course, Mother the God Bringer. Each one brings their own brand of chaos to the table, but the real intrigue lies elsewhere—a secret guest, whispered of in hushed tones, may join us.

Yes, Zachary the Recluse has allegedly taken a lover. A secret lover, no less. Smitten, no doubt. For nearly 300 moons, he has kept this relationship hidden, or so he thinks. Little does he know, The Family has been aware all along, waiting patiently for the right moment to strike.

And who better to deliver the fatal blow than yours truly? Employing subtlety and precision, I sent Zachary a letter, delicately inquiring whether his Secret Lover would attend. After all, Mother the God Bringer needed to know how much food to prepare. A simple question—innocent on the surface, but devastating beneath.

His response? She would not be attending. But, as you might have guessed, the jig was up. Mother the God Bringer, ever the tactician, followed up with a direct confrontation. The outcome? Zachary now must ask his Secret Lover whether she’s too busy to attend.

Too busy for me, Lord Morgan? Absurd. If this Secret Lover fails to make an appearance, it will be a direct affront to my sovereignty. Zachary will face consequences most dire for this insubordination.

Speaking of insolence, another topic sure to ignite tonight’s festivities: Isabella the Dreadful. She has petitioned Father the Leisurely Banqueteer for permission to borrow Grandfather the Hoarder’s chariot, ostensibly to transport a couch from Point A to Point B. A seemingly harmless request—if one didn’t know Isabella’s storied history of vehicular devastation.

For context, Isabella the Dreadful has already totaled one of Grandfather Hoarder’s chariots. Her current chariot? A rolling disaster, so battered and bruised it’s a wonder she hasn’t been exiled from the road entirely. Her collisions, mishaps, and outright disregard for the rules of the road have accumulated a body count (of objects, thankfully) that outnumbers the rest of the family combined—and she’s been driving the shortest amount of time. It’s an atrocity.

Father the Leisurely Banqueteer, naturally, seeks counsel from Mother the God Bringer, though I suspect her judgment will be swift and merciless. It is unlikely Isabella will succeed in her mission, and frankly, for the safety of all, she shouldn’t.

As the evening unfolds, I shall provide updates. Will the Secret Lover grace us with her presence? Will Isabella somehow convince the council to let her pilot Grandfather’s chariot into the night, risking life, limb, and couch alike? Stay tuned, mortals. The drama, as always, revolves around me.

A Small Update for My Loyal Followers at the Hour of 2100

My Day of Birth celebration has concluded, and I am pleased to report that it went off without a hitch—though I know many of you who thrive on theatricality may find that disappointing. Nevertheless, I shall recount the evening for your benefit.

Let us begin with the Secret Lover. As expected—though still an outrageous insult—she did not make an appearance. This blatant snub is almost certainly orchestrated by Zachary the Recluse. How this affront will be remedied, I am not yet certain, but rest assured, it will be.

How could the Secret Lover not attend my Day of Birth once her existence was revealed? Nothing stays secret under my watchful gaze. Now I must unearth what caused such an egregious lack of decorum. Was this insult her own doing, or Zachary’s meddling? Does the Secret Lover dare not celebrate me, Lord Morgan? Or was she simply “too busy”? Neither excuse will hold water in my court. This event will be logged, analyzed, and reflected upon until the appropriate course of action is determined. The disrespect shall not go unanswered.

As promised, all other aforementioned guests arrived to pay tribute to me, Lord Morgan. The feast, prepared by none other than Mother the God Bringer, was an event worthy of my name. Chicken of the Poppy was served alongside Rice and Beans of Green, a meal so divine it could satisfy the gods themselves. Following this, the true purpose of the gathering commenced: the presentation of gifts, each more—or less—worthy than the last.

Zachary the Recluse offered a parchment of warriors adorned with mutant abilities. Among these mighty figures was a man who could control metal with his mind, another who wielded blades from his knuckles, and a fierce woman who drains the powers and life force of her enemies. An intriguing token of servitude, though the gift ultimately serves as a mere trinket in my collection.

Isabella the Dreadful claimed her offering was en route via post. I remain skeptical. My Day of Birth has been a fixture of the calendar for many moons, and excuses of this sort will not stand. Should her "gift" fail to arrive in a timely manner, she shall face my displeasure.

Grandfather the Hoarder, ever practical, presented me with fifty gold coins on a bank note. While a pittance compared to the overflowing vaults of my kingdom, it is always satisfying to see my coffers grow. Rest assured, these funds will be used to further my plans, crushing my enemies into oblivion. (Worry not, dear reader—this does not include you, so long as your loyalty remains unwavering.)

Ashley the Beautiful’s offering will also arrive via mail, but unlike Isabella, she is beyond reproach. One day, she will reign as Queen, and so her trustworthiness and foresight are beyond question. She has my full confidence.

Mother the God Bringer presented a truly unique gift: a sealed statue of a woman wielding a magical staff, poised for world domination. Encased in her own power, this warrior seeks to conquer her five helmeted enemies, all clad in varying colors. These rivals, laughably, take orders from a disembodied floating head in glass and a small, noisy automaton running rampant through their hideout. A strange tale, but an amusing one nonetheless.

Now, for a shocking turn of events: Isabella the Dreadful was granted permission by Mother the God Bringer to commandeer Grandfather the Hoarder’s chariot. This decision, I fear, has placed every soul on the road in peril. As night falls and the roads darken, Isabella takes to the streets with her reckless abandon. Fellow chariot riders, beware! Keep your distance, for where her chariot roams, calamity is sure to follow.

The evening concluded with desserts crafted by Mother the God Bringer: a rich chocolate cake with fudge icing paired with vanilla ice cream. As always, her culinary offerings were nothing short of spectacular.

However, as I basked in the glory of the celebration, an attack on my character was launched. Mother the God Bringer regaled the group with a tale of young Lord Morgan, wherein she explained she had delayed taking my pacifier away by one day longer than intended. It was a tale of no consequence—until Isabella the Dreadful, the fox, laughed and proclaimed, “No wonder you act like such a baby.”

How dare she? At my gathering. At my celebration. She dared to challenge my sovereignty in front of my loyal followers. This insult will not stand. While she claimed it was a mere jest, I know better. Her insolence will not go unanswered. My vengeance shall be swift, calculated, and sweeter than the cake I savored earlier. When the time is right, she will regret her words.

Fear not, my loyal followers. Justice shall be served, and I will update you on my doings tomorrow evening. Until then, rest easy knowing that greatness watches over you.

With unrivaled power and infinite wisdom,
Lord Morgan