Reflections of a Gullible Prick
[This stained tome records a long and arduous journey.] I hoofed it to Baldur's Gate based on a gods-damned promise. 'They'll welcome you with open arms', my cousins said. 'Everyone has a home in the Gate!' Seventeen days I marched. Seventeen days of their whining toddlers and their piss-reek. Seventeen days of howling wolves, huddling around sickly fires, and STILL that stench. Of course they didn't let us through to the city when we showed up. Shoved us into a camp teeming with snivelers and sneerers. Had it with them, their sob stories, the entire gall of their PRESENCE. If I've got to be stuck outside the city, I'll make home in a chicken coop. Smells better than those shit-stained whelps called my cousins, at least. [The rest of the text continues in a similarly aggrieved fashion.]