My name is Spencer Ellis. I'm 27 years old. I believe in taking care of myself and a balanced diet and rigorous exercise routine. In the morning if my face is a little puffy I'll put on an ice pack while doing stomach crunches. I can do 1000 now. After I remove the ice pack I use a deep pore cleanser lotion. I always use a Camphor-free horn polish, because Camphor causes brittleness and makes you look older.
I have all the characteristics of a humanoid: blood, flesh, skin, hair; but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust. Something horrible is happening inside of me and I don't know why. My nightly bloodlust has overflown into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip.
I may have found my saving grace in the recent dealings of my employer, Clink-Clink Inc. That moron Faelyn needed to be bailed out by the company again, who chose to hire an odd group from the Lore League for the task. While this group clearly belongs to a lower station and has no understanding of the importance of personal appearances, they are seemingly given free reign to brutalize and kill as they please. I must admit this intrigues me.
It would never do for someone in my position to be a direct part of such a mercenary operation, but everyone needs an accountant. And any good accountant should have a firm understanding of his client’s business needs, expenses, and personnel.
Once I’ve finished drafting my proposal to Click-Clink’s dear CNO, I’ll feed the rest of Christie’s remains to the neighborhood dogs. And I’m going to need a new suit, something fit for travel.