Notes in the event I don’t return. I’m carrying a steel shield and sword I’ve sharpened with the diamond. I’m off Rowe’s Way, seventy-seven feet to the sea. One leather satchel, six coffee beans and as many cocoa. A flask of clear spirits. The purple bud of an herbal flower. Rolled tobacco leaves sweetened with a raw shave of cane. Pages from a mystic text. Flint.
Title: The Philosopher’s Satchel
Subtext: The last level.
Date: 30 Dec 15 (Wednesday in the AM)
Time: Less than a minute
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