Apocalypse seems interested to get on with things, trying to trot onwards more speedily than my own current sentiment desires, for, truth to tell, I am already beginning to feel somewhat daunted by my noble declaration of intent to seek some sanity in this ignoble world. But there is no holding back the fine Apocalypse. Hah! Indeed no. The Apocalypse will not be delayed, his dark mane swaying before me as he strains against the attempted restraint of the reins. So well then, Apocalypse, lead us... Lead us onwards to see what we may find, and there, oh… a man approaches travelling fast in a smart black saloon car, now speeding past in a spray of noisy dirty dust. Oh... I recognise him as the banking fellow travelling quickfully towards his big money house in the far city. Not much chance of finding sanity there I fear. In the tavern recently I supped with him as he pronounced that it made good sense for him to receive a reward of extra gold for delivering another year of failure, since failing as spectacularly as he can do is apparently an expensive skill to purchase, I think he was trying to declare. Bah. He is mad. Let us turn down this beckoning track between those trees and move on.