You slowly, ardously trudge through the fog. T̢̜͍̫ͤ̈̇̍̒͆̈́̐̀ͅh̶͍͈͕̯̯̪ͧ̊̃̚͟͢e̮͕̬̳ͤ̈̊̊͌ͩ̑̄̋͘ ̻̳̥̝̼͍́ͭ̔̎̉͘͜͢ͅw͚͒ͥ̾̊̇ͭͣͮ͝o̐͐ͯ҉̳̘̬̲̼̮r̛̝ͩ̉̅̑̓ͤͮ̐̀l̟̟̰̄ͫ̀ͅd̵̠̣̠̞̤̻̄̆̅ͥͣ͂ͅͅ ̴̾ͦ̈́̚҉̡̙̳ͅċ̸̢͍͙͉͍͓̞̐ͦ͑o̒̆͛̇҉̙͍̭̥͉̀ũ̠̬͉̱͕͓̪͎͢l̦͓ͪ̆̍ͭ̈̏̈́ͩd̡̻͇̲ͩ̐̂ͦͯͧ̊̏ ̳̯̩̦̦̩̊͂ͦ̌͌ͫ̊b̢͇͚̰̤͒͗ͭ͑̾ͦ͞ŗ̵̣͕̲͕̤͛̏̿͌ͅe͒͌҉̭̻͚â͓̙̈́̀k̓̚͟͏̳̞̻͍̞͕͍̗ ̨̖͇̺̮ͯ̄ͭ͜͝a͕̖̘ͪ͌̒͊͌͌͘tͫ͋͂ͥ̿̐ͬ̚҉҉̧̰̦̮ ̨̳̺̌ͯ̓̄̇ͦ̀͛ȧ̴͈ͩ͑͢n̤͇͕̬̿ͥ̊ͭ̓͘y̴̨̞̪̮̫͕̪̟̌͆͌͋̏̅̂̄̉͝ ͩ͌҉̴̵͔͇̝̗͓̦̟t̹̘̬̰͍̮̭͖͆͑̉̔́͐ͮ͗́i̛̽̓ͅm̶̨͎̙̦̟̩̹̫ͥ̄̎̌ͯ̈́̑̐̾͠ͅe̛̹̗̟̠̮̝͚̰͕͗͛̌̒̌̇͘.̸͚̳̗̘͕̹̦̿̉ͅ The pain flares with every step. H̛͇̝ͧ̿̀̀o̤͆̆͗̈́ͭͬ̔̈́w̟̯̻͙͎̣͎͕ͥ̒ ̸̯͗̈́̉ͤ̉̾̚̚c̨͕̬͚̑͑ͬ͑̎̌oͤ̎̋̉̓̚҉̜̹̞̮̬̱ṵ̲̩̠͙̓̿͘l̹̼̤̗̙͊ͣ̈̎̎̓̏d̸̙̺̜̀̓ͫ̊͂́̔̏ ͈̩͙̭͎͈͖̗̭͛͒y̶͇̺̫̫̼̪̯̔͌̿ͨ́͋͆͛o̷͔̻̪̾͋̔̒ͫ͝u̪̩̹̘ͨ͗̕ ̸̸̪̝̣̻̮̰̲͇ͨͨ̐ͯo̖͉̫̭̼̤̽̉͆ͭ̃ͮ̒͟p̧̣͈͎̹̤̟̠̭̂̾̂͠ṗ̛̳͍̜̣̉̐ͥ͗̀̕o̵̼̥̙͈̰̗͎̦ͫ̽̀͘s͖̫̜͎̐̓̅̎̈́̃͜͠͡e̩͈͌ͧ̈́̉ͭͪ̃͆͡ͅ ̅ͭ̃͊̇ͮ̄̍͒̀҉̢͖̱͖͕̟t͉̪͇͎͒̋͟h͎̓̾ͩ̄ͣ̔̾ͪ͝e̫͚̭̦̅͐͞ ̴̹͔͇̭̼̰͈̦̍̉͐̊̈́ṕ̭̖̯̻̯̯̭͕̤́́a̸̛̺͒ͯ̉i̲̩̬̱͙̳̮̮ͮ̐̾́͒͗̈́͝n̘̹̿̆͛ͫ̂͂̓ͦ͠͠ľ̛̰̝̯̮ͣe̸̶̴̲̯ͭ̅̎͌̾s̤͖̜̘͚̃ͩ̒ͭ͌͌ͪ͟ͅͅͅs̜͖̲̤̳̉̍̏̒ͬ ͖͚̗ͬ̑ͣͨͯͤ̇d̞͂͐ͦ́͗ͧ̄̽͋̀e̺̻̩̤̘̥͙̅̿̔̉͗̃͘͜ȃ̫̍̓̿̈ͧ̚ͅt̻͇̪̰̘̖̤̖͑ͧ͐͊͂ͧͮh̸̶͎͉̩̤͓ͬ̐̅ͭ̕ ̴̡̠͈̎̚͜I͕͕̰̪̓ ̄ͤ̏͏͓̪͖͎͔o̧̦͕̜͖̬ͤ̆ͅḟ̣̜̜̗̅͛̈́f̶̢̆̆̑͌͏̪̱̰̺̭e̟̯̞͓͌̾ͩͭ̾ͧ͆̋͘r̘̣̱̲̝̰͑͐ͭ̍̎̐̾̀̕ ̻̦̻̠͔̦̱̑͗i̛̟͇͓̓̌t̡͖͔̦͖̝͊̆ͨ͋ͮ̊̿?̷̘̤̭̬̃̇̀͆̋̄̈͡ The Sickening stench of rotting flesh hangs heavy in the air.
T̓̒̂͗ͣ̓҉̣͈̜͓̞̼h͍͓̬̙̘͋̈́̉̇ͪ͌̅̀e̷͈̫̩̖͚͔̲̯̜ͮ͜ŗ̛̜͙̞̻̈͑͘e̴̹͉̫̎ͣͣ͌͂̓̒͂͐ ̷͚͕̗ͪ͐̾̐̄̽ͮ̚̕͡ȉ͚̪̘̹͖̬̄̿s̸͚͇̤̾͌̔̀͒ͮ͆̀̚ ͈̱̅ͬ̎ͦͯn̴͈͚͙̣̩̥͖̐͐ͬͫ̔ò̶̢̭͍̫̊̔͆̇̏͊͟ ͪ͛̆͡͏̴̞̳ẽ͙͎͇͔̲̝̭̀́͟s̽͆̔̊͗̀̆҉̸̵͕̭c̦̙̲͚̲͙͍̑ͬ͡ͅaͭͤ̈́ͭ҉͙̟̩̩͔̜̦p̸̭̥͕̣̮̣̥̽͑̇̓̍͠e̴͙͚̱̙͗̓̍̏͘ ̶̛̝̲̳̟̣͚͉̭ͫ͗̏̋̏͢f̸̣͖̯̓̄͡͞r̭͈̃̍́ͭ͛́͠o̸̰̖͐ͥ̈́̉ͬ͗̌ͅm̧̯̝̤̲ͬ̐͑̇̽ͤ̏͝ ̷̞̗̽̍͜m̧ͦͩ͂͆̇͒̑ͅe̝̪͎̞̔͐͟ The dripping blood pitter-patters on your coat. T̄̋͏̗̫͖͈̖̹ͅh̵̡̭͊̃ͦ͌͂̄̍̀ę̶̔ͮͯͯ̚͏͓̮̝͉̭̱r̴͇̭̙͖̩̙͌͘ͅe̹ͮ͌ͣ̀̃ͅ ͑̄̏̎̇͏͚̤͉̣̩̬̺͞i̶̺̺͓͚̬̭̥̽͑̂̍̎ͧ̔̽̏͜͝s̨͔̞͇ͧ̑͛ͪ͒̓ͨ͆ ͖̘ͪ̈ͦ̓́̅͒ͤ̂̀͟n̸͇̹̤ͭ͘͘o̲̰͎̪ͥͪ̏ͣ́ ̖̳̘̩̽͑̓ͭ͒̍ͣ͒e͚̺̟͒ͦ̃̀ͅs̸̛̯̦͉̲͔̮̓̓̏ͣͤc̵̸͖̳͎̙̤̖͕̹̩̒͆a̫̫ͪ͛̆ͤͤ̾ͧ̕͠p̵̛͙̬̒ͬ̓ͧͥͩeͧͩͧ̊̆͠҉̗̯ͅ ̢̯̻̘̤̈͂̌̽ͫ͐̔́̚͟f̥̟̱̩̠̀ͯͧ̉ͬ͋͢r̆̐̇҉̗̯o̶͔̜ͫ͑̾ͨ͆̍m̴̙̓ͧͨ̐ ̛̱̜͇̗̫͓͆ͬ̿ͩ́̀Ç̵̉̍̿ͯͤ̅͐͒͐̓̆͊͢҉̮̝̹h̷̴̨̘̺̭̪̪͉̳̪̦̘̻̦̤̩̰̙̗̳̻ͫ̇̾̒̋ͬ͆͘͟ẕ̥̼̗̃ͯ͆ͩ̾̔ͧ̆̏ͩ̊̓͟͝o̴̵͂͋̽͑ͧ͂͞͏̼̣͚̰̰̗̗̰̱͉̮̝͙̠̼ The door to the east wing is slightly ajar.
And thus the Prince resolved to destroy the Pentient Man
What do you do?
Status: Fine
Sanity: Anxious
L hand: Revolver (6/0)
R hand: Old Machete
Inventory: 5/6
It is 7 degrees Farenheit
Attire: Windbreaker, Rain Coat, T-shirt, Cargo Pants, Pair of Trainers.
You feel nearly frozen
Low Visibility