Drastic measures are clearly needed. Terror must be met with terror.
If the puns are not driven underground, I shall “finish” Chapter 3 by killing all major NPCs and replacing them with personality- (and vowel-) free drones.
See how you like the game with Brdn, Smn/Szn, Klt/Kl, Cl, Hctr, and your fthr.
You may be able to remove vowels from the codex – like you have with the Angel’s true revelation – but you can not remove them from our hearts!
Just as we cannot suppress the sneezes from those willing to join you, you can not suppress our vowels!
And when allergy season comes and goes, how will you hide them? We can hear them from rim to coast. Do you know what those turning their back on us cry?
Done, in the cursory fashion one would expect from a brutal and time-strapped Thaumatarch.
[NB: Chapter 3 was temporarily replaced with the following text:
Why did everyone just die – on this day, of all days? you think wearily.
You thought you had saved them all… survived the winter, won enough to thrive. But the Thaumatarchy’s retribution was as swift as it was unexpected. Banditry is one thing; puns, however, clearly merit all the arcane power the Karagonds can muster. A plague swept through your camp, slaying all except yourself.
Now their zombie corpses pursue you – strangers in the woods, robbed of their life and their vowels.
[page break]
Without warning, Brdn lurches out of the undergrowth and attacks you. With a yelp, you strike down the gender-ambiguous zombie. Dying, xhe croaks, “…Ws th trtr.”
Is it a confession? You don’t know! Without vowels, there’s no way of knowing whether the word “I” was meant to be there or not.
You throw yourself from the mountain in frustration. ]
Selday the thirteenth, and despite yesterday’s set backs the Pun Rebels remain undeterred. You have one week to revert the changes to Chapter 3 before we unleash Theurgy of our own, and our puns only grow in power as the days pass.