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As Orr sat at the heavy wooden table, shadows shifting across his hunched form in the flickering candlelight, he paused to lick the statue of a balding cat sitting in front of him before dipping his quill into the deep purple ink from the river Quash. "This will prevent the dark turnings of Fate", Orr muttered to himself in plummy tones more suitable to an upper class public school than a draughty chamber on the banks of the Quash. "Once this is complete any man with even a rudimentary grasp of grammar....." His voice trailed off as the boulder which protected the cavernous chamber was rolled away with such force, such joyful abandon, as to belie its huge weight.