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Description
     As stated before, there had once been a myriad of Hatters; by Hatters, I refer to those who were under one combined power to keep mankind balanced while it was still unable to handle itself. By no means, are we ALL Hatters; in fact, perhaps the only APODEICTIC Hatter here is myself. Due to...poor phrasing at the time, everyone after myself began to adapt the Hatter look and attitude. Truthfully, the others will survive without a Hat with little to no issues, other than the fear of THINKING they may die without one.

     I had...ONE individual in our ranks, who knew better than that; he told me, days within joining our ranks, that he would not be wearing a Hat, as it was cockamamy that one should have a life span based upon the reliance on an article of clothing. I admired that, from the inside; from the outside, I insisted he should, at the very least, wear the hat when others were to see him. If they were to learn that the Hats do little to nothing, one could only speculate what could happen; they could start a riot, thinking they were lied to, or they could just leave, finding the whole job a hoax.
     He refused, and in frustration, I signed a permit, allowing him to live outside of the usual Hatter grounds, in an attempt to ensure he would be removed from the eye of the others. His interactions with people on any basis were to be minimal anyways, so this could, or should, have worked out. It had for...well, many years. I would prefer to not give numbers here, as they would seem unrealistic. In any case, this was one of my better decisions made when I first took lead of the powers to keep these others in check. Back when my sanity had been...well, fully alert and reliable.

     After some time, however, the work he had been committed had ceased to be done. His direct job with man had been unnoticeable to most; he would manage history's artifacts, deciding which would, and would not, be viable for man to recover. Should he find something to be safe or beneficial for man to find, he would leave them in a spacious area of dirt, and give someone a subconscious alertness to dig in that zone.
     Should he decide something is too dangerous for man to find, he would have to "swoop" in and have the earth dug by a group of hired men, who were alert of our existence, but wished to assist us, instead of betraying us. Once dug, he would have the piece of history placed into his own abode, where he could hold onto such treasures, until the time was right for man to find it. While it may seem like a waste of time, some items are best left unfounded.
     One such example had been an untitled book; the book was crafted out of the bark of a Bonewood tree. The pages, ironically, were printed from buffalo leather, and all of it's words were carved in (which, I may add, preserves nicely as the years go on.) The book had been conjured by an ancient Indian tribe, and the contents of lore and spells were used only when the Indians were near defeat; the magics would summon a demon in their favor, for the price of a sacrifice of the high priest.
     Where one could find such magics obsolete and render the book harmless, there are those who practice such arts still, and could cause major havoc upon the town, in which the demon had been yanked from it's tethered world. Therefore, this Hatter, whom I leaved unnamed for now, would find the Indian Burial Ground, have the book removed, and keep it for himself. Sure, he could read it, but the actual process of making the magic work would bore him, and prove to be tiring. Who else best to own such a book?

     As I stated, his hunts for such artifacts had stopped; mankind began to dig into secrets best left hidden, and they took advantage of such findings; hence, the founding of Steam engines and basic medical advances. That's when the world for us Hatters took a turn for the worse. As Man advanced much faster than I anticipated before, the use of such Hatters grew obsolete far too fast, causing physical harm to many of us. Some of us fled in fear, hoping that the retreat would save us. Others were too slow, and would perish.

    Something you should know; we don't die by normal causes. There is no death by old age, starvation, or other such ordinary means that humans suffer. Sure, we can feel horrible pain (MUCH more than any human has endured), but we don't die from it. To die, it would need to be something extreme, conjured by something agonistic. Such weapons have been crafted to keep the rebellious type in check. In this case, this had been more like a...plague, of sorts; a spell, if you will. The Hatters who were no longer in need, would fall into a great depression; they would decay from the inside and never leave their homes. With time, the spirit would finally leave the body and off to heaven; the corpse would be but a hallow, empty shell. There was no smile; no eyes; no signs of life being in there for quite some time. A true scare for any Hatter.

     Those of us who fled, would die off, one by one; it was as if the spell followed us after clearing the town. After some point, I had been the only survivor that I knew of; the moment man stumbled upon such findings, the lack of sanity grew, which gave more of a job for me. I worked far too hard, and tirelessly, in an attempt to fix what the discoveries caused. Such a schedule soon ate further at what sanity of my own I had; as mankind grew some stability, I lost my own. By the time mankind had hit a neutral peak, and began needing the help of Hatters once more, I lost it. My mental rants came out without intentions of doing so. My moods and ability to control urges of the negative sort would become disingenuous. After some point, I would forget my own job as a Hatter.
     This was until I recruited the next replacement; Grim. Too many people were dieing at a neutral balance of Karma, leaving Purgatory over-stuffed. Stuffed, as to where spirits could slip off and fall into the pits of hell, and no worker would notice until it's too late. At the time, I couldn't bother to plunge down and save them...but I COULD use some companionship; therefore, I was forced to bring Grim into the game.

As the needs of man grew, more and more people were brought back into our half as Hatters (Half of which were quickly replaced; not every match made is perfect, of course. The role for Batten took four attempts until we finally achieved our current example). As more Hatters returned, I regained some level of sanity. Enough to where, although there's just three of us inside the city, I now recall the living location of the Hatter that MAY have intentionally caused this. I'm unable to go to such lands, as the power of the higher have restricted me. Grim, however, has permission, as the spirits there need cleansing now and then. Perhaps I should send him to find our friend...

                                                                                          Recorded by,
Bi-trixial

Description
     As stated before, there had once been a myriad of Hatters; by Hatters, I refer to those who were under one combined power to keep mankind balanced while it was still unable to handle itself. By no means, are we ALL Hatters; in fact, perhaps the only APODEICTIC Hatter here is myself. Due to...poor phrasing at the time, everyone after myself began to adapt the Hatter look and attitude. Truthfully, the others will survive without a Hat with little to no issues, other than the fear of THINKING they may die without one.

     I had...ONE individual in our ranks, who knew better than that; he told me, days within joining our ranks, that he would not be wearing a Hat, as it was cockamamy that one should have a life span based upon the reliance on an article of clothing. I admired that, from the inside; from the outside, I insisted he should, at the very least, wear the hat when others were to see him. If they were to learn that the Hats do little to nothing, one could only speculate what could happen; they could start a riot, thinking they were lied to, or they could just leave, finding the whole job a hoax.
     He refused, and in frustration, I signed a permit, allowing him to live outside of the usual Hatter grounds, in an attempt to ensure he would be removed from the eye of the others. His interactions with people on any basis were to be minimal anyways, so this could, or should, have worked out. It had for...well, many years. I would prefer to not give numbers here, as they would seem unrealistic. In any case, this was one of my better decisions made when I first took lead of the powers to keep these others in check. Back when my sanity had been...well, fully alert and reliable.

     After some time, however, the work he had been committed had ceased to be done. His direct job with man had been unnoticeable to most; he would manage history's artifacts, deciding which would, and would not, be viable for man to recover. Should he find something to be safe or beneficial for man to find, he would leave them in a spacious area of dirt, and give someone a subconscious alertness to dig in that zone.
     Should he decide something is too dangerous for man to find, he would have to "swoop" in and have the earth dug by a group of hired men, who were alert of our existence, but wished to assist us, instead of betraying us. Once dug, he would have the piece of history placed into his own abode, where he could hold onto such treasures, until the time was right for man to find it. While it may seem like a waste of time, some items are best left unfounded.
     One such example had been an untitled book; the book was crafted out of the bark of a Bonewood tree. The pages, ironically, were printed from buffalo leather, and all of it's words were carved in (which, I may add, preserves nicely as the years go on.) The book had been conjured by an ancient Indian tribe, and the contents of lore and spells were used only when the Indians were near defeat; the magics would summon a demon in their favor, for the price of a sacrifice of the high priest.
     Where one could find such magics obsolete and render the book harmless, there are those who practice such arts still, and could cause major havoc upon the town, in which the demon had been yanked from it's tethered world. Therefore, this Hatter, whom I leaved unnamed for now, would find the Indian Burial Ground, have the book removed, and keep it for himself. Sure, he could read it, but the actual process of making the magic work would bore him, and prove to be tiring. Who else best to own such a book?

     As I stated, his hunts for such artifacts had stopped; mankind began to dig into secrets best left hidden, and they took advantage of such findings; hence, the founding of Steam engines and basic medical advances. That's when the world for us Hatters took a turn for the worse. As Man advanced much faster than I anticipated before, the use of such Hatters grew obsolete far too fast, causing physical harm to many of us. Some of us fled in fear, hoping that the retreat would save us. Others were too slow, and would perish.

    Something you should know; we don't die by normal causes. There is no death by old age, starvation, or other such ordinary means that humans suffer. Sure, we can feel horrible pain (MUCH more than any human has endured), but we don't die from it. To die, it would need to be something extreme, conjured by something agonistic. Such weapons have been crafted to keep the rebellious type in check. In this case, this had been more like a...plague, of sorts; a spell, if you will. The Hatters who were no longer in need, would fall into a great depression; they would decay from the inside and never leave their homes. With time, the spirit would finally leave the body and off to heaven; the corpse would be but a hallow, empty shell. There was no smile; no eyes; no signs of life being in there for quite some time. A true scare for any Hatter.

     Those of us who fled, would die off, one by one; it was as if the spell followed us after clearing the town. After some point, I had been the only survivor that I knew of; the moment man stumbled upon such findings, the lack of sanity grew, which gave more of a job for me. I worked far too hard, and tirelessly, in an attempt to fix what the discoveries caused. Such a schedule soon ate further at what sanity of my own I had; as mankind grew some stability, I lost my own. By the time mankind had hit a neutral peak, and began needing the help of Hatters once more, I lost it. My mental rants came out without intentions of doing so. My moods and ability to control urges of the negative sort would become disingenuous. After some point, I would forget my own job as a Hatter.
     This was until I recruited the next replacement; Grim. Too many people were dieing at a neutral balance of Karma, leaving Purgatory over-stuffed. Stuffed, as to where spirits could slip off and fall into the pits of hell, and no worker would notice until it's too late. At the time, I couldn't bother to plunge down and save them...but I COULD use some companionship; therefore, I was forced to bring Grim into the game.

As the needs of man grew, more and more people were brought back into our half as Hatters (Half of which were quickly replaced; not every match made is perfect, of course. The role for Batten took four attempts until we finally achieved our current example). As more Hatters returned, I regained some level of sanity. Enough to where, although there's just three of us inside the city, I now recall the living location of the Hatter that MAY have intentionally caused this. I'm unable to go to such lands, as the power of the higher have restricted me. Grim, however, has permission, as the spirits there need cleansing now and then. Perhaps I should send him to find our friend...

                                                                                          Recorded by,
Bi-trixial