4,194 days since the fall of GONK. Ser Greggules the 17th, in his search for the rightful heirs of Rutherford Darshing, has gone missing. Contact with his lance was lost several months ago upon his descent into Butte Hold. With his fate uncertain, we bide our time within the L O N G H O U S E as the pillmongler divines a possible future. Kakok Makako de Kokok's whereabouts are unknown. As the viking lords continue to wander the Inner Sphere in search of stompy robutts, all ventures have thus far borne no fruit. There are no deals left to grab, and no harukos to haruko. Only the malformed neo-nu-Gonklings, a ragtag group of sibkos under my personal guidance, remains. We are steadfast, but who is to say when our time will come? Nozomi, guide me! I fear their morale will someday fade, and that the L O N G H O U S E will fall akin to the slaughtered Piggy-- their prattling oink, oink, oink, echoing through time, slowly morphing into a harbinger of our own fates...

Glory to GONK.
Blessed be Nozomi's finest.
The L O N G H O U S E provides.

Nozomi... Nozomi, Nozomi, Nozomi! Through my teachings, the whole survives. I will not fail you, Nozomi.