"Blasphemy!” the crowd shouted not too long ago. The plaintiff heeded their suggestion and threw me in these catacombs, though more a labyrinth so far. The stench of these rotting halls nullified my senses, and fogged my mind. The means of my trial were intangible, accused of counterfeiting, and though it seemed the jury was in a trance, a rather lackluster hex. The utter enigma that someone would want to dispose of me is indeed riveting though discomforting. I attempted to evade the executioner, but some haughty bloke tipped them off to my escape route.