So here I am, an innocent little Marmot, minding my business in the beautiful land of Eorzea. It's a nice life. A quiet life.
My father raised us here in the trees. Periodically someone would come by from the nearby town and might feed us some nuts and berries. Sure, we can get them on the trees, but it's nice to encounter such kind folks.
My father taught me all I need to know about hunting, and I taught my children in turn. They're sweet little kids. One of them was going to be graduating Marmot High this year.
Suddenly, our world was beset by throngs of new people. A few at first, and gradually more and more. First they killed cousin Fred (he was a little slow in the head; poor guy) and then my cousins Sarah and Jess.
Without so much as a "How do you do", these people who call themselves "adventurers" have been committing genocide. My once large family has been dwindling. Some catgirl punched dad in the face and broke his skull. My daughter Jenny got set on fire by some midget in a robe. And some pointy-eared ******* chopped down the tree that we grew up in as little Marmot babies. The bastards.
So here I am, hiding in a cave with a broken leg. I killed one of the bastards, but he vanished before I could feast on his heathen flesh.
I hate these adventurers so much. They all refer to this as a "game". I hate this game. I hope they all rot.
Happy ******* Friday, ********.