The Life and Death of Nicholas Thomber
On a prime Sunday eve. A Mr. Nicholas Thomber was striding to his dark, desolate, and all around rancid room, 581, of the Lucks Win Apartment. Near, the northern wing of the newly founded city state of Nitoliolic. This apartment was, and still is, fundamentally excrement; the walls were dirtied and torn to a point of degradation that which anyone who'd of seen it would've walked straight out the door if not having a substantial reason to proceed; the floors were dusty and discolored; the lighting was horrendous; and the building had the aesthetic of a place just waiting to be torn down. But enough of this, we shall now traverse into Nicholas Thomber's personal 'suite' in which we shall be starting our tale.
Mr. Thomber's room was all around fully converted from it's prior 'luxury' to a sort of hovel of all hovels. Along the left side of the room you would find yourself knee deep in papers of all kinds. Manuscripts, testimonies, letters, unfinished writings, among others in much of the same vein; and on the right you would come across Mr. Thombers naked mattress laying on the discolored wooden flooring. Straight forward from the door was a large dresser, and to the right of that hanging above the bed was a shabby book case. Oddly, full of grandiose classical literature, all of extreme value. Now, one might ask themselves, why if you have such worthy books, do you not sell to rent a better apartment, and this can be answered frankly. He, Mr. Thomber, was keeping these books as a keepsake. Something he could never bare the part with, as they were the final things remaining from his previous live, in which he would always speak so fluently and happily about.
These stories shall be documented later, in chronological order, from his beginnings, his rise, his downfall, and finally his death. For now though we should continue describing his abode. His room was lit with a faded ceiling light connected to a disruptive squeaking fan, and his walls were decorated with a faded wallpaper and the previously mentioned book case. He also had a small closet behind his paper stacks. This closet was full of his regular dressing wear. Including an tattered old trench coat, cheap polo, and a small manner of faded pants among his undergarments and socks. He had but one pair of shoes. An extremely grand pair of black sturdy shoes of which were his prized possession aside from his books.
Mr. Thomber was, as you know, extremely poor but even he still had a job. He worked at sub-par restaurant far from his dwelling. This place being so far away meant that he walked quite a ways going to and from his job, which payed him substantially less than one of the same in any other district, but due to his past mistakes had only one place to turn, and that was of course this restaurant. You might as well think Mr. Thomber was unhappy with his life, but no, he was extremely content with living the way he did. As you will surely see this new life is substantially better than his old, though his old had wealth and he fondly remembered it. I would give an opinion in stating it had been horrible, and with that we shall end our prologue and begin anew in his beginnings.