Deep in the heart of Pigletsville, a vibrant village cradled by rolling hills and lush pastures as green as emeralds, stood Willie, a wee piglet whose spirit surpassed his small frame. Willie was no ordinary porker; his tender years were marred by the sting of parental rejection as an orphan, a turbulent phase that paradoxically served as fertile ground later nurtured by the Bourby Gambit Guild. This peculiar yet distinguished assembly of elderly piglets was a camaraderie that matured through years spent playing chess and indulging in a modest sip of bourbon.

Before the present darkness came rolling in with the subtle malice of storm clouds, Willie’s world revolved around his humble occupation as a newspaper boy. Seemingly insignificant, it placed him at the crossroads of Pigletsville’s community. His diminutive stature became an unassuming advantage, a trusted magnet for the populace to confide their innermost thoughts and ideas. Willie observed the pulse of Pigletsville, standing apart from the usual sway of the town’s affairs.

Unbeknownst to many, an unlikely mayor was shrouded in a secret as hazy as a smokehouse. Joe by name, wolf by nature, Mayor Joe Wolf was but a puppet, dangling by the strings of the enigmatic Deep Pen—a syndicate of wolves with a sinister agenda as black as a moonless night: advancing their bacon- making enterprise by infiltrating and dominating the village.

The wolves had mastered the art of deception, disguising themselves as piglets. Identifying as piglets. Wolves in piglets’ clothing, you might say, as was Mayor Joe. He looked like a piglet in a very convincing costume, but underneath, his soul was as black as his true snout. The wolves were integrating into society with a malevolence punctuated by a certain ritual at their clandestine gatherings—the Wolven Conclaves.

There, at the Split Tree, we would find Draven Blackclaw, an ominous force of near preternatural genius, an incarnation of evil itself, with eyes that gleamed with the hunger of a blood moon and a sly grin eternally etched upon his snout. Blackclaw commanded his followers with chilling charisma and an ominous magnetism that twisted their allegiance to his will, spinning a web of fear and subservience with the precision of a master weaver.

The atmosphere charged with crackling electricity, Blackclaw would call his ravenous minions to order with a most vile proclamation: “If it looks like a piglet but eats a piglet...” All gathered would snarl uproariously, “It’s a wolf!” Their collective howling would reverberate through the sinister assembly, an ear-piercing cacophony of raucous laughter and vigorous back-slapping.

Now, dear reader, you surely must be thinking, how could any creature be so wickedly disposed to regard our beloved piglets as little more than a mouth-watering, savory, crispy snack? Suspend your horror and disbelief for a moment. Woven within this grim narrative are profound lessons— lessons grave and consequential. Lessons that transcend Pigletsville’s idyllic setting. If we curl a deaf ear now, we may one day find ourselves reduced to little more than sizzle in someone else’s skillet!

Amid the ever-growing shadows, we will discover an undying spark in our beloved Willie, destined to ignite a flame beyond his meager capabilities. Enter Don Hairdo, commonly referred to as “The Do.” He was a mysterious piglet with formidable political and cultural stature, afflicted with an extreme case of Narcissyndrome, which warped his character in ways both beneficial and beleaguering.

In a serendipitous connection between Willie and The Do, tragedy sets fire to dry parchment, breathing new life into the “deplorables” so branded by the sinister Wolven Syndicate. Hairdo galvanizes them with an unconventional yet steadfast determination to band together and fight back—a flicker of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.

This, dear friend, is the stage upon which we now stand with the magnificent piglets—engaged in an epic struggle. For those with eyes to see, we are participants in the eternal clash between forces of good and evil. If you dare to go there, to make this consequential odyssey, it is to the piglets’ original magnificence we must turn.