The official was in a panic; it had been exactly a year since he had won the run-off for his position and things had recently gotten out of hand. He had run on a platform of reform against the native populations which had begun to make raids into town and it was for his strong statements against them that he had been put in office. He had made boastings about how he would rid the town of its problem. However, what it seemed he had done instead was rid himself of willpower; when he had come into office he has sported the slight paunch of a middle-aged politician who had spent too much time at the campaign table and not enough running the campaign trail. Now, the only way to describe him was to include the term “corpulent;” he supposed it could not be helped, particularly since the town’s only restaurant offered delicious gourmet treats. How could he say no, particularly when the owner was both friend and campaign contributor? He looked up and realized he had been scratching his head; he had developed the terrible tic-like habit since the threat, which had come in the form of a totem, had shown up on his porch step a week ago.
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