Letter Nine--Justice Received

“A ferocious worg stalks the KamelandsI” began the notice posted to Tuskland’s News Bureau—a huge tree felled in the days of the Stag Lord. “. . . and he’s been eating bandits and hunters for years.” Another monster for us to fight, dear Erastil, your world seems full with them. My eyes hurry to the bottom of the missive. “The kingdom approves a reward of 1,200 gp to the heroes who slay Howl-of-the-North-Wind.”

They’re singing our song.

Another poster stated: “A local herbalist has found that the sap of a shambling mound works wonders for cultivating certain medicinal herbs. 600gp for the sap, along with 3 potions of cure moderate wounds."

I walked down to where we were celebrating the opening of our new Municipal Community Public Library (MCPL). Featured speaker at the event was an artist named Trinia Sabor from Korvosa. (I know you attended her workshop.) She sang the long, sad ballad that’s sweeping Avistan right now, Sneffles y Cordobles. Let this cautionary tale be a lesson to you, Pino, to never let your reach exceed your grasp. I admit that, beside the central tragedy, the story is very amusing, especially her description of the angry cross-dressing halfling known as Finarfin/Findis. Another lesson for you, dear girl, this time about how zong addles the brain.

I ran into Piea, who told me that Arven sent a letter asking her hand in marriage. “I’m fond of him, but his lazy eye bothers me,” she admitted. “I thought about it—I could gouge out that eye and get him an eyepatch,” she added enthusiastically. “He would look cool!”

After the reception our crew gathered down by the town well to decide which problem we should address first. Since we knew where we might find a shambling mound we decided to head north where we’d encountered one of its kind over a year ago.

It’s much easier getting around, of course, with the roads we’ve built. We encountered many a pilgrim making their way south to find new lives in our fair land—all the more reason for us to eliminate the dangers that remain. Above us, once again I spied the raven that so often tracks our progress. I would dearly like to know what it makes of all this hubbub.

We were wandering around a field looking for shambling mound spoor when I clumsily slipped in a pile of its flop. I fell hard enough that I was concussed, seeing little birdies ’round my head. I heard Bert Askew laugh and saw him pointing before his jaw suddenly dropped and he hightailed off in fright as two of the ferocious creatures suddenly emerged from a nearby gully.

Lev used a line of cold to great effect as Cane put several arrows up their backsides.

Both mounds attacked Piea, hurting her severely. Sizzles ripped a chunk out of one, but it hardly noticed. Lev fumbled his next spell, falling stunned to the ground. I prayed that we could keep the mounds from sucking out his vital juices while he recovered. Piea hacked one as it passed her and Cane poured arrows into the other but when Piea attacked again it brutally took her down.

Seeing her lying there bleeding Kelm ran to her side, heedless of danger. “I am the chosen one!” he cried.

But even he couldn’t stop the marauding mound from attacking her again. Fortunately, by this time, I’d recovered enough to lop a huge gelatinous chunk off its top, exposing its brain and putting an end to its foul and profane life.

“Somebody give me those healing kajiggers,” Piea pleaded as Kelm put a soothing hand to her forehead, bringing a flood of relief from a spell of healing.

The other mound continued giving us what-for but I could tell that it was losing heart. Perhaps it was sickened by what I’d done to its companion. Except for laming Sizzles we quickly pruned it back until Kelm strolled over and put the kibosh on it. He then joined Piea in a rousing victory song.

“Let’s get some sap from these things,” Lev said when they had finished. We built a huge fire, cutting the creatures into pieces that we then fed into a cauldron normally used to boil brine into salt. We left Bert Askew to tend the fire overnight and, of course, he immediately fell asleep. We took turns managing the fire for the rest of the night without waking him until the smell of coffee roused him with the dawn. If he was surprised at finding the bladders containing the Mounds’ renderings already loaded onto the horses and the cauldron scoured clean he didn’t say so.

For our trouble we got:
• 1200 gold
• 3 potions of cure moderate wounds

A few days later we were back in Tuskland, sitting on the veranda at the Stumble Inn having breakfast while debating which area we should explore next. After her recent smackdown Piea was filled with urgent bloodlust, wanting to mix it up with the lizard men down south. That’s when Tig Tannerson’s mother came running up the street to say that Tig has been missing for nearly two days.

“We were ’oping he’d just run off to shag one o’ the neighborhood girls,” she said breathlessly, “but they was all in school this morning!”

“Oh goodness!” Lev replied gravely, while the rest of us groaned.

What gets into lads like Tig and Little Billee? I suppose they need a good chastisement from a sharp-tongued whip or maybe runes of discipline burned into their arms but, really, I’d rather face a shambling mound.

We wondered if he might have returned to the Old Beldame but Mrs. Tannerson assured us that Skot Skevins had already ridden there to ask. She led us to the last place where he’d been seen (a hidden place where smokers gather). Sizzles sniffed around intently as Cane turned over a few rocks. With a yip the great wolf ran south as Cane beckoned us to follow. We followed Tig's tracks along the shore of the Tuskwater, examining the places where he stopped to skip rocks or snack on hoe cakes and cheese. We then crossed the Gudrun River where he’d spent the night, reaching the confluence of the Tuskwater with Candlemere Lake. We continued following the shoreline south until we were once again gazing out over the water at the haunted Tower thinking, hoping, “surely not.” Fortunately his tracks continued around the southern end of the lake, crossing the Shrike River west, where we found another dead campfire.

Maybe Cane should take this boy under his wing and make a Ranger out of him. The lad has both courage and chootzpah to strike out over this wild land alone. These are qualities that should be encouraged and channeled.

At the mouth of the Murque River a low muddy hummock protruded from the middle of the stream. It was surmounted by a palisade of outward facing sharpened wooden stakes. We watched thin tendrils of smoke rise from a handful of huts clustered around a single large mound. Tig’s tracks had disappeared but in their place we found the clawed hind feet of lizard people. In all probability, we decided, he had been picked up and carried back to the village. Leaving our horses with Bert we crossed over the knee-deep water to a simple wooden gate on the eastern side of the hummock.

“Hmmph,” Kelm grumbled, needing an excuse to roust them. “Officially this is our territory.”

“Kill them,” Piea trilled with anticipation.

“We could talk to them,” Lev ventured quietly.

“Duke, they just stole one of your citizens!” Kelm protested. “You want to talk?”
In the distance we heard the unsettling sound of a child’s scream. Too bad it wasn’t Little Billee they grabbed because, assuredly, they would be begging us to take him away.

Two lizard folk stood at the gate, not suspecting our business. Lev tried to squeeze through the palisade while we diverted their attention but, clumsily, he gave himself away. They immediately charged after him but he squirmed away, slapping one with a line of cold as Piea shattered the gate with her Great Axe. “Size does matter!” she crowed as Sizzles followed her into the compound.

Cane shot one, killing him as I dropped another with my longbow. Sizzles took some hits, suddenly laying down and whining, while arrows whizzed about us. I fumbled, dropping my arrows, hopelessly scattering them.

“Justice,” I squeaked lamely.

One of the lizards managed to wound Kelm in the side with a spear as Lev jumped onto the wall, balancing there precariously. He then tickled several of the lizards with cold while Piea and Cane rode roughshod over the rest. Piea slew the Lizard King, slicing him lengthways like a Crystalhue eel. His last two attendants cowered before her, on their knees, offering her their necks in submission.

“Take me to Tig!” she demanded hotly.

“The spirit will get angry,” they groveled.

“Well I’ll kill the spirit,” she fiercely replied. “Take me to Tig!”

“He’s on the other side of the palisade,” they moaned, voices quivering. “He’s in the swamp.”

With Tig’s screams echoing in the background I watched Cane and Kelm strip the lizard king of his possessions:

• +1 natural armor
• +1 trident
• 5 javelins
• 2 golden arm bands worth 100 gold each

Tig screamed again.

“Let’s go get the stupid punk!” Cane growled, turning to go.

“Why did they steal this kid to begin with?” Piea wondered, following him, dragging the two bewildered lizards after her.

“Probably going to sacrifice him to some god or something,” he spat. “That’s what lizard people do.”

As we made our way past the palisade into the swamp, which stank of fetid murder, large fat mosquitoes buzzed us like horseflies. My colleagues began arguing about what we’d just done. “We killed these lizard men for pretty much nothing,” Lev noted dryly.

“No,” Cane protested, “We killed them for fun.”

“No,” Kelm corrected. “We killed them for profit.”

At the swamp we found our old nemesis—Will-o’-wisp—rising from the swamp. “It’s the spirit!” the two remaining lizard men cried as they threw themselves onto their faces. Things were finally starting to make sense—the wisp had trapped Tig here to feed on his fear. The lizard-men were innocent, at least of this crime.

The wisp disappeared briefly but reappeared to attack Sizzles. Learning from our previous encounter we all waited for it to appear to attack before unloading on it. This time it disappeared with a “pop!” and we knew it was gone.

Tig was tied down in the swamp up to his neck in the fetid water, leeches succoring him everywhere, verily unto his mouth. We quickly freed him, then listened to him whine as Cane removed the fattened leeches from his skin. The judgment of Erastil is justice received.

In the will-o’-wisp’s domicile (and who would of thought that will-o'-wisps lived like ordinary people) we found:

• masterwork cold iron longspear
• tree feather token
• ring of swimming
• animal skins worth 100 gold pieces
• 3 citrines worth 50 gp each
• 119 gold in assorted coins
• tridents and spears

We returned to the encampment only to discover that three lizard females had emerged to hiss and spit their objection to us and what we had accomplished at their expense—they were the dead king’s harem, apparently. Piea like them immediately: “Stupid skanks,” she sneered.

They picked up the scattered spears and shields dropped by their warriors and waved them ineffectually at us while ululating fiercely, their thick forked tongues reaching out greedily.

“Surrender now,” Lev pleaded, “or you will meet the same fate as the rest of your group.”

Thankfully, after a little more posturing the lead lizard-lady haughtily set her shield and spear down, raising her tail and peeing on the weaponry.

We searched the huts, finding two monitor lizards in one of them. Cane led them to the marsh where they quickly swam away.

In the big hut we found:

• coral crown embedded with lapis lazuli worth 500 gold
• malachite statue of a serpentine dragon worth 200 gold
• various furs worth 300 gold
• 575 gold pieces
• each of the harem with 1000gp jewelry, which we confiscated

Then we told the lady lizards and two guards to “Get off our lawn!” Watching us with hatred and hissing spitefully they disappeared up the river.

On the journey home we visited the Old Beldame on the way home who slathered the boy with salves and unguents until even his bones were soft. I’m including cookies she gave us for you with this letter.

Take care of your Mother and make sure Big Billee keeps his hands to himself,
Your uncle Marquand

Letter Eight—Lily of the Valley

Dear Pino,

Running a nation is dry work—between bloodlettings, I mean. Taxes, defense, expansion, enrichment, culture, and basic needs are all things that have to be thought about and planned for. Pay attention when your teachers speak, Pino, no matter how boring you think they are, it’s all information you’ll need later.

At the weekly P.U.R.K. Cabinet meeting Lev was anxious that our nation soon reach the legal status of duchy. “I want to get married,” he lamented, crossing his legs.

“Have you found someone?” Piea asked, disbelieving.

“I have. It’s just that she can’t marry anyone less than a duke.”

“Or be less than virgin.”

“There’s no worry about that,” he replied stiffly. “I’ve known her a long time.”

Overall, P.U.R.K. is a happy land. Our citizens are content, our finances sound, all threats cleared out.

“It’s crazy,” Kelm noted. “It’s like—we killed the guy who was being a rabble rouser and now it’s all calm!”

“I’ve spent two months going around making speeches, making sure everyone’s happy and fed,” Lev protested.

“It’s worked!” Piea agreed somewhat amazed. “And all this time I thought we should just go and hang everybody!”

Kelm reported that it was time to extend our control south while the land stood unclaimed. We don’t know how much the other groups have expanded or when we might butt heads with the River Kingdoms, so it’s essential that we lay claim to as much as we can. “We can claim the swamp-witch hex,” he added.

“But she’s nice!” Cane and Piea both objected.

“We’ll see how nice she is when we claim her on our tax roll,” Kelm chuckled. “Or we can claim the pool with the murdered lovers.”

“Oh! The murdered lovers,” Piea sighed. “Let’s do that!”

“That’s sweet,” Cane agreed.

So we claimed the east side of the Tuskwater and the delta of the Gudrin River near where we dined on Old Crackjaw.

We then received a delegation of kobolds from the silver mine. Chief Sootscale, seeing which way the wind was blowing, had decided it was time for his community to ally with P.U.R.K. as a vassal state. We quickly accepted his offer, sending back a handsome legal document suitable for framing along with our standard regulatory package, bundled with a flag and sundry other welcoming gifts.

We turned to lighter things, rewarding citizen Daveed for his portrait Bokken en Coitus. I admit, having broken a few on the wheel, that artists don’t bring out the best in me. They tend to be tobacco smoking rulesbreakers, living on the margins, providing camouflage for real criminals. Still, their work has some value, I suppose, if it keeps our people happy.

Skot Skevins announced that he had finally finished the national anthem, excitedly ushering in a chorus of eunuchs from the new Academy to sing it for us. I was moved, although in what manner I’m still uncertain. He said he was leaving immediately after our meeting to play it for everyone in the realm. Climbing onto stages all over the country is not exactly the low profile you might expect of your Spymaster. “It’s the perfect cover,” he laughed, taking a big swig from a flagon of fangberry wine. “This way I can interrogate the local ladies without anybody suspecting a thing.”

“Except their daddies,” Cane muttered.

Piea reported that the rumors were true about her and Arven the fisherman, but claims they haven’t gotten past “first base,” or, as Arven puts it, “A nibble don’t make a bite.”

“I don’t want a ring yet,” she shrugged dismissively. “It’s still too early in our relationship.”

For myself, I’m getting nowhere fast with darling Lily. She was understanding about my not finding the Elven ruins but I couldn’t help noticing that she wasn’t servicing my table as often as she had in the past, favoring others with her charms. Be glad you’re a woman, Pino. We men are laughable creatures when ruled by our hearts, whereas women rule by theirs.

Right before the meeting broke up a messenger arrived from Brevoy. After breaking the seal Lev let out a yelp of surprise before telling us with excitement that P.U.R.K. had finally been recognized by Brevoy. Lev immediately sent his own messenger north to House Lebeda, where Ilse his lady love lies waiting, to prepare for his imminent arrival.

With Lev heading north  to meet his new in-laws I decided to go on pilgrimage west of the Thorn River to the Temple of Erastil. I found that Jhod Kavken and his disciples have cleaned up the site admirably while leaving the nearby forest wild. A soaring bower of old oak trees serves as the temple's nave while a vigorous spring emerges from beneath the carving of Erastil to spray downwards before flowing along one perimeter. Nearby I spied Jhod helping a young man transplant a small honeysuckle bush to a more convenient location. We warmly embraced.

Pausing to give tribute to Old Deadeye, I thanked him for my peaceful journey and prayed that all those I love remain safe in my absence. Then I repaired to a nearby place to freshen up, the cold water invigorating me after my long ride. I put on the plain gray robe offered me, joining the other acolytes for a modest dinner of lentils and rice, its saffron and herbs saturating my senses for a long time afterward. Then I walked with several others up to the cave where we’d fought that wild grizzly so long ago.

For the next week I would get up an hour before sunrise and wash in the cold stream, then hike through the woods until the place seemed right and spent the rest of the day in silent repose with the forest about me. I ate what the land offered and drank where I could. Elk piss tastes like fine wine when you’re thirsty. At night I would join the others in their Ritual of Sacred Humming. Then it was s'mores and ghost stories around the campfire before retiring for four hours sleep.

When I returned Tuskland was busy preparing to welcome Lev and their new Duchess. A festive air pervaded the town, garlands of flowers decorating streets cleansed of the offal and trash that usually lay there. When Lev arrived with his new bride the streets filled with cheering citizens.

 Of course you know all about that, having spent the reception sitting next to Duchess Ilse. She couldn’t help but be charmed by you, Pino. You’ve made a good friend there.

I invited Lily to the wedding's reception but was afraid that she wouldn’t accept due to her pique with me but the attraction of a prime seat at the social event of the year triumphed over her reservations. You can ask why I continue to pursue a woman who seems to care so little for me but it’s a true thing that all people desire what they can’t have—especially when it comes to love. A lucky person it is who can love easily. Most of us stir and stop, wallow and prevaricate. Remember, Pino, it is never a tragedy to lose at love. The tragedy is never to try.

Yes, Lily was beautiful that night. She wore a long blue silk taffeta gown with décolleté neckline and delicate lace trimming. I was nearly struck dumb as she approached the carriage for our short ride over to the Academy where the reception was held. I helped her remove her cape before entering the great hall to the cheers of the hoi polloi. How she glowed! I think her beauty rivals that accorded the legendary Queen Ileosa of Korvosa, or so I told her. She blushed, smiling warmly at me for the first time in weeks, twirling spontaneously like a young girl, her gown billowing, revealing a glimpse of her strong supple legs. I caught her hand, for a moment holding her closely, her eyes challenging me, laughing, provocative. She escaped with a light “Tra-la,” and soon we were in line waiting to be presented to the happily married couple.

I envy Lev’s happiness, although I share in his joy. As you know, Duchess Ilse was weaned on the intrigue within the court of the Swordlords. Something I, too, am familiar with. (I’m sure I’ve met her sometime in the past and probably dandled her on my knee as I did with you before you grew too old.) Lev couldn’t have found a better helpmeet. That he loves her too—well, that’s the blessing of Erastil.

The first dance, of course, I saved for you, my darling Pino. But the second, third, and fourth I gave to Lily and we glided around the dance floor in mutual embrace, feelings I’ll never share with anyone but her. Then I had to give her up to my many rivals and watch helplessly as she danced and laughed with each in their turn.

When I could stand it no longer I went to a bountiful table where an impeccable servant—part of Ilse’s entourage—offered me fruit punch with a hint of fangberry brandy. I saw Cane sulking in one corner of the room, wearing his tuxedo stiffly like armor, sneaking a plate of ribs outside to Sizzles, who seemed to prefer the attentions of Ilse’s mastiff Tinkerbelle, causing Cane to slouch inconsolably back into the hall. That’s where he discovered—too late—that Little Billee had left him a big watery surprise in a trashcan over the door. I can’t say that I’ll begrudge Cane his reckoning when it comes.

Kelm was showing off his new grill to several bridesmaids. They tittered as he leered at them, smacking his golden choppers with their inset diamonds and rubies glittering, slapping his naked chest with excitement. The young women seemed impressed, at least until later in the evening when he tried to show them how to dance without moving. “It all happens inside!” he crowed as they left on the arms of various counts and haberdashers.

Piea, of course, was with her Arven, who was managing to watch the dancers and his beloved at the same time. She wore a long gown, mithral halter top, thick metal bicep bands accentuating her feminine muscularity, causing more than one potential suitor to gulp fretfully when he saw them. Arven seemed blissfully unaware that she could snap his neck as easily as she was the breadsticks she was casually noshing. But I did observe him slyly putting his arm around her to sneak a kiss behind the ear. She ignored him, waving her hand idly as if shooing a mosquito.

I danced with you one more time before your Mother and Big Billee took you children home. Never have I seen you more radiant or happier. It was your night as much as it was Lev’s or Ilse’s. I pray that there will be many more like it in the future.

I walked Lily home afterward. She said she was too excited to ride in the coach. I held her hand as we traveled the darkened streets, stars blinking in their vault overhead—I made out the constellations for Desna and Sarenrae. Lily responded by taking my hand and outlining the forms of Shelyn—the Eternal Rose—and Cayden Caylen. At the door to the Inn, where we could still hear merriment inside, I finally kissed her. She gasped, smiled shyly—a look I’d never seen—before hurriedly excusing herself.

Nothing has been harder for me in my life than obeying propriety and turning away from that door—and nothing more necessary for the spiritual leader of Tuskland. I spent the rest of the night on my knees south of town with the other penitents in a cove sacred to Erastil.

Life fell back into its familiar patterns in the days that followed. Lev paid to imbue weapons for Cane and myself with magic. I hate taking charity but in this case it’s for the good of the nation. “I am not a thieving lord,” Lev said to explain his generosity. “I make sure that there are no starving people in our kingdom before I take any pay.”

“A mix of social politics and totalitarian police force,” noted ’Bert Askew, who had recently been appointed court gofer by Lev.

Then Kelm filled us in about the notorious Candlemere Tower where we were to begin our next adventure. There are many stories about strange lights, cries, and screams in the night. Few venture there and fewer return. The tower is said to be about 40 feet high, amongst crumbling ruins, and the island is covered in fangberries—your uncle’s greatest foe—and spotted with willow trees.

When we reached the shore of the lake and could see the tower clearly in the distance over the horizon, Lev paused to give a speech. “It’s time to quiet this plague on our border!” he proclaimed booming out over the water. This inspired Piea and Kelm to sing a bawdy tune that is a bit too salty for your ears, dear Pino. Let it be said that I hope never to hear you singing it.

We found a small boat by a rickety pier and, for a few silver pieces, rowed it to the island. Candlemere Lake was quiescent, its pristine waters vibrant with the bright colors of spring reflecting from the surrounding forest.

Pulling our boat onto the beach we made our way gingerly around the fangberry patches to the tower, overgrown and long disused, where we were greeted by a faintly glowing ball of light—hard to see in the sunlight—containing a nebulous image of a skull in its depths—a will-o’-wisp feeding off the fear of its victims. It was something like the costume Little Billee wore last All-Nethys-Eve to extort candy from the neighbors.

Wisps only appear when they attack, although the ones on Candlemere Island seemed to forget that. Their main weapon is a bolt of electricity that burns, which Piea quickly discovered to her anger. Most of us missed hitting the thing but Lev managed to tame it with magic missile until Piea could get her revenge.

The tower was long disused, open to the sky. It’s an ancient edifice, dating from the Age of Destiny—when civilization first rose from Chaos. We could make out faint ancient carvings of disturbing Aklo symbols representing fragments of blasphemous prayer given to Yog-Sothoth, one of the Great Old Ones! What had we stumbled upon? I was shaken with unnameable dread.
 
That’s when the second will-o'-wisp appeared.

This time Lev and Kelm were ready for it, hitting with magic missile as it shot a bolt of lightning through Piea. Cane finally hit it hard enough that it fizzled out.

Even though there was nothing else at the tower Lev wanted to stay for nightfall but every hour a will-o'-wisp would find us—even though everyone was more bored than scared—and we took turns killing them while taking considerable damage of our own. It was no fun, Pino. As Erastil says: “Know when to cut and run!”

We decided to come back another time when we were better prepared to find out why there was a nest of will-o’-wisps here and weed them out. So we retreated to our boat and rowed back across the evening waters to our camp, finding Bert Askew sleeping in the shade of a large oak tree while our horses foraged willy-nilly throughout the woods. That night, with the campfire’s glow reminding me of the will-o’-wisps, I thought for a long time about the Old Gods. Erastil preserve us if there is a connection between them and Candlemere. 

The next morning we set out on the second part of our quest to find the burial spot of the "Lonely Warrior," passing by the tendriculos' mud bowl and weeding out a few of its babies, before taking the road east past a gang of convicts tending our new highway. Crossing again overland through barren plain we eventually reached an ancient burial spot, grassy knolls hiding barrows of the dead surrounding us. We searched until we came to place where the earth had cracked open, allowing us entry beneath the ground, then followed a cobwebbed tunnel deeper, through a swarm of bats flying past us. A disgusting thick cover of guano coated the floor crawling with insects that squished under our boots, the sharp tang of ammonia suffocating in the still air.

Soon, we were standing in an octagonal chamber, its walls decorated with crude mosaics depicting hunting, fishing, farming—could this be the resting place of an early cult of Erastil? Four tunnels exited the room’s cardinal points. At each tunnel’s entrance a monstrous face leered and grimaced. Kelm said they represented the four winds incarnate as malevolent elemental spirits.

“I like that,” Piea said.

A skeleton lay face down in the middle of the room, most of its gear rotted away—except for a single ring, which Cane immediately bent down to take. Suddenly the four monstrous faces gasped as misty tendrils blew softly into the room. Piea and Kelm reeled suddenly with exhaustion. Sitting heavily, Kelm, grabbed the ring from Cane, slipping it on his finger with a sigh of contentment.

"It's a ring of sustenance," he explained, waving his hand to show it off. "I feel better already." 

We were interrupted as we heard scraping sounds from two of the tunnels surrounding us. “Oh my goodness!” Piea exclaimed as the creatures emerged. “That’s a lot of skeletons!”

“We’ll weed through these things like they’re chicken feed!” Cane replied dismissively.

Lev immediately stepped forward. “Could I be in front of everyone?”

“You?” we gasped.

“I have an idea,” he said, annoyed.

“You always never want to be in front,” Bert Askew, who had followed us into the tunnel instead of watching the horses, added unhelpfully.

“All I want to do is cast a spell and then run into the back,” Lev replied testily.

“Don’t put me forward!” Kelm protested when Piea suggested he join Lev. “I’m not playing this crazy ‘in the front’ game. That’s not how I roll!”

Lev cast a cone of cold down one of the tunnels, freezing the group approaching us from that direction.

“Maybe we should stay out of your way,” I bowed to him as the rest of the skeletons tried futilely to overwhelm us. Piea, despite her weakness, reaped them like wheat, leaving a very skinny one for me to polish off.

We searched the side rooms as Cane rode Sizzles like a “lover,” in his words.

One wall was adorned with weaponry, shields, armor, tattered banners and standards; interspersed with scenes carved in the wall of battle, pillage, and conquest. Flaking pigment was all that was left of the once brightly colored walls, which looked as if they’d been defaced by repeated blows from a weapon. At the far end of the room a withered corpse lay atop a stone catafalque, bony hands clutching a sword.

It did not take lightly our disturbing its slumber, rising with an eerie moan as we entered the room.

There is no reasoning with the undead, dear Pino, try to remember that. I ignited my sword with Flames of the Faithful while Kelm and Piea engaged the creature. Piea took a good shot from the desiccated swordsman. Kelm hit him with magic missile. Using Sizzles as a diversion, Cane thwapped him hard across the skullcap. Then we all took our turn as the creature concentrated on Piea. Incredibly, Lev and Kelm took this moment to argue the finer points of power attack while I finished him. He had:
•    +2 fey bane bastard sword
•    broken chain mail
•    heavy wooden shield

Everything else had been removed long before, although how the tomb raiders had avoided waking the overly sensitive warrior is beyond me.

Once more outside the chambers in the sweet night air I reflected that there was still a lot about our realm that we do not know. I thought pensively about Lily and then about you, my most faithful friend. I trust that you have spent your day productively.

All my affection,
Uncle Marquand

Letter Seven—Order of the Eel

Dear Pino,

Though writing you these letters may seem odd since we live in the same town it’s become a habit of mine and helps me order my thoughts, keep a record, and is a good way to introduce you to the ways and byways of the world outside your home.

I hope your nightmares have ceased since your encounter with the werewolf. Sleep should be a time of peace and security. I hope the lessons in self defense taught to you and Little Bill by Big Billee Weaver return you to the confidence you once felt. I swear by all the holy gods to never let it happen again.

Yes, the rumors you've heard about your old uncle are true—of late I’ve become enamored by a young waitress at the Stumble Inn, Lily Teskerton. She’s one of the few people I’ve met who actually listens to what a person says and generally enjoys what she hears, whether drover or king. I can’t help but love a girl like that. She wants a favor of me but she is offering something in return:

“I’ll give you my father’s (bless his roguish soul) +1 cloak of protection,” she purred as I sat at a corner table at the Stumble Inn. Her eyes shone with delight—as does yours when you’re wheedling Little Billee. “You see, my old Dad’s birthday is coming soon and I want to get him some Elven art, like the kind they find in the ruins south of town.”

“I’d settle for a kiss,” I replied like a schoolboy as she blushed prettily. I admit, Pino, I have affection for this girl, it is true, even though I’m less sure she feels the same for me. She greets every peddler, smith, and ox-herd with as much affection as she shows me. It does not matter, for to see her smile, to hear her laugh, to have her attention for even a moment, is bliss. Always remember, dear Pino, a pretty smile is worth more than gold, and kind words travel far. As the bard sings—

Pictures of Lily
Make my life so wonderful
Pictures of Lily
Help me sleep at night.
                       —Eel Pie Music

“I like her hair,” Piea sniffed. “But she’s a whore.”

Before I could chastise her for incivility there was a sudden commotion from across the room. “I swear I saw it fellows,” a man said loudly, slurring a little from the alcohol he was carrying in his big round belly. “I saw a hodag!”

“Sure you did old man.”

“I did! Lizard like thing with big sharp fangs,” he waved fingers from each corner of his mouth. “Swallow a punk like you in one snap.”

“Where it would take two or three snaps to gulp you down!” one wag laughed. “If it didn’t choke to death.” The table erupted with laughter.

“I stuck my magic spear twixt his ribs,” the old man replied stoutly. “That slowed him down enough that I got away—but I left my spear twixt his ribs.” He burped sourly. “T’ain’t had good luck since.”

“Why didn’t you get it back?”

The old drunk shrugged, a dazed look on his face. “Back hurts fierce these days, don’t got no use for it no more is why. My eye ain’t what it used to be and my hands shake from the drink.” He sighed, sitting back against the wall. “The man that can get it out of that beast is welcome t’ it.”

“Aw shoot,” one of his pals consoled. “Lemme buy you a drink.”

With that I took my leave, wishing Lily a good night with a peck on the cheek. The air was crisp and the streets empty as I walked home. There was a light on in your window and I hoped you were studying your lessons, or meditating on the divine, or writing in your journal as I taught you. In the back yard I share with you and your mother I knelt under the bower of trees next to the fangberry bush, clearing my mind of fighting and politics and planning  and Tuskland; of you and Pirna and Lily; of big and little Billee. Only then could I follow the true path that Erastil clears for each and every one of us—if only we will see. Hours later I woke to the music of the mourning owls in the hour before dawn. I washed in cold water out at the pump in back as I made ready to meet my colleagues for our next adventure.

We rode southeast through the Camelands along one edge of the Tuskwater, where cliffs rose high above the water; brambles and nettles tearing at clothes and flesh. Down below was no better, the shore infested with stinging turtles. Still, when Lev noticed a faint trail leading down we followed it.

The inlet at the bottom seemed peaceful but we soon noticed the torso of a woman lay on the nearby sand and in the water bobbed a severed head. In fact the entire beach was strewn with pieces of the unlucky travelers who had stopped, perhaps, for a cooling dip in the water. “That’s pretty gross,” Piea allowed.

In the distance I saw a giant snapping turtle—Crackjaw—approaching us from just below the surface. As my colleagues improbably stopped for lunch I imbued my sword with turtle bane and prepared for combat.

Kelm prepared a magic missile and singed it a little as it breached the surface. Cane shot it but the shafts bounced off its horny carapace. Piea’s blow also merely glanced off the terrapin's horny shell. Lev tried to sneak behind it but tripped noisily, getting bit on his butt for the trouble. I missed on my judgment but Cane finally hit as Piea cracked it’s shell. Lev scooted behind me as the turtle bit off a piece of my ear, causing me to miss again. Kelm slapped him noisily as Sizzles distracted the beast allowing Kelm a second chance and this time blood gushed from beneath its shell. The turtle then bit off more of my flesh and I began thinking of the better part of valor when it left its neck vulnerable and I was able to kill it with a desperate thrust.

We found only three coppers and a key with padlock on the creature’s unfortunate victims.

Cane then decided to explore the inlet further, diving underwater to find a blue-green elemental gem buried in the mud near the southeast shore. You have undoubtedly learned in school there are four varieties of elementals, each one summoning a different nature’s ally. Ours calls on water elemental.

We also found a skeleton buried there in the mud, tattered brown robes and a stone symbol marking it as that of a cleric of Erastil, praise be his name. We buried him and the remains of the others in a small grove of trees not far from where we found him.

That evening we had turtle stew for dinner, with succulent nettles and some kind of root Sizzles and Cane dug up near the swamp. We wrapped Crackjaw's head in “embalmer’s leaf” (tobacco), after soaking it in brine in our kettle. I wondered if this would earn me Lily’s kiss in lieu of Elven art.

“You’ve not got a kiss yet, much less head,” Lev jeered.

“Ha, ha, ha,” Piea mocked, before sniffing with a sideways glance, “She does look like a barmaid.”

“Ah, Mr. Citizen One,” I thought looking at Lev. “All things come in their time.” Then a sudden notion—can Piea be jealous?

We headed southwest through more plains. My old friend the raven—Kudra, I’m calling him at your suggestion—appeared to escort us along the way, dropping some presents upon a traveler we met who called himself Philbert Askew XII. His face looked like the south end of a north bound kobold—crimson and black. We gratefully bid him goodbye at a fork in the road.

In the northwest where the Tuskwater empties into Candlemere Lake we found ourselves boxed in a narrow defile between the hills leading down to a hot spot where a pool of stinking mud bubbled. Fungus, red and fragrant, and large towering flesh-colored mushrooms thrived along the rounded muddied hillocks nearby.

“This is freakish,” said Cane while dismounting. “Maybe we should take a sample.”

“Be careful,” Lev cautioned to Cane’s disgust as a large shape loomed up behind him. Sizzles growled warning while we watched a monstrous plant shamble our way. “It’s a tendriculos! Lev gasped.

 “That’s gross!” Kelm cried.

“It looks like giant lady parts,” Piea added unnecessarily.

It towered 25 feet in the air, voracious gubbering maw and razor sharp thorn teeth gasping and sucking greedily as it approached, tentacles reaching for flesh, grappling Cane who frantically broke away.

Piea chopped a big chunk out of it as choking spores flew in every direction, but it slowed not a whit. I pulled out my longbow and let fly, but what good is a plant bane weapon when you miss? It laughed at Kelm’s acid splash.

“Ho, ho, ho, ho!” it rumbled deeply, suddenly turning on Sizzles. As the gallant wolf lay trapped and whining Cane chopped frantically to free his companion. Lev slipped in the mud, falling with a frail yelp.

Piea missed her attack but it was enough of a distraction for me to strike deeply, to the root of its root. It was like cutting into the heart of an artichoke 25 feet high with no butter. Kelm slammed it with a magic missile as it grabbed Sizzles by the tail, swallowing the frantic wolf like a pig-in-a-blanket! With a mighty oath Cane cut through the giant plant and suddenly the fight over was over.

We quickly released Sizzles from her fibrous tomb. As she shook the slime free of her coat we celebrated a muted victory. Kelm found five eroded coppers in its gizzard but little else.

The next day we went east, but all we found were empty grassy plains. Nothing of Lily’s ruins and so I can’t find the art for her she desires. If I don’t win her kiss soon someone else may beat me to it.

After some discussion we proceeded to the ferry station southwest where the Shrike River branches off from the little Sellen River. Long disused, there were half collapsed rotting wooden buildings on each bank, used by kobolds, mites, and bandits by the look of the detritus we found there.

“A fine place for a city,” said far-seeing Lev as he gazed about with evident satisfaction.

West we traveled after that, following the river as it meandered through more flat land. After several hours ride we happened upon the hill giant we’d heard so much about. He was licking his fingers next to a smashed jug. We approached him cautiously while he remained unaware of our presence. A terrible brute, he seemed upset, smashing his club against trees and rocks. I was hoping that we could convert him to our way but the others in our group were not quite as sanguine.

“Brrrgh!” the giant (known as Munguk) raged. “Bhuurrrrrrrgh!”

He looked back at the broken jug, licked his hand, then got mad and started smashing stuff all over again. “Rhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhgh!”

“Giant!” Kelm called as Lev tried to shush him. “We’re here to help you!”

Startled, Munguk charged Kelm with a look of rage on his face.

“Jackass,” Lev muttered as Piea laughed.“Yeah, jackass!” she taunted.

“Maybe we can talk about this!” Kelm cried before the giant thwacked him stoutly across the choppers.

“Rhaargh!” Munguk exalted as Kelm’s blood and teeth sprayed out over the ground. Kelm immediately huddled behind his shield of faith. Meanwhile, Lev crept up to the giant’s smashed jug, quickly fixing it good as new. “Phiisst!” he hissed, “Hssst! Stop now or we won’t fix your jug.” But it only made the enraged hill giant madder.

Sizzles crept up behind Munguk to trip him but got smacked for her effort. I pulled out my sword making it hill giant bane and charged, drawing blood.

Piea also charged but she was off-balance, missing with a wild roundhouse.

“Rhhrargh!” he hollered, running straight for your dear uncle, hitting me so hard I saw flashes of light circle my head like birdies. Lev threw faerie fire, which was impressive to see but didn’t do a lot of damage. Kelm, though, paralyzed the creature, who then stood dumbly while Cane chopped his head off. Sadly I watched the blood spurt from his neck like a Sunday chicken as the huge body sunk to its knees.

“Face is red, raise the head,” Kelm intoned. “Face is pale, raise the tail.”

“Poor giant,” Lev mourned sadly, although the truth is that we could never have reasoned with the monster.

He had a satchel in which we detected magic. We stripped him of:
•    hide armor
•    giant great club
•    a sack in which there were:
o    9 throwing rocks
o    3 unmatching boots of various sizes
o    wooden bowl and spoon
o    empty jug
o    strips of dried dwarf-jerky
o    a jar with a partially eaten pickled sheep’s head
o    a bent grappling hook and five feet of frayed rope
o    a battered but still functional spyglass
o    gnarled piece of magical driftwood—a wand of hideous laughter, 10 charges
o    necklace of fireballs, type II, one remaining
o    crude map on the back of a smelly uncured piece of hide

Kelm was able to decipher the map, which showed a place nearby labeled “Mean, ugly, troll men!”

“More good news,” Cane muttered.

Late that night as the full moon rested on the nearby scrubby pine we heard a rider approach. It was our own Skot Skevins, who rode up to cheers of welcome from our group.

“I’m glad I found you guys,” he said, breathing as if the horse had been riding him instead of the other way around. “You need to get back to the town—there’s trouble!”

“Oh shucks!” Piea grumbled as we wearily broke camp and mounted our horses for the ride back to town.

Skevins couldn’t tell us much about what had been happening but did say, “A guy rode into town recently and he’s talking smack against you guys. People are listening to him!”

“Is he sexy?” Piea asked.

“I’ll tell you what,” Kelm interjected while affecting a hick accent—“Them percolators, they’re no good people. . . . Raising this town from a swamp,” he whined, sorely aggrieved. “And his pal saying, ‘Yeah!’”

“Yeah,” echoed Piea

“Giving us places to live and jobs,” he continued, sounding like a Restov punk.

“Those jerks! I hate those guys.”

“Giving us means to make a living.”

“His name is Grigori!” Skevins spat, ending their banter. “A real revolutionary. Reminds me of Comrade Lev before he came south.”

Lev let that pass without comment, although Piea giggled and Cane scowled. A half day later we arrived back in glorious Tuskland.

Back in the P.U.R.K
You don’t know how lucky you are, jerk
Back in the P.U.-P.U.-P.U.R.K.

The Tuskland girls really knock me out
They leave Restov behind
The Elven lass
Really kick my ass
And Tyg-Titter-Tut is always on my mi-mi-mind

Guitar solo

—Skot Skevins, Anthem #9

There we found Grigori standing on a table in front of the Stumble Inn, giving one of his infamous speeches. There was nothing prodigious about him. His voice was high and noisome, he sweat profusely while swinging his arms violently to make his ridiculous points—all lies and fabrications. Erastil teaches that all men can be represented by some animal and this man was a fox. How I longed to brand him charlatan!

“I accuse this, this quintumvirate of gross negligence!” he growled. “They abandoned the town again and again to go gallivanting through the Narlmarsh on fool's errands. They’ve left you exposed to banditry, monster attacks, and worse. Think about the werewolf that showed up. Where were they?”

“We killed it!” Piea yelled as the crowd drew back from us with a discontented murmur.

“Let him talk,” said Kelm. “This is a free country.”

“Is it?” Cane muttered darkly.

“Maybe they’re the ones responsible for the attack,” Grigori taunted. “They’ve been running around stirring up trouble. What about all the wealth they’ve been accumulating on their trips?” I had to laugh at this. Would you and your mother be wearing hand-me-downs if I had access to great wealth, or even a decent wage? I’ve given everything to this land, we all have. “I don’t see them helping others,” Grigori went on, spittle coursing from his mouth. “Look how well fed they are!”

“I feel personally offended,” Piea replied.

“And the priest,” he said looking at me, “drooling after princess Lily.”

“Yeah, that’s right!” someone in the crowd yelled. “This guy makes a lot of sense.”

Lev had heard enough, stepping forward suddenly.

“My god, it’s the Baron!” Kelm whispered sotto voce. “I think you should challenge the Baron in debate,” he added more loudly.

“I will challenge the Baron in debate,” Grigori agreed confidently.

“Challenge accepted,” Lev replied evenly. “Tomorrow, noon, jackass.”

“No, no, no,” Grigori replied, shaking his finger slowly in admonishment. “No, Comrade One—right here! Right now!”

Lev looked around at the crowd. Some were hostile, others longed for excitement, for blood, and a scant few were ready to be carried by the tide of the debate. He waited until they had dragged a table for him to stand on before replying. “So what’s your problem?”

“You know what the problem is,” Grigori accused. “And the people know what the problem is,” he smacked his lips, pointing an accusing finger our way. “You are the problem! You have caused all of the troubles!”

I reached for my whip.

“We have caused none of the problems,” Lev replied dismissively. “In fact, this town would not even be here if not for us.”

“Listen to them,” Grigori sneered. “So full of themselves.”

“We are full of ourselves,” Piea objected loudly. “We literally have a decree that says so!”

“We don’t need another king,” Grigori replied dismissively.

“We don’t need another king!” Lev agreed. “We need a populist government that is run by the people. We need to stand up to see that there is no hunger and that every person has a shelter over their heads.”

“We’re the rulers, we can kill him if we want,” Kelm said quietly aside to us. “We can let him make his speech. . . .”

“If we kill him that will only confirm that we are despots,” I tried to reason despite my concern over his relations with my fair Lily who stood watching with eyes aglow from the doorway of the tavern.

“Is she shacking with that guy?” I wondered aloud.

“What?” Kelm asked me incredulously. “Are you jealous?”

“What are you trying to do, intimidate me?” Grigori taunted Cane, who stood in front of the table, glowering like a nether-god. “What are you going to do next? Are you going to attack me and cut me down right here in front of the people? Is that the kind of rule that you have?”

“We have laws here that we acknowledge and respect,” Lev protested,

“When they are advantageous to you,” he accused. “Otherwise, you’re not around.”

“My sword is now asshole bane,” I threatened.

“Careful,” Kelm laughed cruelly, “You may have to drop it.”

I felt properly chastened for letting jealousy rule my tongue. Thank you Erastil for speaking with the tongue of the oracle, Kelm.

“So where are you from?” Lev asked, finally going on the offensive. “Who are you? Are you a citizen of this country or have you just come here to cause problems? Sent by foreign agents, mayhap?”

“Listen to them making up stories. I am just helping you, fair citizens. Many of you have invited me into your homes. I’ve broken bread with you, shared your hardship, kissed your daughters. I appeal to you good people. I am allowed to walk through these parts just as all of you are.” he sniffed. “Are we not all free to walk?”

The crowd’s mood once again shifted.

“So what would you do differently?” Lev asked.

“What would I do? I’d be here and I’d lead,” he stated, gesturing sincerely. “I would be a leader to the people. A real leader who cares, who will invite you into his house.”

“I don’t like this person,” Piea growled, adding, “I love this guy.”

To my horror I realized that I loved him too! Clearly a spell was at work here, he was cheating. If only they had let me brand him when I had the chance!

“Violence in not the answer. Violence is what these would do,” Grigori gestured towards us. “Your so-called king or baron or duke or whatever he calls himself. He would cut me down were you all not here to witness.”

How prophetic his words would prove to be.

“He’s a violent man,” he concluded, pointing at Lev.

“I am anything but violent,” Lev sniffed and for once everyone could agree. “By my goddess, I do not stand for the unjust and overthrowing or murder of people!”

“He lies,” the man spat on the ground. “I’ve counseled women who have been attacked by this man.”

“Not Lily, I hope!” I pleaded, despite knowing my ensorcellment.

“Let Lev's accusers come forward,” Kelm demanded but no one stepped forth. A hush fell over the crowd.

“You are lying through your teeth,” Lev turned bitingly on him. “You have been here but days. You know nothing and yet you proclaim to know everything about our nation.”

“I have been here longer in a row,” Grigori replied, flustered at last. “More days in a row than you. You show up, change your clothes, have another virgin, and then run off again. We all know it, don’t we?” he gestured to the crowd.

“Yet the majority of the government stays present for the majority of the people,” Lev stated majestically, puffing out his chest out like a Flame Storngbird. Once again the crowd was listening to him. Then, as suddenly as it had come, I felt the enchantment leave me. The crowd seemed to deflate at first, but then their hearts filled again with anger—toward Grigori.

“Throw him off the stage,” cried a citizen.

“What should we do with him?” added others.

“Crucify him!”

“Let him go,” Kelm said firmly, standing.

“He’s here for a reason,” Lev objected, ignoring my offers to brand him once again. “But he used magic to influence our people so we are going to take him in for questioning.”

“We could beat him up,” Cane rumbled.

At this point we stopped and, looking around, realized everyone was listening intently to our debate.

“No, he walks for now,” Kelm insisted.

“Uh-huh,” Lev finally agreed.

“This isn’t over,” Grigori threatened weakly, quickly jumping from his dais and stalking off toward the Inn.

When he was gone the townspeople—once again our townspeople—crowded up to congratulate Lev. “Hey, you’re back!”

“We, we really weren’t gone that long,” Lev futilely protested before climbing back on his table to give a patriotic barnburner: “There are monsters and boggards and jackfrogs and hill giants are threatening to kill our city and crush us and we’re off saving the day!”

Once he’d sated the crowd we continued our discussion about Grigori. I wanted to severely chastise the man—he was both unprincipled and a menace. Kelm and Lev spoke with voices of reason—wishing merely to question him, possibly win him to our side. Ultimately, though, they felt releasing him was the price we paid for the kind of society we are trying to create—FREE, whatever that is. Is the bird free of the sky? Piea sat on the fence, undecided whether to question the man or "chop his f-ing head off." Cane entertained darker thoughts still.

We found Grigori at the Inn, preparing to depart. “I don’t want to talk with you,” he said truculently. “There is nothing to say. I’m having one drink and then I’m leaving.”

Piea tried to win him over with her feminine charm, fluttering her eyelashes and speaking with a breathless husk.

“I’m wise to you, sister,” he said dismissively. “You’re a tease.”

“What a loser,” she retorted to his departing back.

He went out to the stables, saddled up his mule, and immediately left town. In a killing fugue Cain followed him as the rest of us watched, unwilling to either join him or stay his hand. “I’m really glad this guy’s going to die,” Kelm muttered, watching him go.

“I want him to die,” Piea agreed. “He was really starting to make me angry.”

“I can’t believe that you flirted with him,” Kelm groaned.

“I did what I had to,” she said dismissively.

“For the record I do not approve of this action,” Lev stated mildly.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“That’s why you have plausible deniability,” Kelm the politician observed.

“I actually had no idea this was going to happen,” Lev protested.

“No one will believe that,” I grated. It’s not his murder that bothers me, Pino—I’ve seen his kind many times—eventually he would have swung at the end of a rope, but damn it, we could have squeezed Grigori dry for information about the doings south of here. Followed him and discovered the people he associates with. There would be no need to kill him—his bosses would have done that for us.

And there is a bigger issue. I initially left the cult of Aroden—left the service of the Issian noble houses—because Aroden’s worship is at its heart based on injustice. No one should be made inferior by convention.

All power needs opposition. It’s the way rulers learn what concerns their subjects. Demagogues come and demagogues go but Lev should be able to best them in debate—even if the other guy is using magic—and if he doesn’t then maybe it is time for him to go.

Opposition gives the people a valve, like in a wind instrument, to honk their concern. The music you hear may not always be pleasant, but it’s important that you listen. If you shut it off—as the ruling caste of Brevoy has done—the pressure builds until the bladder splits. That’s when people die.

The next day Cane and Sizzles returned to town carrying the items they’d stripped from the Grigori’s hot corpse:

•    3 potions
•    scroll
•    caltrops
•    +1 chain shirt
•    masterwork buckler
•    +1 rapier
•    short bow
•    132 gold pieces

My share of the blood money I gave to the town indigent, something Grigori might have wished if he really was sincere.

“He used magic to unduly influence people,” was Cane’s excuse. “It’s a dangerous wilderness, I hear,” he added disingenuously. “That’s why we have to go out and kill things.”

“Exactly,” Piea agreed.

“We killed the giant plant that ate that wolf!” Kelm added excitedly, a boy once more.

As we passed the square we overheard a man saying to his friend, “They just went off and killed Grigori in the middle of the night. He might have had information valuable to the city.”

“Yeah, he might have had some information there, jackass,” Lev grumbled with disgust.

“We don’t have to justify . . .” Kelm protested.

“We could have asked him to surrender, got his information . . . and then killed him,” Lev replied, shocking me more than anything Cane has done. Our little group has become like the ancient Order of the Eel, too slippery for its own good.

“Where was he from?” Piea wondered, much too late. “Why did he start all this?”

“Now we’ll never know.”

The next day dawned a beautiful morning, clear blue sky and the tang of autumn in the air. I stopped by your house for breakfast and was surprised to hear you humming Skevens’s Anthem #9. Perhaps the boy has something there. I was unsurprised when Big Billee and Junior showed up for breakfast. It sounds like his skill as a carpenter has been put to good use here in Tuskland. And Little Billee even had his hair combed, although I can't say he looked happy.

Then I walked through the streets with the other early risers to reach the Citadel where I spent the morning reading and answering letters from other followers of Erastil. I then joined my colleagues at the Stumble Inn for lunch where we also administered our barony: building roads, farms, and extending our realm south.

Then our business was interrupted with more immediate concerns. The distraught parents of young Tig Tannerson were escorted into our room. (Wasn’t he the one who gave little Billee a bloody nose at school?) It seems his hobby of collecting pets along the wilds of the southern green belt has gotten him in trouble and he has been missing for several days. We agreed to search for him.

Afterward, at he bar, Piea was drinking a ladyfinger (well, a 40-oz. ladyfinger) and chatting with the man next to her, citizen Arven, he introduced himself. He was wearing a hat covered with fishing lures and his face was like something caught on one of those lures—watery, eyes protruding, one of which looked adoringly at her while the other wandered around the room.

“I don’t know which eye to look at,” she later complained.

He then told her about his secret fishing hole. “Best durned place in the universe,” he proclaimed. “Full o’ them wall-eyed pikes,” he intoned raptly. Piea wetted her lips with one finger from her glass as he spoke. “Then it was invaded by that nasty old Crackjaw, which was some ill-tempered beast, you betchcha, chewed up half my buds afore we got away.”

“Crackjaw?” Piea laughed. “You got no worries, handsome. We killed and ate that thing.”

“Garshk,” he replied. “You ate him. No wonder you got such pretty hair, with all that turtle protein in it and all.” He ducked his head bashfully, pulling a small box out of his pocket he held it out towards Piea. ”I was going to give this ring to whoever got rid of old Crackjaw but if he’s already gone . . .” He batted his wayward eye at Piea. “I admit I’m kinda sweet on you, gal. I don’t want to spoil it by giving you a ring,” he apologized, standing. “Maybe we’ll meet again sometime, I hope.” He retreated awkwardly out the door.

Piea watched him go before turning to scowl at the men in the room. “I need a man who’ll let me benchpress him!” she growled as everyone quickly found something else to do.

The next morning we were once again on the road south, figuring to visit the old witch first. Who else is likely to abduct a child? Tig was last seen building a raft southwest, where he intended to cross the Skunk River and explore the western bank of the Tuskwater. Following our map we soon came to a small dilapidated mud brick hut atop a low hummock in a fetid marsh. A trickle of smoke emerged from a hole in its roof. A wooden fence on the perimeter was hung with crude fetishes crafted of sticks, feathers, and animal bones. My old friend the raven cawed from the top of a nearby cypress. A scarecrow stood in the front yard. A rusted bell hung from a length of rope next to the gate. We pulled the rope and a heard a flat clanking noise.

An old woman peered out through a window. “Go away,” she croaked.

“Good afternoon, Ma’m,” Lev said like a door to door salesman. “We’re from the new city of Tuskland and we’re interested in making your acquaintance.”

“What do you want?”

“We’re looking for a boy who disappeared in your area.”

“I was wondering when someone would come looking for him,” she grated. “Tig! Somebody’s here for you. Come on in,” she added gently, swinging the door open.

As we passed the scarecrow its button-eyes seemed to follow us speculatively.

Inside the cluttered room Tig sat playing with a wooden toy nearby a bubbling cauldron of stew. “I was just exploring,” he said, as bad a liar as Little Billee. “She’s so nice,” he added. “She’s a good cook.”

Lev introduced himself to her.

“I know who you are,” she said, sourly. “Trying to civilize the land.” She paused, looking us over with her googly eyes, reminding me of Piea’s boyfriend. “Good luck to you. There’s a lot of dangers like the mad hermit. He’s west of here. Watch out for him. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Is Candlemere Castle haunted as they say it is?” asked Kelm.

“Will-o’-wisps infest the area,” she said as we groaned.

“Some say there is an ancient evil . . .” she continued ignoring us, “older than the gods themselves.”

“Actually,” Kelm interrupted her. “There might be something you can help us with. We’re looking for ancient Elven ruins. Would you happen to know where they are?”

She paused looking closely at Kelm for a long moment. “I don’t know of any.”

She played with her rolling bones for a time as we sat quietly. I was happy just to rest in her overstuffed chair. How did they transport such a thing across a swamp?

Finally she spoke. “I know of a barrow where an ancient warrior is buried. They say it too is haunted.” She paused again for another long while.

“Then there is the lizard-folk tribe on the island in Candlemere. At the mouth of the river to the west is the lizard king—he can do anything.”

After another pause Lev asked, “Is there anything we can do for you? You’ve been so much help.”

“There’s a mud bowl nearby. You should be able to find a particular mushroom I’m looking for—black rattlecaps. I’ll give you 100 gold pieces for every one you can bring me.”

“No problemo,” Lev promised, "We were just over there, rumbling with an enraged plant.

The old woman smiled. “Take Tig back with you. His parents need him for now.”

We waited while they said goodbye. They both tried to play it tough but then tearfully embraced before parting. She gave him a magic sigil. “I’ll be back—when I’m older,” he said, glancing defiantly at Lev.

“Shall I brand him?” I idly asked.

“I already have,” she cackled, “although you’ll never see it, little Tige here wears the mark of The Old Belledame!”

“You said your name is Elga!” Tig interrupted her cackle of triumph.

“Ah wee lad,” she sighed, patting his head affectionately.

She then served us tea.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Piea said, refusing the cup offered her. “You seem so nice, why do people call you crazy?”

“It’s not easy being green,” she shrugged with a gap-toothed grin.

Lev took Tig back while the rest of us revisited our little battleground with the tendriculous where we discovered that our battle had destroyed much of the crop, leaving only 11 black caps. True to her word the old woman paid us 1100 gold.

On the way back Piea started telling us about her fisherman with the lazy eye, “I want to visit him again,” she  stated.

When Kelm dared to make a crack she hollered, “Shut up! Let me have my fisherman with the slightly lazy eye. It’s endearing—I’m a very complicated person!” she added.

Getting back to Tuskland I wanted only to see was my bed but we were immediately confronted with a tacked up notices:

“Rumors of a dragon haunting the southern Narlmarshes are assuredly overstated,” the first one read. "The evidence indicates the source of the rumors is merely a forest drake. However, several people have lost their lives, therefore the marshal has determined the beast must be put down. The kingdom offers a reward of 1200 gold pieces for the first group that can claim a forest drake in the Narlmarshes fallen.”

The other was an offer of 600 gold pieces and three potions of cure moderate wounds for shamblesap taken from a shambling mound for the production of medicinal herbs. I can say that only a sap would approach a shambling mound but on the other hand I could use the money.

See you Sunday brunch!

Your loving uncle,
Marquand

Letter Six—Tree of Woe

Dear Pino,
The Skunk River makes its way from east to west through this part of the woodland proper as the land slopes down into a boggy mire. In the dim murk we saw two ruined structures in the near distance. Two aged creatures waited there. “Some sort of outpost?” Lev wondered.

“For lack of bread the dog is dead,” Kelm declaimed. “For lack of meat the dog is eat!”

“What?” someone muttered. “Should we be writing this down in case it comes true?”

I could only shrug as I cautiously pulled out my sword, Blind Justice.

Sizzles smelled something she didn’t like, holding back. Cane lagged with her, bow at the ready.

Emerging from the muck came a giant boggard, pale, old. “Truce! Truce! Truce! Truce! Truce!” It pleaded in a thin high voice, huge bulgy eyes regarding us with alarm. Imagine that one of the frogs Little Billee loves to slip past your collar weighed 200 pounds. A slurk lurked behind him and it was even more disgusting, stewing in its own rancid slime. Kobolds often use them for mounts but no other creature can stand to be near them. 

“Speak your piece!” Kelm called over, readying his crossbow.

“You go! Hungry,” it said, pitiably.


“What do you need?” I asked it.

“Boggard, slurk hungry,” it repeated. “You go. Me die!”

“Don’t die,” Kelm pleaded, sounding worried. “That’s crazy talk.”

“Slurk die. Hungry.”

“Maybe we should feed these guys,” I wondered.

“We’ll give them some rations.”

“Bug," it repeated dismissively. "Go. You go. Truce.”

As you’ve studied in Mrs. IIrkle’s class, boggards usually live in large tribes, but we detected no others nearby. What, if anything, they were guarding they were the last of their kind.

“Bug,” he repeated. “Snake.”

“You know, those tatzlwyrm carcasses we killed are an awful lot like a snake,” Cane mused. “We’ll come back and bring food,” he told them.

Back at the river Lev fished while the rest of us packed what remained of the tatzlwyrm carcasses onto one of the horses. The poor thing laid its ears back with disgust and we made it trail us at a goodly distance as we returned.

Once more the boggard came out to shoo us off. “Go. Die. Slurk hungry,” it called as we approached. We left the vermin infested carcasses there and backed off. Cane and I took the packhorse aside to wash the stink of death from her as the slurk dragged the bodies back to the smaller structure.

“Why are you here?” Cane called over to them after the sound of ripe flesh tearing had subsided.

“Hungry. You go.”

“We go ruins.” I said.

“You go. Truce. Me hungry. You go.”

“You eat, we’ll go.” Lev finally decided.

“Me die. Me die.”

“No die. No die,” Lev pleaded.

“Let’s explore this later,” Kelm said returning to the horses. “After they die they die.”

“Truce. Truce,” it called after us and we replied in kind. “Maybe you should make an edict restricting this area,” I suggested to Lev as we rode away.

We traveled west of the Skunk River through the forest. The rhythm of Autolycus’s gate was soothing, the air smelled of the woods, sweet and good. It was quiet except for the buzzing of the insects, unscathed by the harsh hand of man’s retribution. In a glade of sorts, amongst the shrubbery, we found a tall dim shape overgrown with brush, vine and tall grass. Nearing it I could see it was a statue long disused, the forest slowly reclaiming it. It was of a man with a fierce stag’s head. “Erastil,” I gasped.

“That’s nice,” Cane echoed.

The closer we approached the more certain I felt. Surprisingly, I noted that Sizzles wanted no part of the effigy. Cane stopped beside his friend as the rest of us slowly approached it.  I felt deep peace

“What is it, girl? What is it?” Cane asked the wary canine, but she merely nosed at some rather flamboyant scarlet lupines, refusing to go further.

The statue had not been attended in a very long time, but I was struck with the notion that there had been worshipers here at one time. This land has not always lain fallow, or been as wild as it is now. There was once civilization and order and people living in harmony with the world. I vow that it will be so again.

Kelm accompanied me to the base of the statue. “I’ll help answer questions,” he said seriously, “because you’ve got the magic sense of a bug.”

It was nearly 15 feet tall, vines growing up its sides, tough tendrils grasping the stone like a child grasps its toy. Tall grass grew along the pedestal as a bunny started away at the sound of our approach. I heard Sizzles’ thin whine. Hesitating, I raised my hand to the stone, which was warm and reassuring, alive with the power of Old Deadeye. Flowers, blue as the air, grew by its base.

Finding no reliquary, the others wanted to leave immediately but I insisted on paying Eristal the honor of cleaning the detritus from his statue. I also cleared out a large area about it, kneeling to give Him His due. The statue glowed with inner fire as Erastil’s power flowed from it into our weapons, anointing them with a keen edge spell. Unfortunately, because of his wolf’s reluctance, Cane did not share in our blessing.

“I don’t need that,” he sniffed.

“Haw-Haw!” Kelm mocked while pointing at him, like Little Billee does when he sees Grandpa Roy trip and fall.

Finally, we reached our border through the forest. To our surprise we found a journal lying there, as if thrown in distress and abandoned. When we opened it there was an even greater surprise when we recognized the handwriting of our spymaster, Skot Skevins. A spymaster’s business is his own but we read it anyway as we continued southeast through the woods. A goodly portion of the document was devoted to his attempt to write a national anthem. This is the only part I can report to a little girl:

Let Tuskland be blessed 
Land of the free
Our land is the best
It's got lots of trees

Let Tuskland be blessed 
Land of the free
Our land is the best
Can I sleep with ye?
© Copyright 4708 AR Tuskgutter Music LLC.

A work in progress, as they say.

The deeper we penetrated the forest the quieter it became. Soon even the birds had abandoned the sky. We came to a stagnate body of water, a foul odor rising from a miasma of filth.

In the muck we found the body of a long-dead unicorn, strangely uncorrupted, as if everything around it had rotted in its stead, leaving it pure. Its eyes stared milky white. Even so, someone had dared desecrate it, removing its horn. Suddenly, Kelm began shaking like a tubthumping cleric taken by vision of apocalypse. With doom in his voice he told us of “how powerful crazy fey creatures of the first world can leave their victims marked in a way that sheds a strange aura of repulsion of natural life,” he tolled like a bell ringing at midnight. “It’s as if the animals can sense the anger of the powerful fey and know better than to involve themselves with such a victim!”  

We left the incorruptible unicorn there as we found it. There are many fey in our country and we’ve always tried to treat them fairly, but the thought of such a powerful being running free through our woods sent shivers down my spine.

The trees thinned out and we could see the beautiful rolling hills climbing out of the valley. We came upon a wild patch of zong. Praise Erastil and his bounteous land! While I’ve never acquired a taste for it myself I believe that it helps people become one with their deity.

We reached the wooded extreme southwest part of our territory but there was nothing to be found there. My colleagues relieved their boredom by discussing the design of our standard.

“Our flag should be a bunch of rivers coming together,” Kelm suggested.

“That’s nice,” Lev agreed. “A bunch of rivers with a tusk, a skunk, some emblems. . . .”

“And me slashing some guy’s throat as he sleeps,” Cane ended the discussion.

We soon came across “a peaceful forest glade. A small pond lay placidly in the dappled sunlight at the roots of an enormous oak tree, a scattering of leaves floating upon its surface. Birds twittered in the branches high above.”

Trusting his instinct Cane called out in Sylvan and was answered with a beautiful melodic voice that we followed to a scene of recent violence, where a dryad sat weeping over a fallen satyr.

“I have to say that the fact that there’s a bunch of fey in our kingdom freaks me out!” Kelm whispered hoarsely.

“No way!” Cane protested.

“I hate the fey!”

“You hate gnomes, you hate fey, you’re just an anti-everythingite,” Lev lectured.

“That’s not true," Kelm protested. "I love machines.”

The dryad's tears fell into the pool creating tiny ripples in the still water reminding me of a song the bards of Restov sing:

“Ripple in still water,
When there is no pebble tossed,
Nor wind to blow.”*

The satyr lay unconscious but not dead. “There’s a tree,” she gasped out between sobs. “Rotten heart! It’s become sentient. Malevolent. It attacked my friend, who was protecting me. It is too strong.”

“Help us help you,” Lev coerced her gently.

“How can I help you? I fear that once the tree finds my grove all will be lost. It will kill me. And devour me.” She sat weeping as the rest of us watched helplessly.

“Slay it and I will reward you,” she finally stammered.

“Let’s go kill the freaking tree!” Cane growled.

“He lives in a blind hollow just a few miles south,” she pointed despondently.

“It’s outside our charter,” Kelm said.

“Not if it’s disturbing our land,” Lev tersely replied.

So we traveled southeast, across the border.

Eventually we came to a wooded clearing about 50 feet in diameter. There was decay there, like the decay surrounding the unicorn, and the horses snorted nervously. A gloomy place with little sunlight breaking through the canopy overhead. Sickly trees, their branches knotted like the hands of grandmother Barnes, lined the perimeter as if something was sucking the life out of this spot. Vegetation grew fitfully in ragged clumps, and bones—some human—were strewn about haphazardly. We had dismounted and were proceeding cautiously when Sizzles lifted her leg to do what dogs do to trees only this tree would not suffer the indignity. With a roar it lashed out at the hapless wolf, clubbing her senseless to the ground.

“Sizzles!” Cane and Piea shrieked. I hurried to stabilize the stricken canine as Piea raised her great axe and power-attacking the tree of woe, twice missing in her haste like an angry crosseyed woodsman. Kelm plunked it twice with his bolts but the monster barely noticed the inconvenience. Cane followed and took a hard shot in return.

I stabilized Sizzles and ran to flank the tree as it savaged Piea, missing with a weak shot from my bow. Lev hit as Piea groggily slashed at the tree to no avail, dodging its attacks in her heavy armor.

Imbuing my bow with flames of the faithful I buried an arrow deep in its wood. With a scream of frustration it erupted into flame. We watched until we were sure there was nothing left of the malevolent lumber. 

We found amongst its roots:
•    3 pieces of amber worth 100 gold apiece
•    a folded up bundle of cloth that unfolded into a robe of bones

Though distasteful Kelm said he has uses for it, modeling it as if he was on the main stage at the Garment Festival.

We returned across our border to Tiressia, for that was the dryad’s name, and Falcoas, her satyr friend, who had awakened but was still too weak to do little more than flirt with Piea and Cane.

Tiressia gave us each a feather token in gratitude and one for Sizzles. We offered her our continued protection, prohibiting loggers and hunters from coming near this part of our realm, a reservation, if you will.

She also gave us:
•    a wand of cure light wounds, which Kelm took
•    scroll of summon nature’s allies, which went to Cane

Finally, she offered to act as our eyes and ears in this region as we bid her farewell. It’s good policy to make friends with the fey. It serves the balance of Erastil. Besides, “No society stands easily when based on injustice.”

We stopped at Melianse's arbor to plant five of the feather tokens as we'd promised. This earned us a kiss—even Sizzles—and we celebrated that evening at a fey cotillion by the sparkling waters of the Skunk River. Its waters somehow sweet in the dappled light of the waxing moon. The dancers were sparkling with St. Elmo's Fire as they made their rounds. Melianse asked me to dance and I said I could not but she insisted and—you will be amazed—I finally gave in. You would have laughed and applauded if you had seen me there in Melianse's arms; I was floating in air like the moon and the stars.

Even so, Tuskland never looked more beautiful when we finally returned and, once my duties had been completed and Autolycus given a good rubdown, I hurried to your home. For your Mother I had a silken purse, to replace the one stolen from her on the road from Restov. Little Billee got a book of the Parables to see him through his adolescence, and for you, little one, I brought a dress I’d admired on one of the nixies, who immediately took it off to give to you—I blush to think of it, but to them it’s a simple act of friendship.

But the warmth of family was soon replaced by the cold of evil. While we were away a murderous rampage had begun outside of town where first animals were found slaughtered in their pens, then a young maid picking berries by the light of the moon. Most recently, a shepherd boy and much of his flock, were found soaking in their own blood.

“Not the little sheep!” Piea cried despondently.

At the ceremony for the Tree of Life, where we planted Sizzles' feather token, I saw you there in your new dress with little Billee and soon after was thwacked on the head by a bean. Fortunately for Billee I did not have time to investigate the matter for immediately after the ceremony we began our investigation of the murders. People told us that they have been hearing an eerie howling at night, but not like that of any wolf they had heard before. Only one old man nodded his head saying that he recognized the sound from when he was a boy as that of a werewolf! "Woe betide ye!" he bespoke with satisfaction.

Next we examined the bodies. I won’t describe their condition but it was frightful. 

“Watch this,” said Kelm, eyes rolling back in his head as he placed a hand on the bloodied head of the dead shepherd boy, Bevin. What killed you, boy?” he intoned.

A horrible gurgle issued from the poor boy’s throat. “Wolf.”

Next he turned to Saki, the berry-picker girl, her thin form ghostly pale except for clots of gore at throat and breast. “Was it a wolf that killed you?” Kelm asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Outside of town we found wolf tracks leading into dense shrubbery. Emerging from the other side were the footprints of a human leading back into Tuskland. We lost the trail in the confusion of city streets.

At Fangberry's Inn we were told of a young barbarian tribesman new to town by name of Kundel. No one knows anything about him except that he keeps strange hours and mostly to himself. Since he was not in we asked the innkeeper to unlock the door for us, citing our authority and the large whip I was carrying. Inside, the room was almost as disgusting as Little Billee’s. There was a partially eaten tomato-cheese-hog pie and, under his bed with a soiled pair of underwear, a girl’s dainty ear, its golden earring matching the one on poor Saki’s other ear.

As we were leaving the inn an improbable and unrelated thing happened. Do you remember Sneed, one of Kesten Garess’s troops, the one who deserted? As we were leaving the inn we overheard one man say to another, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Sneed.” With shock we recognized the man he was talking with as one of the Stag Lord’s followers who had escaped our judgement. We quickly collared him—he was meek as a kitten—hustling him straight to Garess, who kept his word, giving us the four masterwork weapons he’d promised. How stupid must Sneed be that he would visit the very town where both Garess, his former commander, and Akiros, his former bandit colleague, live? It shows you, Dear Pino, that the weed of crime bears bitter fruit.

The night was to be the last of the full moon, perhaps our last chance to catch the werewolf, for he would probably move on afterward. We baited our trap with Kelm and Piea—pretending to be lovers, entranced with themselves, oblivious to danger.

At first I had trouble recognizing Piea, who had shed her armor and was wearing a filmy white dress. Only the battle-tattoos on her biceps gave her away and these she kept covered with a thick woolen shawl.

For his part Kelm was dressed as a young fop without a care in the world, which means he dressed as himself. “Oh we’re so in love and so unarmed,” he sang offkey.

“We’re so drunk,” Piea tittered, lifting her dress to show off her smooth supple legs. “Our inhibitions are lowered!”

“Let’s play this out and get naked!” Kelm suddenly bellowed with glee.

“Woo-hoo!” Piea agreed, pulling the dress over her head, revealing for a moment the tattoo across her belly that reads, “Heartbreaker” in green, red, and gold. (I know you’re young for this kind of information, Pino, but you need to know of the world as it is, not some fantasy concoction of merchants and clerics that will lead you astray.) “All the way!” she hooted. “I’m not pretending at all . . . I’m really virile!”

“I will cast a spell on you,” Kelm giggled.

“An aphrodisiac spell?” she whispered.

“No,” he stated matter-of-factly, “a spell of protection to replace your armor when we fight the werewolf.”

“Oh,” she replied, disappointed. "You're playing a part."

"And you're being silly."

Tomruen: Lunar Libration with Phase

They quieted down some after that, making noise only whenever a passerby happened upon them. Around midnight—full moon deep in the sky—a subtle movement passed as shadow as the half-man/half-wolf loped into town. We quietly applied silver sheen to our weapons.

“I’m so drunk!” Kelm hollered.

“Oh, yeah,” Piea echoed.

The shadow ducked between two buildings, ignoring the “lovers.”

“Tarnation,” Piea grumbled. “I didn’t think we were that bad.”

Then a woman screamed in the next block over, I suddenly realized, your block. Then the scream of a child. "My god, no!" I cried running toward the sound.

“Forget it,” Kelm called after me. “They shouldn’t be out after curfew. We have to set an example.”

“I say thee nay!” I’d recognized your voices—the werewolf had you and your Mother!

Piea reached him first, still in her skivvies, but not in time, for he had already ripped Pirna’s throat. I called for justice in despair, cutting him across the buttocks.

With a snarl, the lycanthrope turned on me, taking a chunk out of my arm with his great axe. That’s when I overheard Kelm casually say to Piea, “Oh, by the way, I didn’t get you that spell of protection yet because you were running.”

She hesitated incredulously as she realized that she was protected only by her underdrawers (admittedly linked mail). “What did you just say?”

Fortunately for Kelm, the werewolf lunged at him and he had an excuse to move on to help your mother, Pirna. “I stopped the gurgling,” he called proudly a moment later.

Despite her vulnerability Piea wailed on Kundel again, but I was distracted and missed him. I saw you there crying in terror beside your mother. I vowed the creature would soon be weighed on the scale of justice!

Cane, also eager, reached out to stab the werewolf, overextending his arm. With a move straight out of the Swordlords' academy, the werewolf’s axe lashed out, slicing Cane’s hand off like a round of Aldorin baloney!

“Noooooooo!” Piea cried as we all watched his hand fly off and the blood gush forth with each pump of his great heart. Sizzles picked up the hand by the palm, returning it to her companion with tail wagging. He looked on it with disgust as I helped him apply a tourniquet to the stub of his arm.

“You can get a hook hand,” Piea said encouragingly to him. “That would be cool!”

“How am I supposed to use a bow?” Cane replied incredulously, ignoring the pain. “Everything I do is based on two hands!”

Meanwhile, Lev had continued plinking at the werewolf from afar with his crossbow. Then Kelm stepped forward and simply touched the ravening creature in just the right manner.

With a gasp it froze unmoving, eyes bugged out comically, half-human, blue. He fell to the ground with a thud. I rushed to you and Pirna’s side, joining you in your tears.

As Cane continued waving the stub of his arm around like a frustrated Sunday-school teacher my colleagues stripped the werewolf of his possessions:
•    +1 Great Axe
•    potion of remove fear
•    11 gold pieces

Before I cauterized the end of Cane’s arm I had him dip the stub into warm zong tea to somewhat anesthetize the wound before I applied the searing heat of my brand. Cane barely flinched as the smell of searing flesh filled the room (although he quickly drank the rest of the tea).

The next day, after seeing to it that you were studying your lessons despite the previous night’s uproar, I walked to the citadel to confer with the others over our nation’s monthly report. Now that the werewolf is gone there is no apparent discontentment in our realm (except for Cane). Consumption is balanced with what we produce and we have an 11 rating on the New Stetven Hitpoints index. Our first order of business was to claim the area we are lumbering—the better to oversee operations—and we also began upgrading the strategic southeastern corner of our realm. We have twelve good, safe, roads and new farmland east of town.

In old business: Lev announced that he had had a promising response to his marriage proposal from House Lebeda who were proud to offer a cousin of their grande dame, “Waltzing” Matilda.

Afterward, Cane and Sizzles immediately set out to find a sorcerer to reattach his hand. He says he hopes it will feel “softer” to the touch than his previous hand, which he intends to bury beneath the statue of Erastil.

Finally, I want to tell you that on my journey I met little Billee’s father, who, it turns out, did not die of his wounds after the bandits’ attack, although I regret to say his mother did. Big Billee Weaver will be coming to your home soon to pick up his boy. He says he’s going to live in Tuskland so you’ll still be able to see your playmate and he’ll have a father to severely chastise him the next time he hits the Inquisitor with a spitball.

Your loving uncle,
Marquand

* Lyrics by Robert Hunter, Ice Nine Publishing Co., Inc.
.