# The Nosnibor Letters. (in association with Tariff's: Order of Initiative Campaign)



## The Wizard Nosnibor (May 10, 2006)

(( The following Fairly Regular Story Post will constitute a series of Letters written by my character The Wizard Nosnibor to his Aunty Beryl.The letters will be in a roleplaying format from the characters point of view about the events that have happened within the game, i'll try and give a different perspective and also try and show Nosnibor's personality in a fairly light hearted way. Nosnibor has just joined the 'Just a simple escort' scenario in Tariff's 'Order of Initiative Campaign', he is a 4th level Elven Wizard. I have played this character in several campaign settings and he has travelled fairly exentsively... He was initially a character in a campaign of Birthright that i played many years ago, i've always had a soft spot for the character and was eager to bring him back into play. The most important things to note about Nosnibor is that he is Neutral Good.. With a heavy emphasis upon the Good... Oh.. And he Loves teddy bears   ... First i will Post the Brief Description of Nosnibor that i gave to tariff for our game... Then i will Post his first Letter, which is a quick summary of his background up to the point that he meets the party in the Order of Initiative game. I will Post further letters as things happen in our game. As we play Tariff's game in the Klooge Online Role playing Table top times of Post will Vary. Combat tends to take a while within the game and Interection happens swiftly. I'll Post further latters at appropriate time. So here goes, and i hope you enjoy it.))


The Wizard Nosnibor

The Wizard Nosnibor is a very tall and gaunt elf with short brown hair and strangely unfocused yellow eyes, his surprisingly large and pointy ears (even for an elf) are stuffed bulgingly under the woolly Bobble hat that is pulled tightly over his slightly too large head. His face, though obviously young in elven terms, is creased with laughter lines around the eyes, and with the dazzling smile that that almost constantly adorns his features.

The Wizard Nosnibor is a happy and temperate soul in a world of darkness and evil. He sees the good in everything and everyone, and presumes that everyone else does too. Though the goodness that The Wizard Nosnibor believes in permeates everywhere, he hardly even believes in evil, for the wizard Nosnibor evil is just the state of matter that is waiting to be good, negative good if you will. There is no bad, just potential for good. He is the last optimist aboard the Titanic, deciding to listen to the next tune that the Band plays before heading for the life boats. 

The fact that the world is not like The Wizard Nosnibor sees it bothers him not a jot. He has found the perfect occupation to bolster his world-view perspective. As an adventurer he can battle the negative good (or the potential for good as he would see it) with abandon, though he often rationalises his attack as self defence. If the absence of good is destroyed then good will surely fill the void? 

Though for The Wizard Nosnibor the battle against negative good is not enough. He truly wishes to convert. Surely those monsters would want to live like civilised folk if only they knew the advantages of a good life style? Surely monsters and the ‘Alingmently Challenged’ can be trained to eat at the big boys table?


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## The Wizard Nosnibor (May 10, 2006)

((Ok.. That was the character Description... Here is the First Letter))


Dear Aunty Beryl,

I send my most sincere heartfelt apologies for the unacceptable amount time since my last correspondence however Pussy and I have been very busy in our essential and very important job of saving lives and doing good works. Many things have changed in our lives since my last missive to you and there is much I should to impart to you about our current circumstances. I’d also like to ask you about the downy hair that appears to have started growing in my… Well I’ll talk about that later. 

When I last wrote Pussy and I had just been accepted into the employment of the Duke of a land called Rhoesone, my job title was Court Magician and Worker of State Accepted Wonders and Pussy was given the title of Minister of Cat Affairs. These were esteemed positions with lots of responsibility and a special hat. I was also given a special Horsie to ride whom I called Robinson. Pussy got a rather natty collar too.  As the job was in a Country of Men I knew there would be a lot of differences to Elven Society and that tolerance to our ways would be surely lacking, especially towards our regular playing of the biscuit game. Though Duke Rhoesone himself was a lovely man with nice bouncy hair and a little curly quiff that made him look so regal and handsome, he had some advisors who had distinctly anti-elven views, though I’m sure they had good reason as they were also lovely chaps. So after a short time in the employ of the Duke it turned out that I was an evil traitor to the crown (and poor Pussy was my demon familiar) and was banished into what I remember from my 11+ as a Circomvoluted Interplanar Vortex, which was a bit of surprise to me as I’m sure you can guess. Poor Robinson got turned inside out in the process; it’s quite interesting how that sometimes happens with Circomvoluted Interplanar Vortices. Remember Cousin Norma and the accident with the Reticulated Negative Energy Prism, the Thaumaturgic Void capacitor and the pickled herring? Oh how we laughed! 


And so Dear Aunty we found ourselves conveyed to the world of Faerun, which is a marvellous place filled with wonders abound and magical sparkly things in abundance. I even found a new Horsie to ride, whom I called Robinson. And so my self and Pussy and Robinson all set off into this new world to look for adventure and make our mark. Though not like Pussy makes her mark, as that is rude and not polite in civilised society, though it appears to be completely acceptable in Pussy society. This seems odd as Pussy Society seems to involve a lot of cleaning and sleeping and licking of things, which would indicate that they’re cleaner than us yet they make woopsies on things to mark them. I’ll have to ask Pussy about this in more detail when I have time, perhaps I’ll tell you what she says in another letter.

Pussy and I weren’t in Faerun very long when we came across and joined a wonderful band of jolly do-gooders who were out in search of excitement, adventure and honourable deeds of daring do to do. There was Rugrat a brave and hearty warrior of the Dwarvern diminutive race. There was Suzie Creamcheese a white witch and shape shifter of fey power. There was Jadus a Holy man filled with wisdom and revered for his divine channelings. There was Blackmore an eloquent Bard who played music to make the very celestials themselves weep. Oh what a happy band we were! We were brave, and we were strong, and after some initial problems we were clean of tongue once they agreed to take up my idea of using a swear box.   

We travelled to an area called Icewind Dale, which was an area to the North of Faerun that was very cold in climate and snowy all of the time. I had such fun making snow men and having snowball fights, though as Protection from Normal Missiles appears to work on Snowballs the others have agreed to play with me less. I wished we’d have had time to go skating or sledging, but we had daring do’s to do and I was quite busy knitting scarves for the other members of the Party. I have been recently experimenting with that nice Herringbone pattern that Nanny Peggy used to use; it makes for lovely warm scarves. During our time in the North we fought many fell creatures that appeared bent on attacking us most grievously, though they were probably really nice deep down. 

We took up a noble quest to free the wife of a friendly druid whom we’d met. A charming man with interesting personal hygiene called Agurather. On our travels my Horsie Robinson sadly drowned, which is odd as I always thought Horsies could swim. I was ever so upset and Pussy was inconsolable but my nice friends Jadus and Blackmore held a funeral and sang songs for him, it was very moving and I cried a lot. But I knitted some nice woolly hats for everyone and this made me feel a lot better. After travelling on this adventure for some time, and after many trilling encounters with numerous violent monsters, who were probably just misunderstood, we came across the evil wife-napping Zilrus. So with the brave Rugrat fighting bravely, and the fluffy Suzie Creamcheese turning into a lovely fluffy bear to fight bravely( and fluffily), and the Holy Jadus channelling the power from his Holy god to fight bravely, and with Blackmore raising our spirits with a rousing tune and fighting bravely, and with me helping in my own minor way we eventually defeated the evil (though probably a little misunderstood) Zilrus and freed Agurathers lovely wife Serelis from an icy bondage. 

Also for my help in this endeavour I was awarded Zilrus’ mighty magical mace, which was also a wand of great power and could also help chill drinks. I was so proud that my companions had entrusted me with such a great responsibility that I feel this is a testament you your guardianship of myself as a child and I dedicated my custodianship of this artefact to you and Uncle Nobby. Oh what a happy day that was! Agurather and Serelis were so happy to see each other that there was smooching and tears of joy; I can feel my ears burning at the happy memory of it even now. Our happy band had saved the maiden, defeated the villain and been rewarded with treasures beyond our imaginings. I my self was so happy that I cried copiously, though it was rather cold and my tears turned to ice and nearly froze my eyes shut. 

After this daring adventure our coterie of courageous companions returned to a town called Haskan Port, where we purchased a lovely Piebald Horsie to ride, whom Pussy and I agreed to call Robinson. In Haskan Port we had some thrilling adventures which involved a misunderstanding with some Ogres, some Hobgoblins, some Astral Constructs and an Annis, all of whom I am sure would have been lovely people under different circumstances if only they had not become preoccupied with the guarding of some Magical Manacles. Why do certain races feel the need to find a magical whatnot and defend it with their lives? They never actually appear to use said whatnot, they just seem to want to stop anyone else from using it. I’m sure this is what comes of being selfish and of having been denied love and cuddles as children. I’m sure this is the solution Dear Aunty; Orcs and Hobgoblins and those sorts just need more cuddles. Though this could get a little tricky in the case of a Gelatinous Cube, perhaps soothing music would work? I know many people call these races the ‘Monster’ races, however this is certainly a racist and bigoted point of view and should have no place in any right thinking adventurers vocabulary. I have come to start thinking of these monsters and evil villains as the ‘Alingmently Challenged’ or the ‘Differently good’. If only we could think of better ways of dealing with them than hacking them into little bits or blowing them up. Oh do tell me you views upon this subject Dear Aunty; I know you have a fine understanding of Adventurer Ethics and your valuable opinions on this subject could help me through a difficult moral dilemma. Pussy thinks you could help too.

Well after all of our recent excitement in the frigid North Country our band of happy adventurers decided that it was time for a holiday in warmer climes. So contacting an experienced Mage of our recent acquaintance he has agreed to use a powerful teleport spell to send us to a more equatorial region on the morrow. Blackmore says he is pining for balmy evenings and dusky maidens because he has an itch to scratch, whatever he means by that, I have offered to show him how to make a soothing ointment though he has refused. Though it will be nice to be in more clement weather I hope it won’t be too warm as I feel my knitted scarves will become redundant, and the big woolly jumper I’m making for Rugrat will be of no use to him at all. I am also worried by the looks of our ‘Experienced’ teleporting wizard, he got rather squiffy in the Tavern tap room last night and I worry about his capacity to correctly and safely get us to our destination. Suzie made an excellent suggestion saying that I should be Teleported first because I was a Wizard and would be able to make sure he was casting the spell correctly, and Blackmore made a joke about making sure he wouldn’t jog the wizards arm as he cast it. I agreed to this, but am not wholly sure that I will be able to tell whether he is casting it without error as I myself am unable to cast this spell. Perhaps I’ll learn how to from the wizard?

Well Dear Aunty I am going to finish this letter as it is time for me and Pussy to go to bed. I have a big day of teleporting tomorrow and I still have all of the parties ironing to finish. I hope this letter finds you in good health and please send my love to Uncle Nobby and the family. Pussy has asked me to send her special regard to the mice in the Kitchen.

Your Loving Nephew

The Wizard Nosnibor


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## Greyhawk (May 15, 2006)

*Caught Out*

Hum, I think one of the party just peeked over the wizards shoulder as he was writing - and in plan text too!


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## Greyhawk (May 25, 2006)

Dear Nosy

I am very grateful for your letter but as you know I can’t write much what with my arthritis and all.  I am glad that you are doing so well, nobody in our family has been a wizard and we are so pleased that you are making a success of it.  I hope that you are remembering to change your underwear regularly, adventuring is a dangerous life and you never know when you might be taken ill (all this foreign food) or even hurt by one of the wild beasts.

You uncle was a wide beast once but that’s all in the past, he rarefy gets out now and still has problems with the – well you know all about that.  You don’t take about your friends and this Port that you were going to try on them.  I hope that they are all nice people and not likely to get you in scrapes.  As you mum said, you some girls are not all they should be and can take advantage of a young elf.  We don’t want the work filled with half-humans do we?

If you are near any big cities please look around and see if you can find some more of that nice soft wool that you gave me for my name day.  I am half-way through a really nice warm cardigan for you.  It is very colourful as I know that you like that kind of thing and I have put your name on the front.  Well I could fit it all in but I’m sure that nobody will notice.

That nice Galadriel as gone and got herself engaged, you know her she was at school with you, a year or tow below you.  Well her mother said that her elf had been seen with human girl a few years back and that although it had been very serious at the time nothing had come of it.  The girl was a real tartar and when she found out it wasn’t the real thing she broke it off – just like that. 

Look after pussy!  She doesn’t like it away from home and she is only on loan until Granny Eltoniela gets better.

Lots of Love

Auntie Beryl


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## The Wizard Nosnibor (May 26, 2006)

Dear Aunty Beryl,

What a terribly exciting time Pussy and I have had recently. I must tell you all about it. I scarcely know where to start; it’s all been so very exhilarating. Pussy says she just knows you’ll be thrilled. In my last letter I was telling you that our band of daring doers was planning to ask a friendly Wizard to Teleport us to a nice warm place so that we could put our feet up for a while and have a bit of a holiday. You know how my nose gets all snuffley and drippy when I get too nippy, and although Pussy has nice warm fur, she also dislikes it when she gets too much cold weather. Well let me tell you in Icewind Dale there’s ALWAYS too much!!!!

So we all went to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of… Well. I’m not sure where he was from. But I think he’d just been doing his laundry because Blackmore said he thought he was three sheets to the wind. I think it was his laundry he was talking about. Suzy Creamcheese appeared to become a little upset about the condition of the Wonderful Wizard and an animated discussion ensued. I must admit that I didn’t listen to their talking much as the Wonderful Wizard had such a marvellously interesting collection of food stains upon the various robes that he had carefully placed in piles upon the floor of his quaint home. It was a simply fascinating collection. Finally they decided that the wizard should teleport us and he agreed. Suzy Creamcheese pointed at me and stated that ‘Bonehead’ should go first. Blackmore explained to me that this was a title that Suzy only ever bestowed upon those she thought were the bravest and hardiest adventurers. I must tell you Aunty Dear, I was so proud at that moment, to have been accepted so thoroughly into the hearts of my companions. I am not too hardened to admit that I shed a tear of pride then. And after they gave the Wonderful Wizard several cups of a dark liquid they called ‘Black Coffee’ he cast the Teleport spell upon me. 

Well the Wonderful Wizard seemed to start the spell off well dear Aunty but I’m sure he wasn’t supposed to shake so much while casting the cabalistic prestidigitation. And although I think Blackmore was trying to steady his arm, from where I stood he accidentally seemed to nudge the Wonderful Wizard mid-cast. Consequently Pussy, Robinson and I seemed to get sucked into an anti-rimwise helicoid curlicue, as opposed to the normal rimwise type. 

Pussy and I wonder what multiversal thread of fate has us irrevocably bound to a variety of malfunctioning interplanar vortices. They always seem to go wrong for us. And oh poor  Robinson. I was mortified to see that once again he had been rather gruesomely turned inside out.  That horse can never seem to stay in the same shape for very long. I wonder if it has something to do with the bio-thaumaturgic resonance field that is created by equus caballus? Oh perhaps circumvoluted omniplanar helix have an increase malignancy effect upon larger massed herbivores? I wonder if there’s a research grant in this? Perhaps when I get home you can ask uncle Nobby up at the University if they’d be interested in funding some extra planar research? I wonder when Pussy and I can come home? Surely the scandal has blown over by now? Anyway, back to my tale of woe.

Upon being ejected from the teleportical vortex the first thing that we noticed was that we were still in a cold and frigid climate. It seemed that the Wonderful Wizard was not so wonderful after all, it also seemed that I was once again lost and split up from my adventuring companions. Although I must say if I was jolly surprised to find that I had teleported into a rural road side area in the middle of winter, I was doubly jolly surprised to find that at the very time of my I arrival another COMPLETELY SEPARATE group of adventurers were on that very roadside fighting some evil Quadrapedal beasties. 

I ask you Aunty Dearest. What are the chances? Pussy and I were flabbergasted. It’s almost as if some other worldly force was controlling our destinies and placing us in deliberately unlikely situations. Some great and dark intelligence that creates convoluted narratives and story arches, placing us in situations of danger and peril for the sinister entertainment of some inscrutable other. I can imagine him now. A weird, bandy legged creature sitting cross legged over a checked map that represents our world, a strange glassy look in his eye as he smokes on some dubious, self rolled cigarillo and cackles wickedly as a strange, other worldly light shines off his glistening balding head. His evil grin shines mercilessly as he decides our fates on the throw of a dice as if he is playing a tune with our destiny. Like a maniacal organ grinder playing a tune on his organ as his trained monkeys dance like marionettes. Though perhaps I’m being too serious, if there is a great controller I’m sure he’s a lovely chap with a lovely full head of hair.

Two large and fearsome terrors called Leucrotta were assailing a band of hardy champions who themselves were bravely attempting to defend two honest civilians in a merchants caravan. It was all very heroic, and would have made a super painting. Although these fearless fellows were obviously capable of dispatching this pair of viciously ventrilloquistic varmints I decided to lend what little hand as I could, hoping that I would not insult them. Stepping away from the diminishing vortex I summoned up a meager magical missile and sent it towards one of the Leucrotta to give it a glancing blow. The brave adventurers all continued in their combat. There was a large Human Warrior of Obviously Noble bearing who rode upon a nobly lined destrier. There was a handsome human with a scare above his left eye who bore a Lute and sang with the voice of a celestial of the plane of good. There was a Beautiful Amazon dressed skimpily in Red who fought ferociously against the beasties. There was a huge Titan of a Half-Orc whose muscles rippled in righteous fury as he wielded a huge and wickedly notched Axe.  There was a half elf male who dressed in the manner of the Faerunian Elven folk , this fellow was single handedly battling with the second Leucrotta and had the holy aura of a powerful cleric. Finally was the most surprising member of their group. Amongst these brave adventurers was a Kobold who acted as one of their number. He spoke surprisingly good common, with none of that comedy yipping and yapping that so many of his Rhoesonian Kobold kith always seem to take as an affectation. More surprisingly he appeared to be a powerful user of magic and was sending barrages of arcane power against the beasts, hurting them sorely. Indeed I could tell I was in the presence of a group of extraordinary individuals.

As we fought several of the Band greeted me and thanked me for my timely assistance. We bantered some and the air was filled with fluffy camaraderie which left me all warm and fuzzy, despite the cold. Coleridge the Bard introduced himself to me and sang a rousing song which seemed to help all in their fighting. He seemed to be a very agreeable chap and his clothes were very bright and colourful. I must say Aunty Dearest that you would have taken quite a shine to him, even though he was human. He had such a clever tongue and his spontaneous lyrical creations had a good, solid rhyme and meter which left me quite impressed. Pussy also said she thought Coleridge was lovely too.

I was also introduced to the Kobold who was called Rizzit. What a delightful little chap he was and as I’ve already mentioned, he appeared to be of no mean arcane talent. Pussy tells me to say that Talent is exactly the term I should use for it. For unlike Cerilia Dear Aunty there is more than one type of Magic User in Faerun. Rizzit, after some explanation, turned out to be a Sorcerer. Sorcerers channel Magic through raw talent. They don’t appear to have to spend years in school and University learning the physical mysteries of the Universe and how to manipulate the raw planar energies that make up its composite parts. Oh no. They don’t have to go through years of Fagging for the head boy and being the last man up in the biscuit game. No late night games of ‘Cripple Mister Onion’ in the shared dormitories, no communal cold showers or bouts of towel flicking after PE. No, Sorcerers can just instantly do it. Probably without understanding what it is they’re doing I should think. How lucky for them. We wizards spend or best and most formative years learning the heady arcane secrets of the Universe. But here in Faerun you can usually start casting magic after collecting three tokens from a cereal box. Sorry Dear Aunty, I digress. Rizzit was a charming little fellow and was very eager to accept me and discuss the finer points of magic. And after we’d agreed that the word Magic Missile had two S’s in it, it was like were old friends.

Next the brave half elf who was single handedly fighting one Leucrotta introduced himself. He was a Cleric called Beltain which if I’m not mistaken is a shortening of the Wood Elf name Beluthian, though it isn’t actually that much shorter. But Pussy thinks that that’s wood elves for you, never the sharpest quill in the ink pot, to paraphrase Uncle Nobby. He expressed to me an interest in learning the arcane ways of the Wizard. Though why he should wish to spend years learning Wizardry from me when he can pick up the skills of a Sorcerer from his comrade Rizzit with little effort and without the slightest understanding of which direction is ‘up’ is a mystery to me Dear Aunty. But Beltain seemed a sterling chap with a very holy aura.

The knight that was sat astride the huge destrier introduced himself as Sparhawk as he heroically slew one of the Leucrotta before turning his steed to help his companion Beltain. He was a tall and impressive looking figure as he sat astride his mighty war horse and charged towards the remaining Beast. Let me tell you Aunty that he cut quite a Dash. You’d have like him. Moving with the clank and creak of heavy armour, and the smell of WD40.

There was also Feng to be introduced. He was the titanic Half-Orc who leaped about with obvious menace swinging his huge chopper. He was quite a fearsome sight, and had me all a quiver. Especially when he professed that he did not like Wizards or Elves one little bit and made terribly hurtful remarks about me. I tell you Aunty Dearest, I was quite scared. He was just a primitive and bestial chap, and although I’m sure he was really a very nice person and that his mummy was sure to have loved him. I was still very scared of him, I still am in fact. I hope he doesn’t eat me. 

Lastly the Human woman introduced herself to me as Limara, another Cleric, this time of some human battle god or other, I can never quite keep track of the many gods that this world appears to have, although there are lots of nice elven gods who seem very lovely , though they do tend to go on about trees rather a lot. I hope to meet one one day so I can tell them about our lovely deity. But I digress, I was telling you about Limara.  I must say Aunty that her attire was a little unorthodox. I’m not entirely sure that stockings and suspenders provide any armor protection at all, even when worn with provocative knee boots and split to thigh chain mail. It was almost as if she was dressed by some feverish and slight disturbed mans deviant imagination. I’m not sure if that was her Clerical uniform, but if it was I’m almost certain that her religion is run by a man, one with damp palms. Despite her rather interesting dress sense Limara appeared to be a very nice young lady. With very good manners, and not at all as Tarty as you’d first imagined she would be. Indeed I later found out that she and Beltain were an ‘item’ and had been ‘going steady’ for some time. It’s so lovely when love springs up from a mutual interest of delving into the lairs of monsters and hitting them with things. A relationship that is based on mutual hobbies will last forever. That’s what you and Uncle Nobby always say. While I’m on the subject, how is your Sentient Species Fetus Collection coming along? Did you or Uncle Nobby ever get that Spriggan specimen? Did you get the display cases up in the spare room to house the larger Goblinoid exhibits?

Well back to my tale. Using their individual skills and talents the group of adventurers quickly dispatched the remaining fell beast. Following their introductions I introduced Pussy and myself to them. As I had no transport, due to Robinsons untimely demise, they offered me a place in their wagon to travel to the nearest town. The wagon was owned by a lovely Merchant called Walter who had hired the brave adventurers to take him home. There was also a young lady with them called Deidre, who was a lovely slip of a lass, if a tad plebian in her dress. 

From talking to Walter I found out that I had been transported to a country called Cormyr, which was a good few thousand miles from my starting point in Icewind Dale. So at least the Wonderful Wizard had managed to send me a goodly distance, though apparently in rather less than the right direction. I also found out that it was snowing because in this region it was winter, so at least I would get to see some sun at some point in this area. How thrilled I will be when I can bask in the warm rays of the summer sun. Pussy and I do so miss it. Walter also informed me that while traveling in the North with a caravan of goods he had been captured by Zhents and had been taken to their evil lair to be sacrificed to their dark and nasty god called Bane. A singularly unpleasant fellow by the description. The Zhents or Zhentarim, also known as the Black Network, is an evil organization whose goal is apparently to dominate the lands from the Moonsea to the Sword Coast where ever they are. Originally a secret society, the Zhentarim appear to be coming out of their shell a lot more recently and are, by all accounts, a rather nasty bunch of religious zealots. Let me tell you Dear Aunty that Pussy and I do not like the sound of them one little bit, and shall do my best to avoid them. 

While Prisoners of the Zhents, Diedre and Walter were heroically rescued from certain death by the brave adventurers who were escorting them now. Walter secretly informed me that he thinks they call themselves the Order of Initiative, but he wasn’t definate as there used to be a Ranger in their Number who called them the Order of ‘Wankers’, what ever one of those is. Anyway, Walter says that this Ranger went off with the group on their last adventure and never returned. Though Walter tells me he was a rather unpleasant fellow so perhaps this is a good thing. After the Heroic Rescue the Order agreed to escort Walter and Diedre to their home town of Suzail, which was bally nice of them I think. It shows a great deal of responsibility to rescue someone AND insist on taking them Hundreds of miles home.

 I’m not sure about you Aunty Dearest but I think that is exactly the sort of adventuring group I would like to be part of. The rescueing captured Merchants and Fair Damsels in distress is definitely something that has always attracted me to the adventuring job, it’s one of the perks. I’m thinking of asking them if I can join their Party on a trail basis. Perhaps to see if I fit in. They seem to be a terribly nice lot, thought Feng and Rizzit do tend to use rather coarse language. I wonder if they’ll agree to having a party Swear Box? We could gather a Gold piece everytime someone swears and then we could give the money to charities of Orphanages that we pass by in our travels. I think I’ll mention it at some point. 

So having travelled in the wagon for the last few days we have reached the city of Arabel, which is a postively marvalous place. Full of rich scintilating colours and beautifully architected minarettes. I have been out shopping and have bought some lovely kitchen implements, including a wonderfully ingenious item called a Jammy Olivier ‘Flavour shaker’, apparently it will be completely indispensible in food preperation and is all the rage. I also bought myself a lovely big pony, whom I called Robinson. He’s got a lovley soft nose and makes cute wuffly noises when I feed him carrots. And he and Pussy seem to get along nicely.

I will have to sign off now as I have to go and cook dinner for the party. They seem quite fond of my cooking and I have started to find out what each of their favourite dishes are. I plan on trying to cook each persons favourite dish at least once a week, though I’ve no idea where I’m going to find pickled Halflings testicles from for Feng, and I’m pretty sure only Rizzit can digest smoldering Oak Charcoal, but he swears to me that it’s very tasty. I hope you and Uncle Nobby are doing well and that the rash has cleared up. Please send all of my love to the rest of the family, I love and miss you all very much.

Your Loving Nephew

The Wizard Nosnibor


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## Greyhawk (May 26, 2006)

*Wow*

*Stonking write-up!*
I was in fits!!!  
More!!
More!!
More!!


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## The Wizard Nosnibor (Jun 19, 2006)

Dear Aunty Beryl,

So many exciting and wonderful things are happening to Pussy and me that I hardly know where to start. When I last wrote to you I had just arrived in the beautiful city of Arabel with the smashing adventuring group called ‘The Order of Initiative’. I’ve already wrote and told you what a splendid bunch of chaps they are. Well having travelled with them a bit more I’ve gotten to know them all a lot better recently.  

Pussy and I particularly like the lovely little Kobold Rizzit. He’s such an interesting character and Pussy particularly likes his Smokey aroma. During our stay in Arabel Rizzit asked me to make our group some magical scrolls, which I was simply overjoyed do. Obviously his being a magic user of natural talent Rizzit is precluded from the making of arcane scrolls. Lacking the many of the basic literacy skills that are needed it seems. Scribing is a technique that we practitioners of Wizardry, as our Magic Use is called in Faerun, seem more able to do, and I’m pretty sure scrolls scribed in wax crayon or daubed in manure would not work. I am not surprised by this as it seems that the practitioners of Sorcery are little more than shapers of raw magical energy and have little understanding of its complexities. When making a scroll a Wizard is required to lock the thurmaturgical energies of the universe into a form both lexilogical and pictorial, creating a situation where mere reading sets those energies free in a controlled and structured manner. That is hardly possible for many sorcerers, who I’m told get most of their favoured literature from cave walls and toilet cubicles. In fact if asked to band Sorcery in with another form of magic that I have witnessed in my travels I would say that it most resembles the naturalistic savagery of monster used shaman magic. Hardly a thing that can be classified with the same status as the most noble and worshipful art of wielding the Higher Disciplines of Wizardry. Saying this dear Aunty, I would not belittle Rizzit for his use of a lesser magical art. He is such a lovely fellow possessing an incisive, if rather raw and unschooled intellect, he makes a great conversational companion if I speak slowly and stick to words of few syllables. Though he is an uncomplicated chap he also seems to be a person of deeds and action and is a brave and steadfast companion for all of his faults.

In Arabel I also did a lot of shopping for cooking supplies and ingredients, I had such a lovely time. And I bought a lovely new collar for Pussy with a nice Disk with ‘Pussy’ written on it. It’s so nice and smart, but alas Pussy refuses to wear it because she says the wearing a collar marks her ‘as being under the yoke of the fascistic oppression that is endemic within modern pet ownership’. She also said that having a ‘familiar’ is a privilege and not a right and that I should not seek to ‘Brand’ her with my mark as if I was urinating upon a tree to mark my territory. Pussy is such a silly-billy and I do wonder where she gets her ideas from. I also bought some lovely kitchen implements, including a marvellous device that chops, grates, and dices and can be used as an off-hand parrying weapon. The man I bought it from assured me that I would never use another kitchen implement again. And I must agree that it seemed splendidly utilitarian. 

So we stayed in Arabel for 11 days in all and we had a lovely time. We also met a simply splendid new travelling companion who seemed happy to join the Order. He was a Dwarvern fellow Bibabobalobalos, which surely can’t be his real name. Though you never know dear Aunty, Dwarves are just as strange in Faerun as they were in Cerilia, though there seems to be a lot more of them here. This fellow, who asked us to call him Bob for short, was a Rogue by profession, which leads me to another great difference between our worlds. 

In Cerilia if a member of the party specialized in the talents of moving silently, sneaking/hiding, opening locks and finding and disarming traps he was called a Thief. Not as a derogatory term but simply as a professional title. It’s a bit like an ethnic classification in that when a thief is without a capital letter he is simply that: A man who steals. If he is titled with a capital letter he is a Thief. And thus of the venerable and ancient profession of Thieves, Lock pickers, trap disarmers and dungeon delvers. He is politically a Thief, as it were, and is thus a smashing and useful chap to have around. I’m not saying they didn’t do a spot of thievery too, but that was mostly on the side and entirely different to Thievery. However in Faerun this is very different. In Faerun Thieves are called Rogues, which I find very curious. From my studies of the limited histories which mention this incident it appears that at some unspecified and not much talked about time in the past some very well coordinated groups of Thieves banded together with some Faerunian Wizards who lived near the Coast (or so their titles indicated) all at the same time and jointly petitioned both Governments and Ecumenical Organizations to universally change their career title to that of Rogue. Even the Gods of Thieves seemed to agree; fore they became the Gods of Rogues. It’s all very strange and I wonder why they did it. Perhaps they thought that Rogue had a more dashing ring to it. Admittedly it does have a lot less of the pikey sound to it and a lot more of the Swashbuckling Bon vivant. Though I myself prefer the old ways. You knew where you were with a Thief dear Aunty. I know Uncle Nobby would agree.

So along with our new companion the Order of Initiative gathered together to discuss our onward journey to Suzail, which is the Capital City of Cormyr and where we would have to register ourselves and be licensed as an official Adventuring party. Which is a simply lovely idea. I wonder if we can have badges and Identification cards with ORDER OF INITIATIVE written in large letters on them. Perhaps we could have a team uniform? I could knit everyone cardigans in team colours? I wonder if they’d like Tangerine and Lime green?

Coleridge, who you would like very much Aunty Dearest, had been gathering rumors and news of the happenings in the surrounding area. He’s such an industrious fellow, and he cuts quite a dash with his floridly colourful clothes and his roguish (Though not Roguish) good looks. Coleridge informed us of a rumor that he had heard in a local tavern about an old man called ‘Old Tom’ had gone missing from his home. His home was slightly to the south of the city and appeared to be not too much of a diversion from our route to Suzail. It was quickly agreed that we would check out this mystery as we passed. 

I must tell you Dear Aunty that this sort of thing sends me all a quiver. I was so proud at that moment to be involved in a Brave Adventuring party who were so eager to help the simple folk. Coleridge merely had to mention this mystery and the whole group was biting at the bit to spring into action. It was a lovely moment, it really was. 

At first glance this situation appeared perfectly normal and our reaction was fairly standard though when I think more about it in some depth it seems a little odd. Coleridge hears about an old man who has gone missing while he is in a tavern. How come he, a complete stranger in town, heard about it before the authorities did? And if the authorities had heard about it how come they hadn’t looked into it? How come the person that was talking about it hadn’t looked into it? Or the friends he was talking to? Surely the last person to find out about the disappearance of ‘Old Tom’ would be the strange adventurers in town? Though when I come to think about it, this certainly isn’t the first time I’ve picked up a rumor in a town that has lead me to a thrilling episode of adventure. And I’m sure it wasn’t the first time that this has happened to the others either. In fact, it seems to happen rather a lot.  Why does no one but the newly arrived Adventurers ever follow up on rumors of vanished Old men? Or the kidnapping of young virgins? Or the destruction and ravaging of that nearby village by the invading war band of ‘whatevers’ that have recently moved into the area? Are the simple classes just lazy? Cowardly? Surely not. Certainly the people of Arabel didn’t appear so. Pussy and I thought they were lovely. And the patrolling Purple Dragon Knights seemed very nice, shiny and brave. More than capable of dealing with any manner of local problems. 

It’s almost as if this, and many other past exploits have been designed specifically for our notice. Though that is surely impossible, and ever so slightly paranoid. Isn’t it Dearest Aunty?

However that does remind me of a strange and interesting event from my past dear Aunty. A couple of years ago, after I had been cast out of Rhoesone and had just arrived in Faerun I had by chance to be staying at a Tavern called the Treshford Arms Inn near a Town called Daggerfalls. While sitting at the Bar in the tap room on a quieter than usual afternoon, nursing a drink of milk eating a sherbet dib-dab an Adventurer by chance entered. Being the only two patrons in the tap room at that time he came and sat at the bar with me and we struck up a conversation. This adventurer was a smashing chap named Cuthbert Longshanks, a Holy Paladin of obviously great charisma and renounce. He was so handsome and had a presence that you don’t often find in Paladins these days. He was a tall bear of a man and was extremely good company, having a boisterous and bellowing voice and a very clean and wholesome sense of humour. Not your sort at all Aunty dear, but I like him. Soon we were chatting away like old friends and as we were the only patrons in the Bar the Landlord joined us. He, by chance was a retired Adventurer by the name of Hogarth. Hogath had once been a Fighter of some renown and had settled down to raise a family and run a tavern. As many retired adventurers are want to do. The three of use whiled the afternoon away chatting of past adventures and telling stories of our exploits. I had just told him an amusing anecdote about the time when the Duke of Rhoesone had had me arrested, bound and gagged for insisting that he visit his great Aunt for Lunch when we were passing her castle when Cuthbert told an interesting and strangely disturbing tale. 

He told us that like me he was originally from another world. Cuthbert stated that he had only recently come to Faerun from a world called Greyhawk via a multiplanar vortex much like the one I arrived in Faerun through from Cerilia. This we accepted easily, being adventurers for any length of time makes people realize that transplanar travel happens a lot more often that the simple folk would like to think. And apparently being turned inside out is a side effect mostly reserved for horses. Cuthbert told us a tale of his early adventuring days in Greyhawk. He had said that when he had just qualified as a Paladin and had just been  sent out into the world to do good deeds he had come to a small village called Hommlet in an area of his world called Flanaess. This village was near the site of an ancient battle called the Battle of Emridy Meadows. The battle had taken place when a good force of Gnomes, Dwarves and Elves had fought an evil horde to destroy an evil temple. Cuthbert stated that when he had arrived in Hommlet himself and a group of similarly novice adventurers has uncovered a conspiracy where agents of evil were going to find the entrance to this evil temple and attempt to free an evil demon called Zuggtmoy. At this Cuthbert got a deep and disturbed silence from both myself and Hogarth. You see dear Aunty, Hommlet is a village near the Town of Springwater in Northern Rhoesone, and in my very first Adventure with the Duke of Rhoesone we traveled to that village and uncovered and foiled a conspiracy by evil agents to gain entrance to a near by temple of evil and free an evil demon called Zuggtmoy! Then Hogarth added an even more disturbing tale. According to him Hommlet is a village about 20 miles east of Waterdeep. He knows this because when he had just graduated from Fighters School himself and a group of adventurers had traveled there and had uncovered a plot by evil agents to enter the temple and free a demon called Zuggtmoy, then he had actually entered the Temple of Elemental Evil it’s self and fought and killed the Demon Zuggtmoy. However Hogarth had done this some 30 years earlier, Cuthbert had been to HIS Hommlet and foiled the plans to free this demon about 5 years earlier and myself about 3 years ago, 25-27 years AFTER Hogarth had killed the demon! We all described Hommlet; the church, the inn, the trading post. They all matched. This was a village that existed in exactly the same state in three completely different worlds and in three completely different times. It was as if we had each been taken to this place to uncover exactly the same conspiracy. Oh dear Aunty I know that the multiverse is a big and complex place and that many strange and wonderful things can happen in it, but surely that is too much of a coincidence. Surely that proves that there is some grand plan? Some great design? Some intricately plotted out Module written down somewhere that we all have to act out? If we all have multiple villages of Hommlet. Why not multiple Tombs of Horrors or a Vaults of the Drow? Why not Multiple versions of me or of you? Just thinking about the consequences of this boggles my mind and upsets my stomach dear Aunty. And you know I have dicky stomach at the best of times. Pussy is always telling me to be more careful about what I eat.

And so, as if by some predestined plan we set out to solve the mystery of ‘The Vanishing of Old Tom.’ It was all very thrilling and not a little bit Homoerotic. I know Pussy was very thrilled. We were a band of heroic adventurers setting out to save the lives of the Simple folk, marvelous stuff. I even went so far as to suggest my idea of using a swear box to improve our rather coarse language. Rizzit and Beltain thought this was a simply splendid idea. And uttered a few crudities and handed over some coin to get me under way, which was nice. 

Beltain is such a lovely man, despite being of mixed race. I feel that he is sensible and intelligent, which must mean that his elven blood is dominant within his mongrel make-up. He even tries to copy his superior elven progenitors in dress and mannerism, which, despite his poor efforts, is very endearing. Bless!

Mister Feng and Mister Sparhawk both pointedly refused to use my swear box however. Though I have never heard the Noble Sparhawk utter a single profanity, he seemed to be adamant that we be allowed to express our selves freely. He is such a fine and upstanding fellow, and he does so love his Horsie, who is called Faran and is himself of Noble stock and has a lovely soft nose and likes carrots. You cannot fault a man who likes Ponies, and he always keeps his armour nice and buffed. Pussy likes him too.

Mister Feng was rather less pleasant about my idea of a swear box. And eventually I scrapped the idea all together. Perhaps it’d be better to work on some of the Order’s more ‘antisocial’ behaviour traits before trying to tackle the subtleties of the spoken word. Mister Feng himself could use some lessons on a whole number of topics, from table manners to social etiquette, and I do wish he would shout less. Though I suppose he is just trying to express himself. And he has got nicer recently, I’m almost eighty percent sure that he is not going to try and eat me now. 

Unfortunately dear Aunty, things turned out slightly less than satisfactorily with the mystery of ‘The Vanishing of Old Tom.’ Upon arriving at Old Tom’s Home we quickly found his dead body dumped down his well. Mister Feng climbed down into the well and retrieved his body, I was surprised that he made absolutely no attempts to eat it, which was nice.  It seems he had been cruelly shot in the back by someone with a bow and arrow. Coleridge noted that the inside of his home had a fine dusting of soot on it and he very cleverly theorized that someone had climbed up to the roof and blocked the Chimney, thus forcing Old Tom to leave his house. He’s such a lovely clever chap. The murderer had then waited for Tom to come out of his home, probably coughing and had the killed him in cold blood from behind and then dumped his body down the well. Who could be so cruel and heartless to have done such a heinous act? Are you sure Uncle Nobby is still in Cerilia? 

I am not ashamed to admit that I cried a sad tear of grief over the body of Old Tom dear Aunty, a tear of sadness and of frustration.  For try as we might, we could find no clues as to the identity of his killer, other than the fact that he used a bow and was obviously a cold blooded murdering dastard of the first order. And as we carefully wrapped his body in a shroud and took it back to Arabel to be handed into the authorities, who would no doubt carry out their own investigation, though I feared an equally fruitless one. It seemed to me that his spirit yelled out from the netherworld crying for justice, sadly a justice that we could not supply. So much for my predestined scenario to solve this mystery, perhaps it IS all coincidence after all Dear Aunty?

So that is what has happened recently dear Aunty. We are going to set out south down the road to Suzail in the morning. No doubt we will have lots of thrilling adventures on the way. I hope Yourself and Uncle Nobby are well and tell him to keep applying his cream. I will sign off now as I am doing the party laundry tonight and gussets need scrubbing.

Your Loving Nephew

The Wizard Nosnibor


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## The Wizard Nosnibor (Aug 6, 2006)

Dear Aunty Beryl,

In writing to you another of my little missives at this time I feel that I am keeping you up to date with my recently busy schedule. Things have been rather hectic of late, and although it is rather less than a week since Pussy and I last penned some words of my adventures for your and Uncle Nobby’s eyes, so much of import has occurred I feel that I would not be challenging your attention or interests by informing you of my continued travels at this juncture. Indeed it seems that I should grasp the opportunity by the horns as it were, fore I have found little time to evaluate the events of these recently passed days. And leaving all bovine punnery aside I feel that in scribbling my thoughts to my beloved family I may be able to cogitate and process these tumultuous occurrences into an acceptable and resolved form, thus leading my rather stretched emotional state back into repose and equilibrium. At least that’s how Pussy describes it. I’m just happy enough to tell you about the smashing time that I’m having over here in the parallel dimensions.

When last I wrote Pussy, myself and my extraordinary companions in the Order of Initiative, of whom I count almost each and everyone to be a sterling fellow of exquisite demeanour and breeding, had rejoined our fated journey south. Our inevitable destination being the glorious city of Suzail, the capital city and indeed the veritable jewel in the crown of the great and noble nation of Cormyr, fore as august and distinguished as our company appeared we were humble enough to insist on continuing to chaperon the Goodman Walter and the Pure Maid Deirdre to their home town.  I myself am giddy with the thought of seeing this majestic city in all of its ingenious human build glory. Although I was a little disconcerted as Mister Coleridge told me that it was a ‘bit of dump’.

Pussy and I do so like humans, they’re so very eager, and it’s terribly endearing to watch them scurry around in their funny monkey ways as if they were the centre of everything. And it’s frightfully nice that they’ve taken that step up from living in mud huts and smearing themselves in their own excrement before going for a naked dance around the local menhir while adorning themselves in bloody animal skins and decorating their hair with the bones of their vanquished foes. Well, mostly they seem to have. It’s almost as if they’re on the verge of beginning to form developed and responsible societies and joining a larger and more mature multiverse. Though on the whole they are still wrapped up in their petty little Kingdoms and Tribes and they do still so love to rut like farm yard animals in that base and rather sticky and grunty way that they have. Despite this both Pussy and I agree that on the whole they have great potential for good. And any species that has invented both Chocolate and Boiled Sweeties surely cannot be all bad, surely?


Yes dear Aunty, Human society on this world is very different to our Elven culture on Cerilia. Although perhaps the difference lies in the nature of this very world, although there a many similarities between our worlds there are also many differences, take our Faerunian Elven cousins for example.  Faerunian Elves are not noticeably different in their physiology or psychology to our own race. Though we both look and behave in a largely identical manner the Faerunian Elves are mortal. Though rather long lived in human terms their half a millennium or so of natural life span is a fleeting ‘mayfly’ of an existence compared to the age our Sidhelien Elders on Cerilia. I have often wondered why this is. After some cogitation upon the matter I have come to believe that the very land of Cerilia must have some special magical nature that is so powerful that it imbues special abilities to the peoples living there. This would explain the Immortality of the Elves and indeed the Bloodline and Regency powers that link the Human ruling families to the land. This is a little worrying to me, as it may mean that while I remain on Faerun I will age as the natives this land do. I don’t want to get old and lose control of my faculties Dear Aunty. What if I lose those natural boyish good looks that Uncle Nobby always told me I had while he taught me to play the biscuit game and assured me it’d be ‘our little secret’? What if I lose my teeth and hair? I don’t want to be a bald gummy Wizard. Pussy will laugh at me. And I know he doesn’t like the stink of stale Urine, he often tells me so, so he’d probably leave me too.

Anyway enough about such things let me carry on with my letter. Where were we? Oh yes. Pussy, I and the Order of Initiative were continuing south while escorting Goodman Walter and the Fair Maid Deirdre.

Off we set into the frigid cold on the next leg of our journey. I handed out some of the tasteful and stylish woolly hats that I had made previously to keep the party warm. Mister Rizzit was particularly taken with the Orange and Lime green Balaklava that I gave him. And both he and our new member Mister Bibabobalobalos put in orders for matching mittens and gloves. That will keep me busy. You’d have very much enjoyed the sight of adventurers trekking through the snowy wilds, being kept lovely and snugly warm by the colourful fruits of your nephews’ labours. I know I did, and Pussy was absolutely thrilled. Although I must admit that a Kobold in a fluorescent woolly hat is a little incongruous to say the least. Perhaps it counts as a post-modern statement of something or other.  I must remember to ask Mister Coleridge about it, he is an artist and will thus surely know all about that sort of thing.

As we travelled down the southern road we came across a mysterious set of tracks that lead to an even more mysterious, and not to mention slightly ominous, pool of blood. Being thrill seeking adrenaline junkies it was quickly agreed that we would follow the tracks, though there was a little out of character dissent from Mister Coleridge. Following the tracks brought us to an abandoned mine complex which seemed to please Mister Rizzit and Mister Bibabobalobalos immensely, this was probably because they were both of a subterranean bent. 

I wonder why some races feel the need to live their entire lives underground? I always thought that creatures that live permanently underground eventually adapt to that environment physically, losing an emphasis on the important of the visual sense and become improved at the other senses. Bats can find their way using only sound. There are fish that have adapted to have no eyes at all. In short it can be said that beasts adapt to their environment. However there are whole swathes of subterranean sentient and monster races out there that live their entire lives underground and still have effective eyes. In fact many of them have ever BETTER eyesight, Dwarves see well during the day AND at night, how does that work? If tales of the Underdark are to be believed, Faerun has whole nations under the ground where creatures, societies and cultures exist side by side. They even have a race of subterranean creatures called beholders that are ALL eyeball, big floating eyes that live underground. It makes no sense. Big floating ears maybe. But eyes? Pull the other one; it has bells on it, as Uncle Nobby used to say.

So after Mister Rizzit and Mister Bibabobalobalos had spent a bit of time waxing lyrical about the qualities and wonders of Dwarven mine construction we entered the mine. The purpose of a mine, being to dig into the earth to extract a predetermined substance from the earth such as Coal or metal ore, is obvious. They’re dangerous places to work as they are often unstable and need to be shored with wooden beams; the air in them is limited and often toxic and on the whole they are dirty and inhospitable places. So naturally most abandoned mines in Faerun seem to be the home of one variety of monster or another. Indeed the mine has third position on the list of ‘place most likely to be inhabited by a monster’, beating ‘mysterious caves’ into fourth position and only narrowly missing out on second place to ‘ancient temple’ though obviously coming no where near the category leader of ‘dungeon’. It will come as absolutely no surprise to you at all to find that upon entering the cave we rather promptly came across a large group of Goblins.

Goblins are a funny species dear aunty. Pussy tells me that they usually live in groups varying in size from gangs of 4-9 to tribes of up to as many as 400, they are often are ruled by the strongest goblin in the group. Many larger tribes have wolves or dire wolves as mounts, or ally themselves with worgs, which are larger more intelligent wolves. Goblin tribes usually settle near civilized areas to raid for food, livestock, tools, weapons, and supplies. Some goblin clans will come under the control of stronger goblinoids or other creatures such as powerful evil Villains, Despots or meglomaniacal Overlords, who will generally use and abuse the goblins for their own purposes, often placing them in the vangard of their evil army, where they usually take up the position of ‘catapult fodder’.  So a goblins lot is not often a happy one. And as you can see they are ruled my might and power, their culture seems to have little respect for anything other than strength. They are also really rather unfriendly. Which is a shame, because I’m sure they have their own individual qualities. I have never met a species that wouldn’t have a pleasant chat over a nice hot cup of tea if the circumstances were right. Sadly this situation didn’t seem to be one which would be resolved with hot deverages. 

When we offered them a chance to surrender (well actually only I offered them a chance to surrender,the rest of the Order of Initiative were busy preparing themselves for slaughter) they ignored my peaceful advances. In fact as our group was of mixed race they seemed particularly eager to attack a number of us. Mister Rizzit was an instant target for their ire, as was Mister Bibabobalobalos, being of Kobold and Dwarven race respectively. Although that feeling of hatred seemed to be reciprocated by a number of our group too. It is so sad to see such racism still alive in the world today, you’d have thought that folk would learn to set aside their bigotries and interspecies animosities and take a step along the path of mature diplomacy and negotiation. But, alas no. Mister Bibabobalobalos, whom seemed such a lovely little chap who I would have no trouble introducing to you at a garden party or other society function Dear Aunty, was transformed in to a slavering Goblin hating bile machine. In fact I almost believe that he actually gained some form of advantage in his combat due to the excessive nature of his loathing. And Mister Feng, who I wouldn’t really be comfortable introducing to you in any social situation in which he was not gagged and tethered, became incandescent with pure fury.  They were both filled with in irrational hostility towards the goblins that seemed purely cultural in nature. I wonder if this sort of thing is systematically taught to them in school, presuming, perhaps foolishly, that Mister Feng ever went to one.

So as the chance of a diplomatic solution slipped away into the furor of clashing weapons and combatatively directed incantations I joined with my companions in the slaughter to be. The Goblins attacked us from both the west and south. As Mister Rizzit enchanted a large group of the goblins into an arcane sleep while Mister Feng and Mister Coleridge took advantage of this and began flailing about themselves with a variety of sharpened metal implements dispatching their slumbering foes with the efficiency of butchers. To the south a group of goblin shaman and their apparent leader lead an assault against us. The shaman formed an area of magical silence around us to confound our thaumaturgical retaliations, this is quite a simple spell, and often very effective against an adversary with arcane powers. However I quickly managed to step out of this field. Bringing forth a pre-prepared spell I summoned a giant beetle of the nether planes to assist in our assault, I also, I am sad to say, brought forth a magical missile to damage one of the poor goblins. I know we were fighting in self-defense Dear Aunty, and I am aware of the nature of goblins and their cultural ties to violent and aggressive behaviours, but it never seems to get any easier, this taking of life. Perhaps that is a good thing. 

Mister Coleridge, Mister Feng and the Sorcerous Kobold Rizzit, supported by the Good Priest Beltain were making a solid and devastating assault upon the largely unconscious goblin force to the west. Mister Bibabobalobalos, Noble Sparhawk, Myself and the honourable, if slightly inappropriately dressed priestess Limara attacked the goblin shaman and the leader to the south. While the others took care of the few goblin warriors in the southern group I completed an incantation and ejaculated forth a large mass of sticky material to entrap and restrict the shaman and the leader. This appeared quite a successful tactic and both were securely and safely trapped by my sticky conjuration. I hoped that both would be peacefully taken captive from that position. Alas, as things transpired Dear Aunty, that was not to be. 

We we’re getting to the end of the goblins. The two shaman we’re dead, alas I had to burn one with an evoked ball of flame. Not a pretty way to go, but necessary I feel. However that is little consolation when I wake up at night because I can still hear his screams of agony. The leader was still trapped in the web and the large group to the west was steadily being culled by the team in that area. Then suddenly we were beset by a new foe. A team of Dark Dwarves, or Duergar, suddenly leapt at us from under a shroud of invisibility.
Being beset with a new and powerful foe seemed to galvanize our group. We redoubled our efforts and took the fight bravely to the Duergar. Duergar are a funny race Dear Aunty. Although they are apparently a stoic and hard-working race much like their racial cousins the Dwarves, they toiling under the gaze of Laduguer, their strict and unforgiving deity, who drives them to behave in harsh and cruel ways. Not the sort of chaps you’d like volunteering down at the orphanage on their weekends off, I think you will agree. Like many evil off shoot races they have a rather predictablly deep-seated grudge against the Dwarven race, due to their exile from their midst and legends stating that the rest of Dwarvenkind abandoned the duergar to mind flayer rule thousands of years ago. You know the sort of thing that gives racial hatreds and bigotries, the world seems full of them. Another perculiarity of Duergar is that they have two very special racial abilities. Both of which are quite odd. Firstly, they can turn invisible at will. Seemingly useful at first glance. However, for a species that likes entirely underground, ie in the complete blackness, surely the ability to make it so no one can see you is a bit pointless. But that will take us back to the whole adapting to the environment argument again. The Duergars other special ability is that they can temporarily grow to a large size. Which is just plain stupid. Dwarves that have adapted an ability to become, well, less Dwarfish. Really useful that. However, regardless of how nonsensicle the Duergar species appeared they were still dangerous foes, though it became quickly apparent that the Order of Initiative were more than up to the task, even if they kept growing larger in a comedy fashion. In fairly short order more death and destruction had been meted out by our valourous band and the Duergar threat had been vanquished.

Now ordinarily Dear Aunty I am appalled by acts of violence, though I do know that logically in the cause of defending ones self and/or the general populace against threats to life and limb a certain amount of defensive violence may sometimes be necessary. Though on the whole I find even this degree of aggression abhorrent. However despite the death and destruction being wreaked by my comrades, despite the slaughter of the poor goblins and the trouncing of the Duergar, despite the sounds of the injured and dying filling the cave, despite all of these things I found this particular combat all very thrilling. Perhaps it was because my ‘blood was up’ or that a battle frenzy had over taken me, or perhaps it was a bio-alchemical reaction in my body or a overloading of emotion washing out my normally logical cognitive abilities. Regardless of the reasons I was filled with an excitement and a pride to be fighting along side these brave heroes at that time. I was part of a finely oiled adventuring team fighting the good fight against the fell creatures of the night. And at the time it was smashing fun. I felt my blood surge and my senses become sharp and honed. I am quite ashamed to admit it now Dear Aunty, but I was enjoying myself. Even though Pussy tells me that I’m being silly I can’t help thinking that this makes me a terrible person. 
Once the combat was over however it all became a little too much for me. My emotions got the better of me and I ran off from the party weeping, perhaps I had become overly tired and emotional. Or perhaps I was, as Mister Feng put it, being a big girl. Perhaps if I had not done so I could have stopped the atrocities that occurred next. Even though Pussy says again that I am being silly I cannot help thinking that if I had been with the party those terrible things would not have happened.

You see Dear Aunty some of the goblins had not been slaughtered mercilessly in their sleep. A few of them had been left to slumber and once the combat was over the remaining members of the group had bound them and taken them prisoner. Call me old fashioned Dear Aunty, but I am under the impression that once you take an enemy captive you take upon yourself a responsibility to that captive. You sign up to a moral compact that dictates a certain set of captor behaviours, such as fair treatment and good conduct, not subjecting your captives to torture or other cruel and unusual punishments. However when I had returned from my emotional outburst I found Mister Coleridge, Mister Rizzit and Mister Feng standing next to the dead bodies of several bound goblins. It appeared that they had captured, question then summarily executed the goblins. Surely this could not be I thought to my self. However Mister Coleridge was blatantly standing over the dead captives with a bloody dagger in his hand. Red handed as it were. 

I shudder to think of it now Dear Aunty. That we can descend so quickly into the depths of evil from our vantage point of good. When I protested to them about their behaviour they genuinely did not see any problem with what they had done, Mister Coleridge stated very plainly that he had killed the goblins because the had ‘ not appreciated my song’  the look in Mister Coleridge’s eye when he said it will stay with me for ever. He simply looked like a man with complete detachment from his deed. He could have just as easily been talking about the weather. It was a look that will give me nightmares. Funnily enough, it reminded me a little of the look uncle Nobby has when he comes up from working in his sound proofed cellar. Funny that.

After searching around a little in the mine area a room was found with some arcane symbols written on the floor. Upon checking the mystical runes it was observed that it was some sort of now broken portal of Drow origin. Mister Bibabobalobalos ascertained that the mine that we were in had to be an entrance to the Underdark and that we had to continue into the cave system and slay any other creatures that were there, Mister Feng and the magically talented Mister Rizzit agreed. It was at this point that the Honourable Sparhawk pointed out that we were supposed to be escorting Goodman Walter and the Fair maid Deidre to Suzail and that we did not have time to stop and carry out an extended dungeon crawl. 

A certain amount of discussion upon the subject ensued and it was agreed that the party would temporarily split. Mister Feng, Mister Rizzit and Mister Bibabobalobalos would stay and check the mines out a little further, while myself, Mister Sparhawk, Mister Coleridge and the good priests Beltain and Limara would escort Walter and the wagon to the next settlement down the road where they would wait for us while we traveled back to continue the search of the mines with the others. 

To be honest Dear Aunty I cared little for any of this, as I was just eager to get away from that terrible place and the memories of that terrible slaughter and how it made me feel. I know I must learn to harden myself against these things but such casual violence and cruelty seem such awful things to me. I am afraid that I will never get used to it. Though perhaps what really scares me is the thought that I will. That I will be come acclimatized to the butchery, desensitized to the violence, or even worse, that I might come to like it. I remember even now the joy of the battle that I felt in that cave, the surging of vital energy that ran though me and had made me feel so very alive, even as the foes around me leaked their life’s blood into the dirt. What if that feeling becomes a thing that I desire? What if I come to enjoy the killing?  Will I too become the sort who would think nothing of killing my captives out of hand without a seconds thought about it? Pussy tells me not to be silly, and that the very fact that I worry so about these things indicates that they will not happen, but I am not so sure Dear Aunty. Not so sure at all.
As things stand we have split from Mister Feng, Mister Bibabobalobalos and The good Sorcerer Rizzit and have carried on down the Galantars Way to Immersea and have successfully dropped off our charges the Goodman Walter and the Fair Maid Deirdre at a friend of the good merchant. There he will await our return back from the Mine. I write this in the early hours of the morning as I sit in my Inn room awaiting the rest of our groups awaking, in an hour or so I will go down to the stables and saddle up Robison, who is such a good and noble steed, and prepare for our journey. 

I tell myself that once we get there and begin fighting our way down into the Underdark we will be making the world a safer place. We will be fighting those who would surely venture out into the surface world and kill, capture and maim innocents. I tell my self that for every one Goblin, Orc, Duerger or Drow we kill we will be making the world safer for four or five actual, real and living humans, elves or halfling. By forging down into those subterranean kingdoms, with their populations of apparently ‘evil’ races, we are taking proactive and preemptive steps to protect ourselves and the world around us. Surely that is the case Dear Aunty? Surely that is the right way to look at it? Though what really worries me is that they live their lives down there thinking exactly the same thing about coming up to the surface world.

Well Dear Aunty I really must sign off and go see to Robinson. If I haven’t given him a good brushing before I set out he’ll be all upset with me. So please send my love to Uncle Nobby and the rest of the family. 

Your Loving Nephew

The Wizard Nosnibor


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