By Divinnia Darkney
Stirring tales of epic adventures often move men to even nobler deeds, inspire them to defy death and the demonic abyss to do what they must in the name of Honor, Love, or Loyalty. It is through such tales that we may recognize the nobility in ourselves and rise to challenges as did heroes of yore.
This is not a tale of those great deeds; if Reader wished inspiring stories, Reader would stay to the front pages of this fine paper. This is the chronicle of all the personal cataclysms, misdeeds, and embarrassments in the histories of some of our most illustrious (or infamous) citizens. We share them here in hopes that you, Reader, will learn from the sad example of others.
We recently received reports of just how far the mighty have fallen when a certain aging "slayer of many" suffered an embarrassing incident brought on, perhaps, by too many tipples of brandy from his goblet in Hearthstone's Legends' bar. The riding crop which this Farmer so loved to brandish at easily awed young women was allegedly stricken with "crop failure" and went limp as wet yarn. A cleric was called...an empath was summoned...all to no avail, for the crop was still crippled. We will bring you news of this story as it develops---or fails to develop, as the case may be.
Speaking of failures, we hear from a reliable source that a certain oft-married Lady empath has been forsaken by her fourth husband. We have heard speculation that her erstwhile amour has probably sought refuge in Zelia's arms, as the Goddess of Lunacy is reputed to be more stable. This Lady should not be disconsolate, though; with the number of wedding rings she's amassed, she can melt them down and have Hortinger make her a magnificently vulgar set of full plate. At any rate, she seemed to be in good enough spirits when she attended a wedding on the arm of a sorcerer who shall remain nameless. After all, it is our policy to change names to protect the innocent---and the doomed.
After the tomfoolery and wineswilling that attends almost every wedding, we decided to move into the comparatively high society of the Catacombs, where we spied a ratty Lady protecting her flea-bitten charges by hiding them far beneath her skirts. As her pet cleric recently abandoned her for her vermin-loving ways, we can only surmise that the Lady was cold and needed something fuzzy and naked-tailed to keep her warm at night. Apparently the Elven cleric was not fuzzy enough...and we will not speculate on the condition of his tail. Now that one War Rat is back, though, we fully expect Lady Rodent to stay cozy and warm at night.
The catacombs were, to be fair, the scene of less infighting and nastiness than our eyes and ears did witness just a few weeks ago on Teras Isle. We heard that one of the most ancient sorceresses in the lands, truly a Legend in her own mind, took it upon herself to strike dead one self-professed dirty rogue as he sought his elusive banshee queen. We think it was the comment about the way her newly-stuffed armor accentuated her luxurious growth of axillary fur. Some women do not know how to take a compliment. Our source(erer) was frankly surprised she would risk breaking a talon instead of sending her warrior husband to tread heavily on the roguish one's head as she usually does.
Oh, Reader, we could regale you with stories for days about the decadence of Elanthian society and of the evil follies to which so many prominent men and women will stoop, but we do not want to be misunderstood. We bring you these tales of wretchedness and wantonness not for prurient interests, dear Reader; no, we wish only to remind you that there is always someone watching...and that no one is above the rules of good taste.
By Dr. Meknik Mudlily
Editors Note: Dr. Meknik Mudlily is the resident in charge of healing the minds of the fine folks of Western Elanith. Please, feel free to ask him questions on any number of topics within reason and he'll try to answer them as succintly as possible. Kindly send these questions to his home address at 117 Erebor Square and be sure to write Dear Dr. Mudlily on the front of the envelope. Dr. Mudlily also prefers the anonymous, so please, try to design an alter ego for your question such as 'Bored in Glatoph' or 'Stumped at Frith's'. Dr. Mudlily will try to answer as many questions in his column as time and space allow as dictated by the editors.
Dear Dr. Mudlily,
I have been bullied by several much older adventurers while trying to hunt gnomes beneath the town well. How should i handle them? I cannot fight them for they would easily make me rolton fodder. Please, help me.
Signed,
Distressed in Gnomes
Dear Distressed,
I first must comment that the word 'bullied' carries many different connotations. Were they poaching your gnomes or were they threatening you with violence? While poaching is annoying and generally frowned upon, I do not feel it necessary to commune with the gods over it. If they persist in their poaching, try a new hunting ground as if they're much older than you in that area then it may be safe to say that they're to stupid to find their way out.
However, if they are physically threatening you, there may be other steps that are needed to be taken. I'd first recommend that you ignore them and return to the surface to clear your head. If this harassment continues, then you should take one of two steps. One step would be to directly seek divine intervention by seeking an audience with a God Minor. I only recommend this step as a last option as the Gods Minor are busy folks and we ought only to trouble them as last resorts. The other option is to seek a well-respected adventurer to intervene in this matter. A wise old-timer may be able to avert blood shed by using patience and logic.
One other thing to consider is simply ignoring them entirely. Usually your lack of response will drive them away as simple minds feed on such garbage as torment.
Dr. Mudlily
Dear Dr. Mudlily,
What's the meaning of life?
Signed,
Baffled
Dear Baffled,
All meaing in life can be traced to altruism. The cycle of giving back what has been given to you supports this circle of life. However, I have heard (and it has been proven by dozens of boring research papers that I'll not tire you with) that the highest form of altruism can be manifested by sending a relatively high portion of your earnings to your local paper in care of the Help Columnist.
Dr. Mudlily
Dear Dr. Mudlily,
If you know all, how come I don't know who you are?
Signed,
Doubtful
Dear Doubtful,
Firstly, I said that I know all. I never made any mention of you knowing all therefore it's inconsequential to the state of my expertise that you know not who I am. Secondly, I doubt you swing through the Library much. That's where we intellectual types hang out and make fun of the rest of you.
Dr. Mudlily
Dear Dr. Mudlily,
What advice do you have for a young Giantman Ranger?
Signed,
Big Guy
Dear Big Guy,
My usual advice to Quadruplings is that they wear comfortable clothing that they don't mind laying down in for long periods of time. You all make lovely sofas when prone but are rather immobile in terms of dragging.
Dr. Mudlily
Dr. Mudlily is a free lance columnist living in Wehnimer's Landing. He comes from a long line of Halfling writers dating back to the invention of the Cockatrice feather quill. He enjoys trips to the Museum, quiet walks along the river, and rolton-wrestling. He also has a serious aversion to pastry so we're not entirely convinced that he's a halfling.