User:DIEHLS
Title: The Free North News Issue #4
Author: Various
"Newspaper" is not in the list (essay, letter, periodical, poetry, short story, song, storyline, vignette) of allowed values for the "Creative-work-type" property.
OOC Disclaimer: The following is about Empire, revolution, settler colonialism, and it’s many consequences. The opinions stated here are to be taken in character and should not be taken as out of character judgements. It is intended as in chracter rhetoric. Except that we should have a rolton cryptid. Oh and do not insert into any orifices. Or do, I’m just not legally responsible for it.
IC Disclaimer: The Black Thorns are more of a collective, and less of a organization with heirachy and a roster. Please do not take the perspective of one member to apply to all of us.
The Faerinn Well, Notes from the Editor
OOC Disclaimer: The following are the in character views of Faerinn. While things may be embellished or exaggerated to help make a point or to entertain, the facts stated here are as far as Faerinn is aware true.
And if there is no one left to run against him then I will.
Faerinn Greatsinger, Esq, of Talador and Loenthra
Faerinn's Den, Ivastean 31, 5123
Editor's Note: Calls for neutrality in the upcoming Imperial-Reiver conflict seem to have aged very poorly in the time since first drafting this to publication. So please see this as less of an appeal to the Town Council for neutrality, but an appeal to the common citizen.
News for the North!
- Nothing happens in the realm of Vornavis, rumors of any conflict between the elven nations and the merciless human empire appear to be greatly exaggerated...the recent trend in the launching point for nothern invasions appears to be talking about Aldoran Rocktending. - Samfelt the traitor- The majority of former councilors and a former mayor were found in the Rusty Cutlass and accused of being Rooks after the traitor Samfelt turned them in! No doubt the empire will award him with more titles in the future! - A Ceremony of Mourning was Conducting in the landing for those killed by Bodohol- Silvers were collected for the families of the deceased. Thirty One dead due to the failures of the imperial navy. - Giant things in Icemule- Icemule has had ongoing talks with several giant tribes of the north, things look to be heating up in the great north...literally because there is also rumors of a new volcano! - The Landing has a new mayor! The North said goodbye and good riddance to metal man! Alendrial is now the pinnacle of the landing, Thadston is the rump of a rolton.
The Empire's Peace - by Dendum
Traitors, the landing is awash with this word. From Samfelt to councilors the north knows traitors and the Malwind is eager to heap praise on any willing to turn a dagger on their northern kin. However besides a small handful of weak-willed with ill-intent, the North stands united.
Empire likes it when the North turns against itself, look at the glee in their eyes as we fall upon the Reivers. Look at the joy as Sablo rips limb from body of the farmers under the mountain. Who will they claim is our enemy next simply because they do not want Empire? Perhaps it will be the Faendryl or the Dhe’nar, perhaps the Dwarves or the Kobolds, most likely it will be someone you do not call foe today but do not worry Empire will be here to explain to you why you are wrong. Every voice in the north opposed to Empire is forced to be our foe?
We have the new Mayor. This is good because of the options she was the best. However even this former Mother of Rooks wishes the landing to act as a slave showing off for masters in the hopes we are treated well. She denounces those few voices from Icemule that have an opinion while ignoring the deafening chorus for Solhaven screeching like banshees.
THIS is Truth, for every warrior from Solhaven with a head up the empire’s rear, who the Malwind’s state is equal to a dozen normal warriors, Icemule has sent the same year after year to protect the Landing. They should be recognized as equal friends or equal foes but they are not different, they are not better or worse because of the direction they come from.
THIS is Truth, our militia is seen by many to be the right hand of empire. Corrupt and in bed with the Southlanders, a lesser shadow of other organizations in the North when it should be the core of the north’s defense. Many wish to join in defense of the landing but will not join to be the lesser shadow of Knights and Barons.
THIS is Truth, the protectorate still hangs as a chain around the neck of the Landing. As long as it remains there is no talk of “partnership” just as there is no partnership between slave and master there is only levels of servitude. The protectorate could be abolished tomorrow with no ill effect on any of Empire but it can not remain without ill effect on the Landing. Which of you will Empire snatch up for fake justice in corrupt southern courts? Which merchant will have trade stopped because it does not favor Empire?
“We are all Rooks” they shout in the streets…and this is truth because we are all constantly having to watch over backs and shoulders for the next imperial aggression, the next enemy of Empire, the next Baron’s worthless words……we are all Rooks but we did not all chose to be.
-Dendum the Wind in the Willow
Tikba for Envoy
My fellow citizens,
In three short weeks the people of Wehnimer's Landing will come together for the first time to elect two Regional Envoys, tasked with serving the Landing by representing its interests in foreign courts. As you consider your decision, a few concerns may arise that I think it best to now call to your attention.
An envoy of Wehnimer's Landing must be somebody who believes in Wehnimer's Landing. The voice of the people should not issue from a doubtful tongue. We must hope to select a representative who is proud to speak of the Landing's unique virtues, who is not afraid to say that in Wehnimer's Landing all are equal, none are rulers, and every voice is heard.
An envoy of Wehnimer's Landing must be reliable. In these tumultuous times, there is no telling what difficulties and complications will arise, requiring the delicate touch of the Landing's ambassadors. We will need somebody who will be ready to speak, or act, when the moment comes. When the Landing is beset by enemies, consider who you are happiest to see there to stand for it.
An envoy of Wehnimer's Landing must be a diplomat. We are surrounded on all sides by great powers. Some consider themselves our ally; some our enemy; and some, perhaps, cannot decide. An envoy must be ready to speak with each one, knowing that the words they have to say may not be received with good humor, and prepared to convince those powers that we mean them only the best. An envoy should be someone you are happy to speak with, even when you disagree with them.
I hope you will consider these requirements carefully when it comes time to make your choice. And, having done so, if you decide that I would be the most appropriate candidate, I would be honored to serve.
I am, your obedient servant,
Tikba Liwan Ne'mara Marluen'dar
Ask Lithyia
Dear Lithyia,
I heard you were a knittah. I, too, enjoy a good yarn. I figured since we had knittin in common I could trust ya opinion. I thought to meself, I said, “Self,” (cause that's what I call meself) yas need to get an objectionable opinion, yas need an Outside opinion and since the burial, yas haven't gone back Outside so yas opinion is not the needed kind right now. Where to begin? Sorry but I had to pour meself a dram or two before I got the quill in hand. Mite be four drams if I'm being honest but whose countin? Now if ya still readin me ramblin, gottaluvya child yas a good sort. Course I news you were a good egg when I heard ya were a knittah. So it was a few nites ago now. I was knittin away by the fire. Musta nodded off cause I woke with such a start! Me dag was barkin and yappin like he had something to say. So I made me way to the cabin door where he was sniffin and scratching like he needed to go outside. I opened tha door and instead of waitin for me like usual, that little pup shot rite out into the dark. I waited a spell but he didnt return. I was poorly dressed for the cool weather but I couldn't leave him outside the rest of the nite, now could I? Must have been wandering for a good bit cause I could feel the cold seepin into me bones by the time I sees it. Brother Wuldreth sez I'm mistaken. Brother Wuldreth sez I need to put down me whiskey but I knows what I saw or rather I knows what I didn't see. I didnt see no rolton! It was a rolton-but-it-was-notta-rolton. It was rite over Yonder. Yonder's me dag you see, on account of him who was always yawning. Sleepiest dag I ever did know but he aint yawnin no more... Cause that Notta-rolton was loomin over Yonder and then tha Notta-rolton exploded! I swears to all the gads in the Lands, web slingin scarabs came outta the Notta-rolton and I am shamed to admit it but I ran. I dont think I ever did run so fast in all me years, ya woulda thought some mage cast a speedyup spell on me. In the mornin, I went back out and I found Old Yonder. Brother Wuldreth sez he don't bring back dags, cats neither but I dont care bout felines cause they tear up me knittin somethin fierce. I just want Yonder back. Isn't it like prejudicial to only resurrect people? Yonder was like people to me, miss. Can ya talk to Brother Wuldreth for me, for Yonder's sake? Brother Wuldreth sez I need to give him my whiskey and join the Order of Voln for spiritual protection but I won't give up my whiskey for nothin. Whiskey's all I gots now. Unless mebbe you can convince Brother Wuldreth.
Signed I Dont Give A Dram Cause I'm Not Over Yonder
Dear "I Don't Give a Dram",
First, I'd like to offer my most sincere condolences on the loss of Old Yonder. I too have a beloved pet, he's a packrat and while he is a nasty little wretch who bites, scratches and flings poo, I love him dearly. I would be distraught if something happened to him.
AS for Brother Wuldreth, I make this plea, if you can bring back Old Yonder, I shall fix you some of the finest whiskey you ever did taste. I do ask though that if you restore Old Yonder, you do so in his entirety. We do not need any of that lich business, especially lich dogs. I mean, do you have to take a lich dog for walks? What does a lich dog eat? Do lich dogs need to use spots in the yard for their business and does that business need to be cleaned up? I do not know the answers here and I do not think any of us would like to find out.
Best of luck to you and Old Yonder!
Miss Lithy
Dear Ask Lithyia,
I’ve been stranded in this strange castle for some time now. I am the captive of a beast that calls himself the Manrolt. My condition is perhaps better than you’d imagine, as my needs are attended to by an odd and jovial support staff that though strangely and horrifically accursed still manage to burst into song as they carry on with their daily duties. But that is neither here nor there.
My issue is that I think I’m falling for this Manrolt. He’s stunningly handsome for a half-man, half-rolton abomination, and I sense a deepness to his soul that I’ve never found in Landing men or those prissy southron folk yapping on about chivalry this and that. Yes, Manrolt is sometimes prone to beastly outbursts and has wildly destructive tendencies, but there is something beautiful in those alluring eyes, and he sometimes demonstrates great kindness when not ripping apart all the castle’s furniture with his teeth and kicking over bureaus.
I want to believe this is more than just the “rolton fever” as we locals say, and to be honest, he’s less beastly in demeanour than most Shanty Town men, though quite a bit furrier–well, not furrier than Old Dom, oddly. Perhaps Old Dom is cursed as well, but I think that’s just the curse of two hirsute parents?
Anyways, should I stay here in this castle with the Manrolt? Am I being silly in finding love in a cursed monster of a man? Is there something I can build on here, or is life better with the Toothless Joes and Old Doms of the realm?
-Manrolt Hostage
Dear Manrolt Hostage,
This sounds like a tale as old as time...or just something Old Dom would tell during one of his drunken rants.
Regardless, if this creature is truly half-rolton I wonder if yarn could be procured from his fur. Did you know that rolton wool makes a half-decent winter yarn? It's nowhere near as plush as pashmina yarn but it can get the job done in a pinch.
I digress, personally I would not remain with a half-man, half-rolton, but if this is what your heart wishes, who am I to tell you otherwise? If you choose to stay, I recommend secretly gathering some of his fur while he sleeps and then selling it as yarn on the black market in ShantyTown. It should fetch you a decent enough profit in case you require the means to leave him one day.
Anyway, I wish you the best of luck and if things don't work out, try to abscond with some of the singing support staff.
Regards, Miss Lithy
On Davard - by Dendum
In tales of old, where legends dwell,
There lived a knight, Davard of Talador, they tell, His heart ablaze, his spirit bold, A warrior fierce, his story to unfold.
With armor gleaming, his sword held high,
He swore an oath, vengeance in his eye, For his liege lord, betrayed and slain, He sought retribution, his justice to attain.
In Wehnimer's Landing, standing alone in the night
Davard besieged, his heart consumed by the fight, His love, fair Cosima, torn from his embrace,
Her life extinguished, leaving only a trace.
Through the moonlit nights, he planned his scheme,
To capture the town, fulfill his vengeful dream,
Yet darkness beckoned, whispered in his ear, And Davard, ensnared, succumbed to its fear.
The shadows clung to his tormented soul, His noble purpose twisted, beyond control,
His armor tarnished, stained with despair, He traded honor for a malevolent affair.
With every passing day, the the future grew dim
Destruction and sorrow, his legacy grew grim The town resisted, united and brave,
Against the corrupted knight, a town to save.
But Davard, blinded by his seething ire,
Lost sight of the truth, consumed by dark desire,
In the flames of his rage, he withered away, A tragic figure, ensnared in his own decay.
And as the final battle waged its might,
Davard's soul crumbled, enveloped in blight,
Defeat loomed large, his purpose unveiled, A fallen hero, his destiny derailed.
The town stood strong, triumphant at last,
Their resolve unyielding, their spirit steadfast,
Though Davard's path led to ruin and strife, His tale serves as a warning, a caution in life.
For vengeance, when sought, can consume the soul,
Leading even noble hearts down a treacherous hole,
Let us remember Davard's tragic descent, Cleave to the light or be forgotten, destroyed with purpose rent.
Help Wanted/Classifieds
The Tale of (Failed Mayoral Candidate) Old Dom - by by Anon Imus Bystendar
He sat by the fireside, the stoutest table in Helga’s tavern supporting his massive frame, holding court over the assorted rabble, Shanty Town friends and nemeses looking on with admiration, disdain, or a dash of both. Dominucci the Elder, Old Dom to most and Hairy Dom to those wanting a punch in the face, surveyed the crowded bar before him.
Tonight was Dom’s night, his candidacy for mayor was to begin here amongst his people. He threw back his beer, slammed the empty mug on the table, and pounded the table with his massive paw of a hand to gain the room’s attention.
“Aye, bet yas wonder why it is I be here tonight?”
From deep across the bar came the first retort. ``Old Dom, ya arse, you be here with your soused self every damn night. What you harp’n on abouts this eve?”
Dom nodded to the voice in the crowd. “Tonight be special. Tonight I bark on a new journey.”
Another voice cut him off. “Yas some kinda weredog nows?”
“No, it’s what ‘em fancy folks say when they be start’n things. They be bark’n on journeys and adventures and all that.”
“Dommy boy, why ‘tem richie riches bark’n so much at ‘tings ‘tere?”
It dawned on Old Dom that if he didn’t take the room back here and now that he might lose control of his messaging. Perhaps he shouldn’t have started his campaign at 3am in a bar.
“Shut yas traps, ya arseholes, I be run’n for mayor.
A young boy closer to his table spit out his beer laughing. “Old Dom, you ain’t run’n anywhere. You is a bit portly for all that, eh?”
Dom sighed the first of what would be many. “Nah, that’s what thems folks says when yas try to be mayor. Yas gotta run for mayor and get them votes from the likes of yas.”
The boy’s friend chimed in “So it be like a race? Yas mayor peoples gotta run around the town? I gots my money on that Amos one, he’ll rig it.”
“It ain’t a race!” He slammed his fist down on the table and the crowd quieted some. “I’m here tonight to get me campaign go’n and tells yas about me platform.”
Stinky Tom’s brother, sensing Dom’s souring mood, ventured to raise a hand. Dom nodded for him to proceed with his question, finally content at some order in the room.
“If yas need a platform, mayhaps yas can use the stage the next room over.”
Old Dom lowered his head to the table for a moment, but gathered himself and pressed on. “I wanna be the next mayor ‘round these parts. So I wanna tell yas all what I’m think’n we should be do’n.”
A half-elf over by the bar laughed. “I heard yas gots a garbage service now, gonna clean up the town, yeah?”
Dom nodded. “Aye, some fancy lady was complaining ‘bout all them trash from them politics peoples, figured I could make a coin or two help’n the town…” A voice cut him short from somewhere he couldn’t see.
“Ain’t you part of the group write’n all them things anyways? You make’n all that trash in the first place! Smart business make’n all that garbage and then pick’n it up for coins! This be like when you trained all them raccoons!”
His political team, a squat man named Jarv that was either a short human or tall dwarf, handed him a fresh frothy mug, while he shook his head at the last assertion. “Allegedly…”
Dom took another deep pull from his mug.
“Well is you a Black Thorn or not?”
Another voice cut off his response. “Nah, I heard him a Rook, that one, one of em’s key members. He was there on that bust-up night, but them just thought he was a furry cloak on a tall coat hanger.” The entire room burst out laughing.
Dom took another drink.
A Sylvan lady, sitting full-up on the bar itself, chimed in over the roar. “Ain’t what I heard, I heard old Dom here be Aldoran. Joined his brethren in marching his arse to the gates of them half-heights in dwarf town demanding to punch elves as Imperial retri’buting.”
Dom took another drink.
“I heard Dom loves Amos so much he was try’n out to be one of them Lightning Ladybugs of his.”
Dom ordered another.
“Oi, I heard he consorts with Manrolt by the pale moonlight!”
Dom downed two mugs in rapid succession.
“I ‘eard he IS Manrolt!”
Dome chugged two more and motioned for replenishment.
“I seen him on that Bodack’s ship, he was part of dat rogue Imperial crew dat killed all our brothers in the boats and docks.” The room started to boo him in unison.
Dom signalled for some stronger swill.
“Nah, I ‘eard he captured that Bodie man, took his ship. Uses it to trade wit ‘em Four Wind Lands people.”
Dom threw back a shot of rotgut whiskey.
“Dom a Reiver, yas can see it in his shifty eyes!”
Dom tossed back as many shots as he could find near his person.
“Nah, I heard he be a failed squire for one o’dem knightly orders!”
With the last bit of energy he had left, he looked at the crowd. “Aye, if I have yas vote, I can be whatevers yas need of me. Yas want me to be a friend of the Empire on Volnes, I’ll cozy right on up to that Ely Doll and tell’im what a great Empire he gots. On Tilamaires I gots my bird mask for them sneaky business, Leyan for some Thorns pamphlets tell’n Ely Doll to shove it, but on Niiman I be pick’n em same flyers up for them people in them towers outside town complain’n about al them trashes. On the Day of the Huntress, I can dress up as Manrolt, with Feastday for dinning with the Lich King, and Restday I be help’n Amos cook the books in my Lightning Ladybug costume.” He looked at them all, completely exasperated.
For the first time all evening, the bar was silent.
“Oi, Dommy Boy, when in ‘teh Gods yas gonna find time in all ‘tat ‘tere to help us Land’n folk?”
That was the last thing Old Dom heard as his head hit the table. He awoke the next day slumped over about a fallen man’s distance from where he had started his political dreams, It was about 4 o’clock that next evening. The cutoff for registering as a mayoral candidate had passed at noon. He raised his hand to order a fresh one, and Helga sighed, adding it to his massive tab.
Tennalnen Campaign Announcement
People of Wehnimer's Landing!
I, Tennalnen Silverstar, announce my campign for Regional Envoy of Wehnimer's Landing. Most of you do not know me, nor do I know you, and this is a good thing. As Regional Envoy it will be my job to listen and hear what all peoples have to say, and bring their word back to the government of Landing for discussion. I make only one promise, I promise to listen to the people and bring their words to the leadership. I cannot promise change, I cannot promise action, but I will do my best to ensure the voice of ALL people is taken into account.
My platform is simple: A fresh face, a fresh perspective, an open mind.
A fresh face: I am new, unknown to many, untried compared to my fellow applicants. I have not seen the dead rise during the reign of the Lich King. I did not stand beside or against Grishom Stone. I did not pick a side during the recent territorial disputes in Town. I have no history with the North, the East, or any of our other neighbors except Bourth where I was raised.
A fresh perspective: I have not lived here for long, and in my time in Wehnimer's Landing I have heard many views. I have listened to those varied voices and I have considered them. While I cannot claim to know which view is correct, I can provide an ear to listen, and a voice to speak their words to the leaders of Landing.
An open mind: My beliefs are my own, as are yours. This region is populated by a variety of races, cultures, and religious beliefs, not all of which can agree on things. I promise to listen, and pass along all views presented to me as representative of Wehnimer's Landing, with no judgement or biased towards those who present themselves appropriately.
Vote Tennalnen Silverstar for Regional Envoy of Wehnimer's Landing in 5123!
Advice for Turnip Farmers - by Reginald Thrakson IV
Adventurers always ask me for tips to help ‘em get off that turnip farm, but in these times, my tips often fall on deaf ears. Youngins don’t want me to tell ‘em to run after creatures yelling “chase’n” anymore. They know only us old timers care about that. So I was think’n to myself “what do these young turnip farming would-be adventurers need to hear these days?” It dawned on me that a lotta ya youngins are confused about our Southern neighbours creep’n around in and about ya farms these days. Say ya were drinking at the Wayside Inn or Plur’s Pub on a Day of the Huntress night, and on your way home, some Imperial knights come riding up behind ya, or that ya were one of them misguided youths getting into a wee bit of Rookery. What exactly should ya do when some of our southern friends stop ya to check what you’re all about? Well sit down by the metaphorical fire, young one and I’ll tell ya.
(1) For starters, clearly acknowledge the knights overtaking ya by calmly giving a slow and clear thumbs up. Wait, the thumbs up is the bad one, it’s actually a thumbs down. Actually, ya might want to check their heraldry or banners. In Mestanir a thumbs up is a sign of agreement and compliance, but in Selanthia it tells the receiver to shove it. Or was that the other way around? Bourth uses a middle finger….no, that was Kezmon…one of the Hendors uses two fingers with the palm facing outward, but the other Hendor reverses that…can’t remember which is which on that, maybe do both?
(2) If riding a horse, unfasten the saddle’s billets so that both ya and the saddle slide off the side of your horse and crash to the ground. If manning a horse cart, detach the horses and whip them until they run off without ya. If on foot, throw your boots in the nearest river. All of these tactics show the knights your commitment to not making a fast getaway.
(3) Keep your hands on the saddle horn, even if lying sideways on your detached saddle next to your perplexed horse in a pool of muck. Don’t make any sudden moves beyond that first one where ya compliantly fell off your horse to show acquiescence.
(4) In a calm and slow tone, tell them that ya are the fourth nephew once removed of Emperor Aurmont. Sure you’re a dwarf, but remind them it’s a new progressive, edict-free Empire out there and that anything’s possible now! Better yet, say you’re Kasendra Malwind’s husband. She’s dead, so they can’t easily corroborate that information. By the time they figure it out, you’ll be home safe in bed! DO NOT say that ya ARE Kasendra Malwind, as they would need to immediately escort ya to your funeral.
(5) If they ask for your documents or papers, don’t hesitate to calmly and slowly provide them, but tell them that ya would like to see their papers as well. They’ll be happy to unfurl their lengthy credentials and will likely go on at length on their numerous achievements and Imperial positions for so long that they might forget why they stopped ya in the first place. Don’t forget to ask them about chivalry!
(6) Remain still while the knights discuss what to do with ya. If the sanctuary they’ve cast drops, run into that river ya threw your boots into or roll with your saddle down an embankment into it. All rules are off the table if the ground becomes unsanctified, get in that river or corn field! They’re a twitchy bunch when they’re hunt’n for evildoers and they see evil in every corner of our northlands.
(7) Remind them as ya run for the river that in the Landing we have law and trials and that their Imperial laws are no good here. That is of course unless they still think you’re the fourth cousin once removed of Emperor Aurmont. In that case just scream out that they should take it up with Uncle Monty.
With some of these tips, I hope I can help some of ya wet behind the ears farmhands out of a pickle. That is of course, unless ya are a cucumber farmer, then pickles might be what ya look’n for there. Best of luck out there!
Leaked Criminal Notes on the Nefarious Knitter - by The Alleged Sapphire Guard
OOC Disclaimer: No this is not actually written by a member of the Sapphire Guard. This an IC reimagining by the anonymous author of what might be in the point for giggles. It's a bit!
While trying our best to find someone, anyone to take the blame for the Princess’s death aside from Arditin’s niece, we have been gathering intelligence for the benefit of the Sun Throne on one known as the ‘Nefarious Knitter’.
We have found the following:
She is a member of the Black Thorns, a terrorist organization devoted to the spread of vile anti-socialist ideologies such as ‘Democracy’ and ‘Equality’.
This anti-imperialist agent was not available to kill the Princess as she was fighting a giant earth elemental with an entire town of witnesses. At that time Orelwen was pushing Kasendra off of a staircase or something. But Arditin does not like this lady.
We can’t find her.
So in instead of pertinent information here is our information on the membership of the Black Thorns:
The Black Thorns have an estimated 3,000 members trained in forty different martial arts lost from the days of Despana and the strength of a hundred demons.
Their leader is one, Talliver Dabbins, the warlord of Silver Mule Trace. He wanted for his war crimes during the Griffon Sword War of creating vampires and wyrms. His lair is deep in the Hinterwilds, but he is easy to spot due to his thirteen foot hairy frame.
His lieutenant is a real player in the Cult of Zelia and a rogue Palestra Blade named Yoshie. This deranged assassin’s trade mark is a squid branded to his hand, and the replacement of his victim’s nails with rails.
The Talon, a half-elf pirate from Mist Harbor who enraged a column of Aldoran swamp-berserkers to march on the Shining City until a Knights of the Realm convinced diverted them into dying in a swamp. We suspect this is another anatomy based alias of Socius, because screw that guy.
The red-haired, half-sylvan former leader of the Rooks and Mayor of Wehnimer’s Landing - Casiphia.
An ottoman that Thadston threw so hard with his magic arms that it became sentient.
A gnome under the alias, Dr. C
Gurbah, who requires no further explanation.
We hope you find this information useful as we coverup the deaths of many of your suspects, I mean, subjects including your cousin.
