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Message: <blockquote data-quote="The Wizard Nosnibor" data-source="post: 2896448" data-attributes="member: 40162">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 NephewThe Wizard Nosnibor</blockquote>

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