Dear Barlo Mutter,
Sit down and take a big puff of your pipe before reading this and don’t you be doubting my words like you did when I told you how I got that dance from young Greta Puffler by charming her with a story about the best uses for bag balm.
Some cyc-o-necr-o-lich-o-clops cast some evil magic on all of Varnold and put all of us in evil-necro-soul-jars. I don’t even remember the bugger getting me, was asleep in my bed shirt. Next thing I know I’m sitting on a shelf like some garden-pixie until an elf finds me and starts asking what happened.
Long story short, the only people of Varnhold still alive are released from these jars in a centaur camp while we are still in our longjohns. May the gods rest their souls, all those in the court above me have had their skulls emptied by old-one-eyed leaving me in charge.
So this magic-pants elf leaves with the centaurs, they kill old-one-eyed-worm-nut, and then come back so this tall-pants who is their king can go role in the hay with a centaur princess. Not sure if I trust lord-mare-rider yet but they did save us so the townsfolk and I pledged the town to their kingdom, Viridi. Being that I’m the highest ranking townsfolk in Varnhold, they offered me a role in their court. Looks like I’ll be busy now traveling to see them while helping the Varnhold folks.
What does this all mean? I might not be around if you try visiting with those cry-baby-good-for-nothings you call children next month. You can still stay in the home but keep those lazy-dirty-kid-feet-children out of my bedroom!
Alright, stay safe and all that.
Otto Mutter IV
P.S. My good pipe is still missing from your last visit. I better be seeing it back.