Monday, 4 February 2013

Letter to the Editor: Concerning the Dissanters

Dear Sir,

I am a merchant in Snowberry Wine, amongst other things, and I travelled to the land of Olverym in pursuit of my trade. I like to be there for what the people of that disagreeable nation call the 'Idea' of January. They think a month is not real until the thirteenth day has passed and that day is called the 'Idea' of the month. They are very strange folk.

Each month on that day a great fair is held in a bowl like valley to the north of the disreputable city of Dragons Cradle. In other months livestock are traded, or crops from the field, or fine craftwork, or even bundles of dreamleaf (which grows wild as a weed in those parts), but in the month of January the trade is in Snowberries, freshly reaped, or in wine laid down at least three years before.


I travel there every year and stay at the same inn, The Delving Deep, which is run by a dwarfish couple Mr and Mrs Hardpick. They run a fine establishment with quite agreeable food. I am not a man for strong spirits or ale, but Mr Hardpick makes his own mead, and quite delicious it is too. If any should visit Dragons Cradle, they should sample the hospitality of this fine establishment.

So, you can imagine my horror when, upon returning from a business trip to the Lower Town, I discovered a group of old crones before the inn. They were dressed all in black with crimson sashes across their chests and they sang loudly of Temperance and the love of Dragons. During the third and fourth and fifth days of the fair, I had noted some such singing up by what the locals call Wartin Seat; a large natural outcropping of stone that does, in the right light, look somewhat like a throne.


It seems that there is a new holy man in these parts, his name is Discant or Sisant, or Decent, or  something like that, Olverym names are so hard to remember. Why can't they have decent Abevorn names like Katar, or Edmund, or Bobo.

These crones assaulted me! With cudgels and fists they attacked me as I tried to enter the inn. A place of ill-repute they called it. Yes, the Hardpicks lay on music of a night-time and it can get somewhat rowdy, but I would not call that a place of ill-repute. I would call that an inn.

I'm not sure what would have happened if Mr Hardpick, and a couple of his lads, hadn't come out and saved me from the those vicious crones. They knew where to hit a man let me tell you that and no mistake.


It seems the people of Olverym are turning against immorality, which is not before time if you ask me, but they have started, as is their wont, by attacking foreign-owned establishments. The dwarves have lived in Olverym for centuries, but the Hardpicks are from the North Rym and so, to the people of Dragons Cradle they are foreign. A quite disagreeable people, always fighting amongst themselves. No wonder their nation is in decline.

So a warning to your readers, if you must travel to Olverym, watch out for old crones in black dresses with crimson sashes upon their torsos. They build their women tough and nasty with it in Olverym.

Oh, Mr Hardpick tells me that they call themselves 'The Dissanters'. He seems quite put out by all this fuss and sold me a bottle of mead at nearly half off to make up for the injuries I suffered. It does have rather a sticky quality, but that might well be my bruised lips.

Yours in warning

From Gerald Bradicas esq of Lichearan Town

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