Dave.Lathrop at valero.com
Wed Oct 22 05:38:07 PDT 2008
Your missive is read by one who's eyes are now cleared of the
gut-rot. You were correct with your assumption that I have not been
my usually keen sense of judgment; I will make restitution to all I have
My Lady Elisabeth saved me from permanent slow-wittedness by purging my
with a healthy dose of biscuits and gravy; poured over free range
chicken eggs, scrambled to perfection.
The recipe for the gravy was given to her by a stranger with a penchant
for the foulest of words.
This stranger looked a very much like you, and he travelled with a
beautiful consort; something
you'll never have because of your lifelong fetish for small farm
I have send you east, and you traveled west; I gave you pigeons for
communication, and they
were eaten; I told you to watch the stars and mark your way, instead,
you looked at the trees;
I sent you with a donkey to help make haste your journey, you return and
tell me you
are now married to it!
Bordermarch has indeed missed their Nomis, but your stay must be short.
Our enemy fast
approaches, and we need information as to their location.
I would once again press you into service and send you forth on a
mission that might
very well cost you your life. I cannot tell you what the mission
involves since your
going to screw it up anyway; I'll just point you in the right direction.
The one concession I ask is that you leave your new bride with us. She
will be safer
in the stables and I will see to her care myself.
I finally made it back to my beloved Bordermarch from my distant
travels. What an adventure I have been on!
As I last posted you I set out with the sun at my back to spy our
dread enemy of Goat lovers. To my I quickly found myself in the
Outlands and had to spend most of my time completely under cover
I be exposed. Either that gardener woman or the brewer sabotaged my
trip, I am not sure which. I tried to force the information out of
the gardener by she would not speak. Her arm may heal yet, only time
will tell. Unfortunately I ran across an old trader friend that took
delight in eating all of my messenger birds (must convince him birds
are made of pork). That is what has kept me from communicating until
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