THE DWARF’S GUIDE TO SCARLETTON

Dictated by:

Clanegdin “Clanger” Alehammer Bowerbane Chilox

            Master Smith of the Away from Stonewood Stonewood Dwarves

            Grand Master Wooer of Greyhorn

Scribed by:

Robin the Fair

(Editor’s note:  The language proved too difficult to translate.  If you are not proficient in the dwarven version of common, it is not recommended to try and read the following article.  Additionally, this is an opinion article, and reflects no one’s opinions but those of Clanegdin Alehammer).

Have ya ever been sittin’ in yer fav’rite chair, drinkin’ a good, stout ale, chattin’ with one o’ yer good friends who ye haven’t seen in a good long while?  That happened about three weeks ago when one o’ m’ old adventurin’ buddies, a fine hobling by the name o’ Pogo Styx, came a knockin’ at me door.  We sat, drank, an’ shot th’ shite about ol’ times an’ adventures past.  I ‘adn’t seen him fer about two years, th’ last time bein’ in Drackenhelm in Meddlar.  Since there was a gatherin’ approachin’, he suggested we travel together back to Meddlar.  “Sure,” I said, “why not?  Meddlar’s un’er new management, so how bad could it be?”

Let it be known, any time someone says “How bad could it be?” it’s gonna be bad.

So, we start headin’ off t’wards Scarleton, which was formerly Drackenhelm, which was formerly Scarleton.  Apparently, it’s a tradition in Meddlar t’ name, rename, then un-name towns.  When we got t’ Scarleton, we met up wit’ th’ good lady Robin, whom I’ve already ‘ad th’ pleasure o’ adventuring wit’, an’ two other adventurers, Marcus, who’s skill with a blade is only matched by is only matched by his magical aptitude, an’ Shenron Kefka, a fellow warrior who’s capable wit’ a bow an’ arrow.  Th’ weather was dreary an’ cold when we arrived, which matched th’ town perfectly, an’ stayed that way fer th’ entire gatherin’.  Aside from ourselves, ‘ere was Cade an’ his gypsies, who I hadn’t seen in a long while an’ I’m glad t’ see are in fine health.  No hooch, but it was good seein’ friendly faces, regardless.  An’ let me tell ya, ya ‘aven’t lived ‘til you’ve played Twister wit’ th’ gypsies, hoo boy.  In addition, there was Cap’n Jalini an’ th’ crew o’ the Abar… Adur… her ship, a house full o’ dark elves, an’ a good number o’ other adventurers who I ‘adn’t seen in a while.  Fairly good company if’n ya ask me.

Then, th’ “festivities” started.

If ya like “different” undead, Scarleton would’ve been th’ place fer you this past weekend.  We ‘ad fire skeletons, ice skeletons, lightning skeletons, zombie dwarves, zombie gnolls, zombie yippy dogs, zombie pirates who wanted to kill us, zombie pirates who wanted to apologize fer killin’ us, soft spoken spirits, possessin’ spirits, restless spirits, drinkin’ spirits, banshees t’ hug, disembodied floatin’ skulls, scare-happy bogeymen, leviathans buried in th’ sand, an’ a lich on th’ lake.  I swear, I had t’ boil me axe five times t’ get it completely clean from all th’ rottin’ flesh I cleaved into.  Though, if undead aren’t yer fancy, don’t worry, we had goblins, uppity kobolds, an’ th’ best of all: brood.  Yes folks, that’s right, brood.  Th’ acid filled bugs everybody loves t’ run from are nested only a few ‘undred feet from th’ town proper.  If ya plan on stoppin’ over in Scarleton fer a few days, I’d suggest bringin’ a good pair o’ runnin’ boots.  That or someone that’s slower than you are ya don’t really like.

Also, attention all murderers, killers, an’ slayers o’ th’ innocent, Scarleton is th’ place fer you!  Apparently, Baron Darien has rewritten some laws in yer favor.  Now, before I’m brought up on sedition, allow me t’ explain.  M’ good friend Pogo met an’ befriended a young hobling girl by th’ name o’ Macaroon.  Nice lass, daughter of a toy maker an’ cute as a button.  She wasn’t even old enough t’ raise a dagger t’ defend herself, which is why Pogo, always th’ good-hearted gentle-hobling, was escortin’ her around town in th’ absence o’ her father.  Now, fer some reason neither m’self nor Pogo are all tha’ sure on, th’ dark elves had it out fer Macaroon an’ her father.  This fact was unbeknownst t’ young Pogo.  However, th’ fact that th’ dark elves had a decent cup o’ coffee was knownst t’ young Pogo, so he an’ Macaroon knocked on their door in hopes o’ purchasin’ a drink.

Inside, the good Baron was discussin’ some matter wit’ th’ dark elves.  Upon seein’ th’ girl, Baron Darien ordered her t’ be seized, which th’ dark elves quickly complied wit’, paralyzin’ her with alchemical gases.  Pogo was told t’ back off, which he did.  Hands in th’ air an’ nowhere near ‘is weapons, Pogo asked what was goin’ on.  Then, he was cut down by one o’ th’ dark elves.  Now, I’m no expert on dark elven culture, but apparently if you ask “What’s going on?” it’s a sign of hostility.  For a people so bent on th’ tenets o’ honor, I’d think that you’d at least wait fer, oh I don’t know, a weapon t’ be drawn or a spell t’ be cast t’ indicate hostility.  Thankfully, Pogo was healed before he needed a Life spell.  In response t’ th’ attack, th’ Baron cast two protective spell upon young Pogo an’ sent him on his way.  Yep, that’s it, two o’ th’ most insignificant o’ spells.  Apparently, all you need t’ do T’ GET OFF SCOTT FREE FER KILLIN’ CHILDREN is simply ‘ave someone in authority cast some minor magics on th’ person ya killed.  Heh, if I’d ‘ave known about this clause, I’d found m’self a mage and began assaultin’ people ages ago.  However, I am a wee bit fuzzy on whether ‘r not ya have t’ be a dark elf t’ benefit from this new law, whether ‘r not th’ person needs t’ be alive when th’ spells are cast, an’ whether ‘r not ya c’n use other protective spells, such as “Bless” an’ “Shield”.  So, while dark elves can clearly utilize this law t’ its fullest degree, I encourage all other races not t’ try this new policy, as I’m sure th’ law is in it’s infancy an’ needs a bit o’ reworkin’.

A bit later, Macaroon emerged from th’ dark elven house an’ told us o’ what happened inside.  After they made Pogo leave, th’ dark elves, in all their honor an’ nobility, began discussin’ how they should torture th’ young girl.  Again, I’m no expert on dark elven culture, th’ only one I’ve ever really known was some arse named Shadowfel Evernight, so maybe this is an acceptable custom in their lands.  I’m quite sure that th’ “Dark Elven Book o’ Parenting” recommends at least one torture session by th’ age o’ 9, but I digress.  After the dark elves used their scare tactics on th’ poor lass, Baron placed her under th’ effects o’ a Confine spell an’ proceeded t’ have an impromptu trial, questioning her an’ apparently chargin’ her with th’ crime o’ being’ an innocent.  Exasperated due to th’ fact that th’ entire thing was ridiculous, th’ good Baron let her go.  Pogo an’ Macaroon found me and, along with our cabin-mates, we brought th’ child back t’ her father, realizin’ that perhaps Scarleton wasn’t exactly th’ safest place for her.  Again, why there was such a ruckus o’er a toy maker an’ his daughter is anyone’s guess.  I assume that with Viscus slippin’ through the Baron’s fingers, he needed someone else t’ paint as a criminal.

Speakin’ o’ Viscus, that undead sack o’ crap, he needs t’ quit bein’ such a damnable coward.  I come back t’ town after helpin’ out some fellow dwarves, which I’ll get int’ later, an’ I find out tha’ ‘Vicky’ skipped town without so much as showin’ his ugly, barnacle encrusted face.  Let m’ tell ya, I’m astoundin’ly impressed by someone who just releases wave after wave o’ undead upon a town wit’out at least showin’ up t’ watch.  It must take such a genius intellect t’ think o’ THAT plan.  Maybe after he’s got tha’ one down, he can work on a more sophisticated plan, like, oh I dunno, hittin’ us with a really big rock.  Now that would be a plan tha’ truly showcased his cunnin’.  Oh, an’ in case ya didn’t realize, tha’ was sarcasm.  Though, in a truly odd turn o’ events, I met Viscus’s “mighty” Death Knight, Arden.  If ya don’t know who Arden was, jus’ ask anyone in th’ Healer’s Guild an’ they’ll tell ya; he’s tall, soft spoken, ‘as a quiet demeanor.  He’s most easily recognized as th’ undead pirate who apologized fer killin’ us innocent people an’ told us he couldn’t stand bein’ a pirate under th’ command o’ such an evil schmuck like Viscus.  Is it jus’ me, or c’n anyone else smell a mutiny a brewin’?  Regardless, I hope that bucket o’ scuz sinks t’ th’ bottom o’ whate’er body o’ water he’s floatin’ on, that bilge suckin’ arse.  I don’t even know what bilge is, but I’m pretty sure ‘at Viscus sucks it. 

Ahem, pardon m’ digression.  Now, where was I?  Oh yes.  Scarleton, despite it’s glarin’ problems, did ‘ave a bit o’ a bright spot; the dwarves o’ the Ironfist Forge are only a wee bit away from town, which meant I had plenty o’ good conversation wit’ some fellow craftsmen.  We cleared out a few o’ their forges an’ helped t’ relight them usin’ th’ magical fire crystals we found.  Nearly simultaneously, two groups went in search o’ th’ two fire crystals; a group o’ younger, less seasoned adventurers and a group o’ dark elves.  When we went in search o’ th’ crystals, we braved a trap laden dwarven tomb an’ eventually found th’ fire crystal in question.  We readily handed it o’er t’ th’ dwarves who relit th’ roarin’ flames o’ their Fire Forge, seein’ as how only th’ most crass, tactless, an’ rude sort o’ person would’ve tried t’ keep th’ fire crystal fer ‘emselves considerin’ how they were rightfully belongin’ to th’ dwarves in th’ first place.  We were thanked by Tairn Longbeard on behalf o’ th’ dwarves o’ th’ Fire Forge an’ received some beautiful dwarf-crafted arms an’ armor as our reward.

All thing considered, Scarleton isn’t a TRULY ‘orrible place.  Yeah, it plays host to throngs o’ vile undead, war-like goblins, an’ o’ course th’ brood, but on th’ bright side there’s… uh… umm… Ya know come t’ think o’ it, Scarleton sucks.  I highly suggest any an’ every livin’, sentient creature pack up an’ move as far away from Scarleton or Drackenhicky or whatever it’ll be called tomorrow as possible.  Trust me, it’s fer yer own good.

 - Clanger Alehammer

Oh, an’ if anyone needs t’ reach me, whether it be fer praise ‘r fer death-threats, ya can reach me by sendin’ a missive t’ m’ spacious Stonewood villa; SprAmazd(at)Yahoo(dot)com. 

Editor's note:  We have enabled comments for this opinion article, so you may add your own opinion of Clanegdin Alehammer's experience.