Greetings Tea Spillers!

Marjorie F. Mulariad here, and I'm back with another hotly anticipated, long-awaited, desperately craved issue of Dear Marge!

As always, I'm practically drowning in letters from across the continent. The need for advice, wise counsel, a sympathetic ear, or an Agony Aunt to share your heartache and suffering seemingly never diminishes. And who better to take up that baton and this solemn duty for the world at large than me!

News and Rumours

ROMANCE OR RIBALDRY?

First up, a development in the Eaku-Traice romance! No longer a simple courtship or arrangement, no! In the aftermath of our well-wishes and celebrations, countless voices rose to the fore questioning the integrity of this pairing. Confusion has truly reigned, and now we don't know which way is up or down. Are they simply in denial, or has an innocent tryst become a highly controversial love pentagon? Our investigative journalists are on the case; check in next time for an update!

ROCK BOTTOM MASSACRE!

It was a cool Slyphian day. The leaves were falling from the trees. Winter was approaching, but the cold had not yet come. Vampires across the land were acquiring the cure for as-yet unspecified reasons. Witchhunters were afoot (see the Order of Celezor for your quote today, competitive with all exorcism services in a full package of flaming indignation!). And yet, despite the tranquility, TREACHERY was in the air!

Executed out of nowhere for a crime none can explain, a young Kobold of Rock Bottom was put to death by a supposed ally: an Ophidian of the Empire. An Empire ruled by those self-same Kobolds. An Empire of LIES some call it*. What followed was a bloodbath as renegade pilgrims of Top Rock swarmed into the area to lay siege against the Ophidian war-chief and his seemingly unlimited supply of guards.

* Hyperbole is a commonly accepted narrative practice and the writers of Dear Marge hold no personal animus or grudge against the Ophidian or Kobold people.

But he (and his dozens of guards) had aid from an unexpected source: Yettave of Bloodloch, rallying the Sanguine Fist's banners, mustered several of his allies to defend the territory! Blood spilled, corpses lined the Scaled Wager, and in the aftermath, whispers of an upset Empress and an even more upset Spirean contingent, their longstanding alliance with the Ophidians now called into question by an enterprising, or deranged, Kobold.

HAMMERHEAD UNMASKED?

While the Rock Bottom Massacre unfolded, Hammerhead surfaced again - this time in person! An army of thugs - Kelki, of course, please review Issue #1 of Dear Marge via public news #7351 for expert advice on handling piscine highwaymen - rushed to his aid around the highway as adventurers swarmed to try and bring him down. They were unsuccessful. Droves fell before this cadre of Kelki criminals and Hammerhead, having made his point, fled.

When asked for information on this master criminal's appearance, few could describe him. Instead, we learned only that he was not handsome.

DAUNTLESS DESIGNATION!

Slyphian draws to a close and what better time to announce an addition to the Dauntless Lady's many titles. Several reader submissions have made their way to me, and I am pleased to announce a new epithet for the ever-changing Goddess: Lady Ever-Moist! As always, Dear Marge accepts no responsibility, liability, or consequence for actions, words, or thoughts made against the Divine.

HERALD HERESY?

Yet again, the perils of the Tarblack Marshes are on display as a group of Enorian citizens ruthlessly cut down Herald Sryaen! No definitive reason has emerged from why they saw fit to murder their nipple-ring-clad peer, but our investigators suspect it has a relation to his status as a known bully. The Herald was later seen in the village of Abelaas with Emhyra and Jakarn. Reports say that all those involved have evaded questioning, and so once more I ask the query on all of our lips: What could they be up to?

Ask Marjorie

Marjorie, what does ululululu mean?

Much like "grahahaha", we have learned that "ululululu", often styled, "ULULULULULU" for emphasis, is yet another ancient Ithmian war cry. Whether it originates from the Serpent or Bear clans is unclear, but the intensity of the pitch and the excessive enthusiasm on display when this maxim is invoked bespeaks imminent danger. Flee at all costs, for someone insane, bloodthirsty, and incoherent is likely pursuing you.

Marjorie, do you believe the public should trust the wisdom of a seemingly elusive sage by the name of Cousin Woube and the life lessons that are being imparted on his behalf?

I have scoured my records and all the records of the land in search of one named Cousin Woube and I can confidently state that no one by that name exists as a qualified counsellor, columnist, journalist, author, advice-giver, match-maker, or dispenser of incredibly helpful and life-saving tips. Pay no attention to the words of Cousin Woube - listen to Marge, and you won't go far wrong.

Marjorie, a Gnome has taken up residence in my garden and refuses to leave. How do I deal with this squatter?

Ah, the age-old problem of Gnome squatting! Gnomes are stubborn little buggers but can occasionally be reasoned with. First, try offering him a trade: a cosy spot in a mushroom cap near the flowerbed in exchange for his expert advice on cultivating your carrots or other burgeoning vegetables to a giant size. You'll be the talk of the town if he agrees!

If this approach fails, I recommend challenging him to a series of increasingly ridiculous competitions. Some examples might include a "Who's the tallest?" contest, or "Who can hold their breath the longest?", "Who can jump the highest?", or even "Who has the shortest beard?" When you've proven victorious, the intruder will no doubt respect your superior skill and leave of his own accord.

Finally, should all other methods fail, I recommend simply killing him and burying him somewhere that nobody will think to look.

Marjorie, what does the "F" stand for?

I'm glad you asked, dear reader. The F was bestowed upon me while I was a field medic in the Liruma War. I found my way there after the nuns (who, you'll recall, raised me following abandonment by my adoptive and blood parents) deemed me unfit for religious service and prone to exaggeration. It stands, of course, for Farcical (much like those nuns).

That's all I have time for this week! Remember, if you need advice, have a philosophical question, or gossip to submit, you need only send it to Marjorie F. Mulariad in the Grand Library at v81000! Advice free of charge!

Until next time, Scandal Seekers!

Penned by my hand on Closday, the 21st of Slyphian, in the year 5 AC.