Serendipity (or Calamity)

To my newly appointed favourite,

To my newly appointed favourite,

Apologies for the delay. These recent days are marked by most detestable indignity and inconvenience. Vivek The Verdant is an odious, odorous, obnoxious, oversized pustule. Our rendezvous was a fiasco. In fact, I should like to be parted from that foul creature's company for the next century or so. Allow me to regale you with my tale of torment.

Exactly two weeks ago, I sent correspondence to Vivek via his regional proxy, a hobgoblin called Mabithye. My ally's reply, penned in a hideous scrawl, was a terse rejection of my cordial invitation, sans explanation. I assumed some idiot minion had failed to deliver my request altogether, presuming to speak on their master's behalf. Resolved to convey my displeasure in person, I ventured forth. So intense was my outrage that I left my harpsichord at home and, whilst travelling, unleashed fury upon anything unfortunate enough to draw my gaze. This, in retrospect, was foolish, for recollection of the tantrum offers no relief. I should verily like to play my harpsichord instead.

After nine hours of disgusting weather, unsatisfying rage, and dense, soggy woodland bramble, I arrived to find Vivek suspiciously absent. Instead, I was greeted by a dishevelled assembly of unimpressive goons—a mess of kobolds, goblinoids, yuan-ti, ettercaps, and a few unhappy wood elves. The entire lot reeked of terror and one particularly audacious sycophant—a kobold with the voice of cheap crumhorn—insisted upon leading me to her lord personally.

Following a detour through more of the aforementioned bramble, it became apparent that I was the victim of an impromptu scheme to lure me from my destination. I immediately turned heel, to the clodpole kobold's dismay. A brief bit of intimidation prompted one lily-livered bugbear to disclose Vivek's location. I believe his brethren subsequently beheaded him.

Vivek was found languishing in a cramped, filthy, dimly lit chamber surrounded by clueless healers. He had fallen gravely ill, and his followers had somehow heaved him into this foetid hole as means of protection from intruders. Twas evidenced by the fifty sobbing kobolds at my feet. By all means, I should have slain Vivek and made off with his loot then and there.

Instead, against all reason, I set to work rectifying his servant's fantastic display of stupidity. For this lout I endured peon labour—removing poisonous residue and hauling his limp body to more comfortable accommodations. Now, I feverishly brew antinauseants and antidiuretics, employing what rudimentary medicinal magic I know to prevent impending dehydration from both ends. Perhaps the great gasbag resides beside a waterfall because he cannot retain a single drop of fluid.

What a dismal affair. The air is laced with miasma, and Vivek's incessant prattling between streams of vomit has proven even more incoherent than usual. My nose is irreparably singed, and I wonder if my vision is not also impaired. Unholy flatulence has contaminated my very soul. If this noxious beast would hie along and decide whether or not he intends to die, I would be most appreciative. Waiting upon him in this state of pathetic frailty grows tiresome. Should he survive, I may dismember him out of spite.

Given your inexplicable curiosity, I suppose now is as good a time as any to relay how our regrettable association began. Tis indeed, a marvel that we aligned at all. Vivek was orphaned ere reaching maturity—newly vulnerable without the might of his kin and in want of prospects. My sister and I had only recently become independent of mother, eager to explore new territory.

We discovered Vivek whilst stalking an unfamiliar wood and gaily began pursuit. I daresay he almost escaped by virtue of his guile, but the pair of us exceeded him in strength and experience. Nonetheless, we were impressed and took pleasure in the hunt. To end him would have been an awful waste. Offered alliance as opposed to annihilation, Vivek accepted our proposal.