You will all be delighted to hear that news of my death has been greatly exaggerated. So are the tales of Madame Celestine’s Establishment. I can assure you they are not Young Ladies. Ahem.
It was a minor scratch, a minor scratch only, and I have arisen from my death bed fit to grace once more the salons and dining halls of the highest Eriador Society, as is my wont. The only after effect I have noticed is a minor tendency to forget unimportant things. It is possible that I only forget them because they are unimportant, but cause and effect have become somewhat muddled in my mind as of late. But no matter.
I fully expect Aegthil’s Social and Participatory Mountain and Valley Orchestral Band to throw me a Welcome Home party! What an excellent idea! Expensive presents! Free wine! Free food! Admiring women! Cheering crowds! The usual, I know, just the usual, but no more than I deserve.
In related news, my Fool was entirely unaware that readers were able to comment on my writings. He has only just discovered this, and has quickly approved all comments. He apologises for the lengthy delays, which perhaps caused some puzzlement to the many thousands of my fans who read my writings with avid relish. I find it hard to forgive him. Who knows how many young and beautiful maidens have withered away in their prime through lack of attention from myself, from belief that their admiration of my fine self could find no easy expression in the comments section? Who knows, indeed? It hardly bears thinking about.
Well, enough about my Fool. He is unimportant. Since my return I have been struggling with baddies around Ost Guruth (I believe that is the place’s name). This is a barbarous settlement in a barbarous area. Surrounded by undead, by zombies, by the walking people-eaters, it is a cultural desert, an oasis of intellectual dessication; in short, it is the jakes of Eriador. Just larger. Why the foolish Brown Wizard, Rabalast, Ralagast, Ragadast, whatever, chooses to live there is beyond my comprehension. Possibly a Green Wizard would know better. Or maybe even a Light Blue one. At any rate, I’m not surprised that the nearest Inn is Lonely. I’m just surprised it’s not The Totally Deserted POS Inn. Ask my Fool’s children what POS stands for. It’s not polite.
It was awfully kind of Harperella, that noble, beauteous, talented, wise, creative, gentle and well-bred Lady to donate a gold piece to my recovery fund. I accepted with a dignified air of grateful gentility. In truth, I find it relatively easy to earn money in these northern lands, and with precious little to spend it on. Before my fall I was able to gather together 12 gold pieces (which was entirely dissipated by medical expenses! You wouldn’t believe the price of quacks in Bree.) and since my recovery have amassed another 3 or 4.
But there is nothing to spend it on. Ridiculous clothes aside, of course. What silly capes people wear. But I digress. It’s not clear what I should do with my savings. I only need one horse. There is little armour available for purchase. I already look dashingly handsome in a special outfit. I have purchased all necessary instruments to display my talent.
What on earth should I buy now?