A Series of Memos

Every year, in my D&D group, we do a little write-up of how our character spent the holidays. It’s basically a fun little creative-writing exercise that occasionally builds some plot points and nets us a couple of XP. Last year our Druid had a religious experience, my paladin got very drunk with his order, our artificer attended the Artificer’s Gala, which ended in explosions, and the thief was nowhere near anywhere, not at all, absolutely nowhere, and had the alibi to prove it.

This was my contribution this year. Useful knowledge: my paladin Rooster belongs to a group called the Order of the Silver Weasel who hunt demons and are best known for razing towns and sowing fields with salt, and whom many of the other paladinly orders feel are a little bit out there. They view all orphanages as a front for Children of the Corn-style horror and orphans are one of the inherently evil races.

Rooster reports to the Lord Marshall of the West, currently head of the order in a town called Marksville. For Christmas, he brought them a dead blue dragon.

 

From the Desk of the Lord Marshall of the West,
Temple of the Silver Weasel

Memo to all Servants of the Weasel in Marksville, re: Winter Feast

Okay, lads, here’s the problem. We have to do something really spectacular this year to prove our place in the community as more than just burners-of-towns and smiters-of-demons. The Temple of Tyr was really cutting about last year’s Swords-for-Tots debacle, and they just won’t let it go. This year, we need to change that.

Fortunately, our temporary knight-errant in residence was kind enough to provide most of a dead blue dragon for the soup kitchen. The Alchemist’s Guild says they can build a deep-fat fryer that’ll cook it up nice, but just in case, we’re keeping a couple of drumsticks and the soup bones aside. Weasel knows where they’re getting all the fat from, but the one without eyebrows told me not to worry about it, so we’ll see.

I expect to see everyone turned out on the eve of the solstice to serve soup. Let’s get out there and help some homeless people!

Yours in the Weasel,

the Lord Marshall


From the Desk of the Lord Marshall of the West,
Temple of the Silver Weasel

Memo to all Servants of the Weasel in Marksville, re: Winter Feast

Some of you may have noticed the smoking crater outside the Alchemist’s Guild. Fortunately, we still have plenty of meat, since they only got half the dragon in before it blew up. There will still be plenty of soup for all the needy in Marksville. Let’s prove that the Weasel is foremost in charity as well as mayhem!

Yours in the Weasel,

the Lord Marshall


From the Desk of the Lord Marshall of the West,
Temple of the Silver Weasel

Memo to all Servants of the Weasel in Marksville, re: Winter Feast

It has come to my attention that some of the younger paladins—you know who you are—are rounding up homeless people from other towns and bringing them to Marksville for the Solstice. While I am sure that your hearts are in the right place, a charity drive is not like a cattle drive. We have had complaints.

Yours,

the Lord Marshall


From the Desk of the Lord Marshall of the West,
Temple of the Silver Weasel

Memo to all Servants of the Weasel in Marksville, re: Winter Feast

By the hairs on the ass of the Great Skunk, what the hell is going through your tiny little brains? Yes, we’re in a friendly competition with the Temple of Tyr about how many homeless people we can feed, but that does not mean that you get to go out and burn people’s houses to improve your numbers! You don’t get to make more homeless people! The Weasel does not approve of that! Anyone caught doing so will be fined and will do a vigil on their knees in the snow.

the Lord Marshall

From the Desk of the Lord Marshall of the West,
Temple of the Silver Weasel

Memo to all Servants of the Weasel in Marksville, re: Winter Feast

It has come to my attention that at least one of the homes burned as mentioned in the previous memo was an orphanage. Those responsible are excused from vigil. (Good job, lads.)

the Lord Marshall

From the Desk of the Lord Marshall of the West,
Temple of the Silver Weasel

Memo to all Servants of the Weasel in Marksville, re: Winter Feast

Okay, I blame myself. When I said that we were in a friendly competition with the Temple of Tyr, I should have placed greater emphasis on “friendly.” Please untie the priests of Tyr and return them to the temple. There will be no disciplinary action taken at this time, as long as the priests are returned immediately, but I would urge all those involve to meditate upon the meaning of Lawful Good.

the Lord Marshall


From the Desk of the Lord Marshall of the West,
Temple of the Silver Weasel

To His Grace, Lord Justiciar of the Temple of Divine Tyr, Marksville

I am very, very sorry about the incident. As near as I can tell, some of our younger and less-bright recruits came upon several of your priests and mistook their caroling for speaking in demonic tongues. Your priests have been returned, hopefully none the worse for wear, and again, I apologize. I can assure you that disciplinary action will be taken immediately.

Sincerely,

the Lord Marshall

From the Desk of the Lord Marshall of the West,
Temple of the Silver Weasel

Memo to all Servants of the Weasel in Marksville, re: Winter Feast

It has come to my attention that some members of the order are attempting to pad the attendance at the soup kitchen by hiring prostitutes to take part. While I applaud your enthusiasm at ministering to the dregs of society, some of those women make upwards of two hundred gold pieces an hour, and the Weasel’s treasury is not bottomless. Let’s try to confine ourselves to the less fortunate.

the Lord Marshall

From the Desk of the Lord Marshall of the West,
Temple of the Silver Weasel

Memo to all Servants of the Weasel in Marksville, re: Winter Feast

Kobolds are not less fortunate. That is all.

the Lord Marshall

From the Desk of the Lord Marshall of the West,
Temple of the Silver Weasel

Memo to all Servants of the Weasel in Marksville, re: Winter Feast

Damnit, people, there is not a Yuletide event called “the Running of the Homeless.” You stop that right now.

the Lord Marshall

From the Desk of the Lord Marshall of the West,
Temple of the Silver Weasel

Memo to all Servants of the Weasel in Marksville, re: Final Winter Feast Attendance Numbers

Well, we had a few rough patches this year, lads, but all in all, I am pleased to announce that the Weasel’s Winter Soup Kitchen was a rousing success. We had eight whole homeless people attend, a vast increase over last year’s numbers, and two of them even asked for seconds! The Temple of Tyr will certainly know who’s foremost in charity in Marksville, although I’m sure we all wish them the very best of luck in cleaning up after that inexplicable hill giant attack on Solstice Eve.

Please report to the treasurer for any reimbursements required (Note: Prostitutes are disallowed, as mentioned previously) and to the infirmary if you celebrated a little too hard following the close of the soup kitchen.

Yours in the Weasel,

the Lord Marshall

From the Desk of the Lord Marshall of the West,
Temple of the Silver Weasel

To: Adventurer’s Co-op Local #649

Looking to sell eleven hundred gallons of blue dragon soup stock. Organic, no pesticides, so far as I know dragon was never on antibiotics or steroids. Mostly de-electrified. Only used to drown one kobold. Can be delivered. Please advise.

Sincerely,

the Lord Marshall

10 thoughts on “A Series of Memos

  1. Aurabolt says:

    Yeah, this sounds wonderful. My question is, pretty understandably, how this order of Paladins manages to hold onto their right of power against Evil. I mean, burning down orphanages and whole villages? Come on, we’re talking about displacing innocent people, so I imagine that while it may certainly be Lawful by the narrative, it doesn’t seem all that Good.

    Either way, I love this little story, and hope to hear more crazy stuff from your D&D group.

  2. Mean Waffle says:

    Oh, mercy! This makes me want to do something similar with my cleric, and I just don’t know if I can pull it off.

    Oh, damn. He has a great-grandmother who lives in a tower, scrying on all of her relatives and bossing everyone around. She’s going to be writing a holiday letter. One of those unforgivable bragging ones. Or she’s trying to.

    But he’s the wandering white sheep of the family. Who is this person?

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