Treadwell had sent out a note earlier today--just after lunch, actually--to the good Governor Altias Bromn. The poor old man's in a predicament.
= = = = = = = = = =
Altias,
Do pardon the poor penmanship, here; I'm really fairly livid at the moment, with a good mix of frantic tossed in. Today while I was in the inn around lunchtime, wearing a yellow and black outfit of mine, one of the inn's latest villains--a short lass by name of Issy--played something of a most cruel prank on me.
My being dressed something like an overgrown bumblebee inspired her, I suppose; in short, she used her magics to suffer me the humiliation of--and you may come view me for proof if you think me mad or drunk!--sprouting a pair of bee-like wings from the shoulders! My usual gold-plated cane was also mystically changed, and, well, let's merely say I have a most realistic, pointy, dangerous stinger, now.
I expect help if it can be found; I most certainly look *quite* ludicrous. Now, I don't believe Myrken's laws rightly cover partial transformation of public officials. Do see this remedied very soon.
From my house by the lake, Aloisius.
P.S. Sitting is quite impossible, mind you. Rest assured I've been lying around a good deal--on side, not back!--and, well, I must admit, learning to make fair use of these wings. They seem strong enough to carry me about, at least. Mmmmm. -- A.H.T.
= = = = = = = = = =