Perhaps it was the giddy aftermath of the New Year, or perhaps the effect of my usual nightcap cocktail of Absinthe, laudanum, Ol’ Janx Spirit and brown mushrooms in a tall glass garnished with a stick of Mandrake Root and Cinnamon Bark, or perhaps just the pangs of guilt over what I previously did to reindeer, but I had this diabolical creature seep into my dreams.

The curse that plagues this Wizard’s Hat is filling my mind with grotesque, failed spells. I think this is an omen, a premonition of things to come if I keep working with the forces of nature and trying to pronounce words I simply don’t understand.

It was my want to harness the power of nature and it’s power for good, but since I’ve already tripped on my own sword and stabbed myself in a place that makes me thankful for the invention of the codpiece, perhaps magic and spell casting aren’t in my bailiwick.


More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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