Stupid Human Year 2252

To the tune of: Bloodhound Gang – Your Only Friends Are Make Believe

GamesMaster Kieron has persuaded QuinnsMatt Sheret and I to join a game of Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay. I’m playing a dwarven student called Grok. I’m already addicted.

Stupid Human Year 2252.

Dear mother, da, and family.

Well, here I am in the Empire! I’m writing this in a waterfront bar which is full of Local Colour. Everyone is very friendly, though the beer seems rather expensive and not at all beerlike. It’s very thin and has hardly any mould or meat in it; no flavour whatsoever!

Oh, I forgot to say; I made a friend! He’s a tall mensch with webbed fingers and a constant cold. He taught me this (very easy) game of cards, and looked very excited when I learnt it so quickly. He jumped all over the place, and said lots of goyim words, then gave me his boat. What do I do with a boat? It would have been orcward to say no, so I accepted it, then asked the landlord, (called Fast Fortlifh – what silly names they have!) to keep hold of it for me.

Heinrich seems lucky (after all he ran into me!), so I’ve decided to keep him. He doesn’t cost much to feed and water, and it’s good to have someone who understands the local customs. He says tomorrow we’ll go up into the woods, as it’s fun up there. I think I’ll finish this letter then.

There’s so much sky here! We ran into a very nice human called Karl, who’s promised to show me a ‘bad time’. He’s crept off oh-so-quietly to go birdwatching I think, so Heinrich and I are having a sit down. We’re

Karl Playing With The Sheeps.

Well, that was EXCITING! After a while Karl didn’t come back but there was lots of yelling (a bit like when father stood on that squig) so we went through the woods to find him being beaten up by sheep! They were a bit taller than the sheep I remember – perhaps twice my height – and carrying axes! I thought it was very funny to see such silly sheep, until the ram gave me a big butt in my belly. Thankfully, I was wearing my mail shirt like you always told me so it didn’t hurt that much, and eventually I jumped high enough to chop his head off.

After we finished the others off, I suggested we stew up the mutton, but Karl looked a bit sick and we could hear what sounded like a whole flock in the distance, so decided to head towards a village a little boy we found stuck up a tree (tell Granda that they’re the big green things you burn if you run out of coal) told us about. Better stop now, as the others are telling me we need to be running rather than writing.

I hope you and the mine-ponies are okay, and the watcher in the deep hasn’t eaten any of the cousins recently.

xxxx
Grok

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GriddleOctopus

There are few harder things in life than introducing yourself, especially in print where mellifluous nuance can turn to indulgent wankery. So. I am definitely a 'writer'. You could also call me an 'artist'. I could probably put the words 'designer' and 'consultant' here too, but they feel crass.

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