Reporter / Ask Konrad the Barbarian

I ghost penned this column for the Sablean Times quite some time ago, so I feel it is now safe to come clean with this little secret. Writing each issue was a huge amount of fun for me, and I hope for all the readers as well!

Issue #3

                        Ask Konrad the Barbarian

Well, my mail made it to me as normal, unlike the bloody heap formally
known as my postal carrier that I found on my doorstep.  Unfortunately,
only a couple of letters survived the deluge of blood enough to still
be legible.  Maybe the orcs have something against those who promote
readin' and writin'.

With my sword I salute you, postman...

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DEAR KONRAD: I am an innocent catfolk singer with a heart full of
goodness. One day I fell in love with an extremely beautiful human, with
a wonderful voice and couldn't relate the strange smell of her to she
being a necromancer. Next she invited me to her home to make me one of
her special hand made soups. I will never forget the feeling of disgust
and horror when I found a finger of a human in the soup. I fled that day
as quickly as I could and am now praying that she will never find me
again. But she keeps dropping letters at the post office with my name and
still tells me that she madly loves me. Now I cannot decide whether she
loves me or she wants me in her next catfolk soup. I thank you for your
advice in advance.  --A Confused Catfolk

DAMMIT, CONFUSED: As a singer you're one of those touchy-feely, artsy-
fartsy emotional sorts, aren't you?  How do I put this delicately?  Oh
by the Aether, delicate just ain't in my nature.  Just cleave the black
heart from that foul bitch's bosom and be done with it!  How many people
who serve soups made of humans and catfolks do you really want to hang
around with?  You can't tell me you were really looking forward to
getting it on with those cold-as-ice witch-titties.

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DEAR KONRAD: I love your column, Konrad.  Now, on to the question.
Friends of mine are always talking in their racial tongue around me.  I
find it horribly rude, and have mentioned to them it bothers me.  They
keep on doing it; what shall I do?  --Frustrated in Sable

DAMMIT, FRUSTATED: Are you sure you weren't drunk?  Are you sure you're
friends weren't drunk?  Are you sure you BOTH weren't drunk?  Wine is a
mighty powerful thing and can make people say weird stuff.  Trust me
from experience, waking up in the morning with a bad hangover to find
you've decapitated a dear friend over a drunken misunderstanding the
night before ain't really the way to start the day.  Still, ya gotta
do what ya gotta do.  If you feel like being nice, take 'em to the
Arena to show 'em who's boss.  Remember, only YOU can prevent accidental
sword inplants.

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DEAR KONRAD: My friend and I have a bet on this.  Which pastime do you
prefer, chess or axe throwing?  --Double R'Nothin

DAMMIT, DOUBLE: Chess?  Axe throwing?  What kinda wuss do you and your
friend think I am?  Try axe CATCHING!  Now there's a sport.  I dare say
I'm the only living three-time axe-catching champion.  You both go
pratice that and maybe I'll see ya at the next tournament.

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That's all the advice I have for now.  Send your insignificant
questions and pleas for the wisdom of Konrad via the Post Office to
Editor with a subject of: Ask Konrad.