I found myself awakening in the Sanctuary Town Hall. It was an odd sensation that may or may not have had something to do with my vague memories of drink, “spices” and other such happenings that I seem to recall from the previous night.

However my amnesia, heart-warming as it was did make certain tasks more difficult, the large quantities of herbs about my person were a testament to my almost complete lack of money. So, intrepid as always I set off in the hopes of discovering something about the previous night, or perhaps another night to match or even surpass it. I found none. One thing that strikes me about sanctuary is that it is impossible to aim anywhere, regardless of where you look there is no definite direction to any of the streets, they twist and wind and turn back on themselves and then you find a strange man who asks awkward and probing questions.

The strange man I found was more welcoming than many and simply asked me to deliver a cargo of “spices” to a certain goblin in the lower reaches of the city. Now, such a simple task did not daunt me in the slightest. But the goblin in question (who remains nameless to protect his identity and his “stew”) was nowhere to be found. I searched lower sanctuary asked people about this “spice” master goblin. None knew. Amidst my musings I came to wonder if this “spice” master was really a goblin. Surely if he was hiding, he had reason to hide. But from who? The question perplexed me until I realised that the ancient struggle between those of the “spice” and those who could not accept the broadening of one’s horizons had once again come to the fore.

Thus, if this “spice” master was real, there was a possibility he might simply be a disguised gnome, or even a Halfling. Perhaps even the rumours of his small stature might be just a ruse to throw of those who would look down on his art. I discovered one who I thought would know. A stewmaster in lower sanctuary, he seemed distrustful, so to calm him I assured him of my status as a friend to the “spice” master and partook of no less than two bowls of stew. The stew was interesting, like swallowing some kind of diseased pustules but it gave a not altogether unpleasant sensation of floating through the city.

It was at this point that I was accosted by another who claimed to know where the “spice” master was, his vague wanderings led me in my hallucinatory state through several new and unknown sections of the fine city. My hopes rose briefly until he stated that he could not help and mentioned something about fighting some chosen. I asked him who had chosen these chosen. I asked him why we would fight them, but he was unforthcoming. I followed out of interest and journalistic professionalism and found myself as part of a large group heading into the sewers.

Only there as we stood around at the top of the pump house was it explained to me that anything that tried to bite me was probably a chosen. I told the people there that many people had tried to bite me and most of them claimed madness not any status as “chosen”. So with misgivings I joined them. The sewers were inhospitable and filled with many rats who tried to bite me who I was then told were not chosen, just rats. My confusion was peaking at this point when someone finally told me a ridiculous story about the chosen being some form of corrupted gnome who had attacked some machinery. As a gnome myself I am fully aware of course that machinery does not need help to break and thus no gnome in his right mind would bother trying to help it break. So I decided that if lies were all I would receive I would continue and learn what I could.

Now the sewers themselves were filled with enemies both rats and large (far too large to be gnomes I might add) rat-like creatures whom the author proceeded to destroy in great numbers with his spells and watch as various members of the group were stunned into inaction by the sheer weight of magical power rushing past them. But I digress. Suffice to say, the chosen were slain. We found their garden, a piecemeal affair of no culinary or other interest so we left. I was most surprised when gold was thrown at me for the endeavour it being beyond the thought of this journalist to ask for payment for observing and recording such a task.

I spent most of the gold on a form of mushroom based brew. It dulled the senses and burned the throat and produced an interesting feeling of unsteadiness as I made my way to upper sanctuary to search for a warm bed and desk to begin my writings. Not to be it would seem. I was accosted by another who I shall refer to, after his own request as “Mr Barky” who also sought the “spice” master. Now we had little luck until someone overheard our musings and explained the location (again omitted for the safety of those involved) of the “spice” master. We made our way there and he commissioned us to acquire a certain ingredient needed for his “stew” now I had few doubts at this point as to the status of the “spice” master, run out of town and surrounded only by his kin and of course assented to this task for the good of “spice” and “stew” partakers everywhere. So myself and “Mr Barky” proceeded to decorate ourselves as trees and then wander out of the city. The exact reason for the tree disguise was beyond me but “Mr Barky” was most insistent and so we proceeded into the black looking like small ambulatory tree stumps.

After much searching we located the ingredient, a pair of nymph eyes located inside a rather dashing nymph. It had not until this point occurred to me the unpleasant necessities of acquiring the ingredients but distasteful as it might be, in the interest of “stew” we had to acquire them and despite numerous generous offers from myself and “Mr Barky” she refused to assent and while running from our requests was attacked by a large beetle and impaled on its mouthparts. Now to avoid any kind of wastefulness, “Mr Barky” acquired the ingredients in a most grisly fashion and proceeded to carefully store them for the “spice” master’s use.

With little further to do outside the city, we returned; myself in slightly foul spirits after having watched the unfortunate death of such a beautiful creature. The “spice” master was most grateful for our efforts and after adding the ingredients to his stew pot allowed both myself and “Mr Barky” to try the new and improved stew. The subtle flavours were impressive but not as hallucinatory as I had hoped, so I had the “spice” master bottle me some and returned to the city itself to write down my musings. I have since consumed more alchohol than any one gnome should be able to endure and shall proceed to pass out before I vomit in my spellbook.