Unlike those of us born in the late 900s, this generation born circa the year 1000 refuses to choose from among their number an individual to be thrown into a pit, covered in pine, and left as a sacrifice to the harvest gods.

“My cousin died in a pit when I was a youth,” says Bedg, “and we had the sweetest yams the next year.”

“Times change,” says Wim. “We were born in a year with 4 digits. I don’t see how getting tossed in a pit affects the yield at all.”

Several nights of storms indicate the gods’ displeasure, but we’ll update as more news is available.

It’s terrible to be dragged underneath the lily pads by mermaids when you were only trying to drink from a cool pond.

It’s even worse when the mermaids throw you back on shore uneaten, making cutting comments.

“Why would we eat someone with a haircut like that?”

“Go try some other pond to drink from with your earthworm lips. Go on and WALK there, Legs.”

“Spend another year eating pastries then come on back, skinny.”

C’mon. I can drown as well as anyone. I could be torn apart by sharp little teeth, my bones drifting down into the soft mud floor of a pond.

Give me a shot. Give me a chance.

Blue Humbugs – Noted for their pallor, their lack of interest in answering questions, and their trajectory: away from you as the universe expands

Howling Jerries – Technically the loudest of spirits, but an ear- or spirit-horn placed right up to their mouths is still required to hear them, and even if you’ve gone to that trouble, you’ll find that they don’t know anything. All they have are opinions. Who needs that? Avoid.

Big Doof – Under my bed and won’t come out, the big doof.

Fingy Glows – They touch y ou in the da rk wif dey FINGIES and you g et so scared you can’t t ype

It’s Saturday and we all know what that means! You can put away your combs and ointments, because our Mirror Siblings have the day off! Every reflective surface in the village today is uninhabited because our reversed selves are visiting their Hush Cocoons and resting up for the coming week, when they’ll once again have to match our every movement.

Such dedication! Nature’s wonder, those cocoons, which muffle the shrieking of creatures who’ll never choose their own path!

It’s Wednesday and we all know what that means! Time to take your elderly down to the village square for the weekly Elder Exchange. Swap out the wrinkly creature who’s been parked by your fire pit all week for a new one that’s slightly different shaped, but will at least have new complaints and may tell new stories.

Every bit of lore we know was passed down from these valued elder relatives, so get down there and haggle for the best ones before they’re gone! Wednesdays!

A bit of friendly advice: Don’t trade for the following:

Mushroom-Eyed Ada – She’s all the time talking about how much she can now see since she swapped her eyes for mushrooms. Gross.

Mr. Lump – No one knows his real name, but there’s an old guy under those rags somewhere. Doesn’t talk. Smells a bit. Very active at night.

Dannica Hazelfountain – Only remembers one spell and it turns food into smoke. Only useful if you don’t eat, or if you breathe smoke comfortably. Good way to meet the village fire patrol, though.

Please stop tossing pennies into the well. The spirit of the well doesn’t need pennies to grant your wishes. The spirit needs a ladder. It wants to crawl out of the well, dripping with goodwill, grinning with wet teeth, ready to assist young lovers and lonely widows with its wish-granting, moist fingertips.

No more pennies. Can’t eat any more pennies. Only ladder. A ladder in the dark.

There’s no surer sign of the decline of home economics in the village than the sight of shambling horrors parading down the path from the castle, each a chimera stitched from creatures and men, yet by the time they reach our square, they’ve lost AT LEAST one limb, strings trailing behind them.

An attempt to abduct a single child then prompts MORE rupturing and once again, we have to apportion precious well water to mopping unspooled monsters off the cobblestones.

Shoddy stitchwork. It’s shameful.

Has this ever happened to you?

“My magic tome drinks too much blood!”

“I have a month’s worth of summoning ahead of me… and I’m starting to look like a prune because of how much blood it takes to cover the walls and ceilings with sigils to keep the Unfathomable Powers from wrenching my home into the void!”

“There HAS to be a better way!”

NOW there is! Come on down to The Grove of Runnels after dark for 98% off our selections of liquids!

Come alone! And after drinking a big glass of water! We’ll stay open ’til you get here!