Postbag 36

Dear MacBurl2 the magnificently odd,

My skull more than makes up for my lack of arms. You want an omelette? I can whip one up with a head butt to an egg, a shot from my patented butter cannon, and a spatula wedged into a nasal cavity.

The same goes for writing: I grip the pen with my molars and �dance� to the rhythm of the words. I have a certain flourish that my calligraphy teacher tells me is South Kharidian.

Juna, on the other hand, prefers to communicate verbally and I have to write it down. I get a mugful of tears (and a straw) for my troubles, so it more than balances out.

PP

P.S. � I tell good jokes, thank you very much! I came up with a doozy for the Wise Old Man last week and tea squirted out of his face. Let�s see what you think of it:

Q � What happens if you right-click and �Use� your own belly?
A � Nothing intestine happens

Have some of that!

Dear Bucked Lure,

You have to remember, dear friend, that Lumbridge Castle is very old � much older than you or I. It dates back to the middle of the Fourth Age, when the most pressing threat was from the east, not west.

You still raise a valid point: we have few defences against the creatures of the west, and are over-reliant on the protection of the White Knights. That does not mean that we should put weight on the threat of goblinkind, however: relations have certainly improved. The treaties signed with the Dorgeshuun seem to have reduced the hostility of nearby goblins. I have a feeling that there will be further positive changes in the New Year.

As for the back door: well, we would be in danger if it was not there. My aunt visited last Christmas, and my troubled chef once smoked out the castle: that�s two times that I have used the back door, which is more than enough to warrant its existence.

I hope I have helped. If you need an anti-dragonbreath shield, don�t hesitate to call.

Duke Horacio

Betentacled Ganondorf7769,

Ralvash is gone; Muspah, famous, sleeps with the fishies, if fishies frozen could be. That's where the shadows are shadowed, and even the delvers don't dare. Bizarre: one day it's almost time for a shadow to shift - and a shadow to open its unblinking, empty eye.

What's in Raktuber this year? A white bird, as the etymology of ornithology goes. That's not where Bandos is, he's in a rage, old chum, old temple, old plots, old power. Old is as old does - I'm old, sometimes, so I should know, but I do not.

This great, high, uplifted land, Corrupt and Natural, and all things bound within the soul of the slayer - whose land is it? The red and the green, but not entirely like or unlike the ramblings of a mad, dead man.

Within a darkening universe,
Reappropriated Polychromatic Reptile

Dearest Maelstorm On,

We have known about these cursed and magical trees for some time; in fact, we each have a sorry tale to tell about them. We would not advise you to try any of these out, dear friend:

Ignatius - I gave a pile to my good friend Blaze, who used them to light a beacon. Before he could put the fire out, the smoke had formed into the shape of the King Black Dragon! Varrock was thrown into a complete state of panic, and poor Blaze had his wages docked.

Hickton - I created a short bow with it, which was simple enough, and volunteered my apprentice to take the first shot. At the instant before it hit its target, the arrow swerved back and headed towards my apprentice. Luckily, it was my apprentice's birthday and he was wearing a large, steel '18 today' badge. The lucky boy.

Wilfred - A friend of mine acquired several logs to make into an axe, which he swung at a nearby willow tree. The axe then flew out of his hand and into the clouds. That night a storm came, the lightning hitting his crops. In the morning, he looked out of his window and saw a message in the corn: "Next time, I'll huff and I'll puff".

We hope that you can learn from our mistakes, and avoid the accursed magic trees at all costs.

Yours imploringly,
Ignatius, Hickton and Wilfred.

Puny Zorc62,

You clearly have much to learn about destroying cities. To cause widespread fear, you don't need strength; you just need the impression of it. Look at me - I am terrifying to behold! No fool could be blamed for fleeing from me. Few stick around to face me in battle once they have beheld my horns and my wild-eyed stare.

There will always be meddling upstarts, though. They'll wander into the sewers, pick up some old key and get wild delusions of grandeur. Without Silverlight, I tell you, I would be free to enslave, set fire to things, fill people with pure terror, et cetera.

I have but one piece of advice for you: boo! (I bet you jumped.) Use it wisely, for it holds great power.

I must be off; I have not given up on my destiny to rule Varrock! Mwa ha ha!

Delrith the Mighty

*Hiss* King Ash66

The Fist of Guthix was never meant for anyone but Guthix. Unfortunately, while Guthix sleeps, there are plenty who would disagree - gods, Mahjarrat and men, all after its power. I'd expect nothing less from humans, feeble creatures that they are, but Saradomin should have known better. I recall when Saradomin's knights came to claim the Fist, and to make the caves their temple. Their efforts were frustrated, of course, and, as Saradominists often do, scrawled the symbols on the walls as they left.

I have been guarding this cave for mortal lifetimes and have encountered many who seek the power of the Fist. Thankfully, in His wisdom, Guthix deemed it necessary to further safeguard the Fist, tasking Crux Eqal with its protection. As such, those who pass me are still far from acquiring it. In the meantime, I'm left to babysit a bunch of power-crazed, thankless mortals and keep them from causing too much damage. *sigh*

Fiara