Montgomery Prescott Wellington's page

The letter you receive comes addressed to you all the way from the Mwangi Expanse. The distance of the voyage could have handled the sealed letter with kinder touch, yet the battered parchment stands defiantly before you nonetheless. It smells strongly of gunpowder and dwarven brandy, likely a fading remnant of the big game hunter who wrote it. The words there in address you quite plainly.

I say there, my good man! No gunslingers!? Why this is an outrage and tactical blunder if ever I have witnessed such a thing! By the Grand Prince's y fronts, how do you plan to properly protect your guests without firearms, man!?

Unappreciative local wildlife indeed! I shall endeavor to inform Lady Emilior you have referred to the old bat as such, haw haw haw!

Surely the Emporer would turn arse over elbow to hear of such preposterous proclamations. I shall simply have to console myself by remaining here in the Mwangi Expanse and shooting something extremely large, haw haw haw!

Cheerio, then!

Montgomery Prescott Wellington III, big game hunter and dashing gentleman.