All around me for weeks, I've been seeing those fresh-faced rookies gush about how much they love it here in Magnamar. Sure, it's fun to hob-nob with its rich folk, without having to worry about some demon dame looking to pull your soul out through your urethra. When they sent me all the way to Osirion, I got promised I'd never have to come back to this ruined cesspit, and then they pull something like this. Nobody knows and hates the place like I do - I grew up there, so I should know - so what could I do but take the job?
Officially, I've been writing speeches on behalf of the Society, and helping watch over the Lodge, but twice now I've been sent out to keep those rookies from dying. I know this trash heap of a birthplace like the other sides of my shoulders, let's say, and if I find any lawbreaking Aspis goons or crooks calling themselves Pathfinders, I'll bring 'em in and have 'em locked up tighter than the Rough Beast.
Also, since I know you're gonna end up reading this, Torch, watch your mailbox. By the time you get that letter full of stuff I won't say in public, Sheila'll have already sent me out to do more of your leftover dirty laundry.