I know that Father and Cosimo are great fans of pit fighting, but I confess, I fail to see what all the fuss is about. We went to an uncivilized place, tossed the dwarf into the jaws of some ravenous beast, and lined our pockets with the spoils of his survival. This is little different from how I spend any given evening since arriving in Llondor.
That is to say, I don’t see the appeal for the spectators. As a man counting the profits from a gambling table and a few well-placed bets, these events are appealing indeed. The locals who manage the fights are quite reasonable and open to new business ventures, given a respectable commission changes hands, so I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of them.
So far, I’m in the good graces of the Mayor, the captain of the Guard, and the leading lights of what passes for the local criminal element — and Cosimo says I’m unsociable!
I’ve also more or less confirmed my theory about the gnolls. There’s a gnome here named Spank who hoards antiquities and magical artifacts. His magical security is advanced enough to trouble even me — yes, of course I checked — and he has been witnessed in conversation with the gnoll leader whose head I later delivered to the town authorities. Why one would willingly stand within fifty feet of such a noisome creature, much less invite it to breathe in your vicinity by speaking to it, is beyond me.
He has the means to draw out gnolls and spirits, via his magical artifacts and, likely, magical powers. He has had ample opportunity in that secluded workshop of his. His motivations for dealing with these powers are still a puzzle, but I plan to solve it directly. My best guess is some foolish deal gone wrong, but I plan to catch up to the little irritant and avoid the need for guesswork. Like father always says, most problems solve themselves once you suspend them by their toes over a cesspit.
I hope this letter finds you relaxed and in good company.