Olesya's Dispatches - A Fishy Tale

The Ubersreik Five may not know Olesya Pimenova as a conversationalist, but the caustic Kislevite is secretly a prolific writer of letters. Amongst her grimoires and arcane paraphernalia are stowed reams of gossip and covert intelligence from across the Old World. To what purpose this correspondence? Nobody knows. Suffice to say, Olesya's fingers are in many pies.

Dearest Kotku,

I trust this missive arrived safely. The shadows of the Chaos Wastes skirt too close to you for my liking, but as long as Erengrad holds, then Kislev survives. Further to your last letter - the movements of the First Damned are indeed cause for concern, but I will say this only once (and insist you repeat it loudly and clearly for the idiot burghers and gossiping gentry of the city). There are no fish mutants in the sewers of Erengrad! This fashion you describe for carrying around giant hooks in the event of encountering a so-called fishman? Deplorable. Not even the superstitious Southlanders would stoop so low. That said, I did enjoy your tale of the noble who was eaten by the bear he purchased to protect him from ‘pikemen’. Mark my words, sister, with the rats gone you’ll find bored sewer guards the source of all this nonsense.

Something almost as unbelievable as your fictitious creatures occurred at the keep this week. It started when our morbid Warrior Priest sprang a sermon upon us all. Normally one can tell when he’s working up to one, but this diatribe came out of the blue. I need not tell you that it cleared the room faster than Bardin after a turnip buffet. I was hot on the heels of the others when Saltzpyre apprehended me, mumbling something about needing an ointment. Well, something about the way he asked intrigued me, sister. I detected the delicious scent of potential mortification… He claimed to have cut himself while dissecting his horrible Skaven corpse, but wouldn’t let me see the wound. Our po-faced friend made his way back to his grubby little dungeon, poultice in hand. He’s naive enough to think I don’t have eyes all over the keep. Well, it’s fortunate for us he’s so ignorant, else I wouldn’t have discovered what he’s up to.

Our caustic zealot has rescued a rat from under the paws of the keep’s feline and is nursing it back to health! He’s trying to keep it hidden for now. Have I told the others? Of course not. It will be far more excruciatingly embarrassing for Saltzpyre when they discover it themselves.

One last thing I have been amusing myself with. Kerillian prides herself on her eagle-feather fletchings, to the point of covetousness. Our dear Kruber is rather too keen on hats, as you may recall. Fond as I am of our noble warrior, I couldn’t resist the opportunity for some mischief. Suffice to say, our elf will find her arrows becoming balder, and Kruber will find his plumes becoming more voluptuous. How long it will take either of them to realise I do not know, but I wager the elf will notice first.

You may hear the repercussions all the way from Erengrad, along with my laughter.

Yours,

Olesya