Rogan stared at the blank parchment before him. He was having trouble deciding what to include in the dreaded annual Christmas letter. His family were well aware that he was, to put it mildly, a scoundrel but he had little to boast about.
There was that misadventure with the princess of Valla that had almost lost him his head and he didn’t think bragging about how close he had come to death would fill his family with pride. Then there was the incident with the lost treasure of Howling Wind. The treasure had been within his grasp but that bucket of spit, Leyland, had swooped in at the last moment and stolen it from under his nose. That still brought a flush of rage to Rogan’s cheeks. All in all, it had not been a very good year.
His quill had gone dry and he dipped it in ink. He had to write something or they might get the wrong idea and think he was dead. Father would be furious if he broke out the good wine for nothing. Rogan put quill to parchment and began to write:
“Well, what a year it’s been…”