Our Dearest Grim,
It is with bated breath and fluttering butterflies in our abdominals, that we sisters three set our quills to writing a letter of absolute importance.
It has been nearly a day since the Grand Convention of Multiples, or G.C.M., that we last set glittering eyes upon your velvety tabards. What a snaky skull cloaked in a mysterious hood, a brilliant white border lacing the edges like the crust of a crispy apple pie set upon a pristine window sill. Mmm. Have you ever had such a pie? It sets your mouth to watering and your nose to quivering.
Anyhow, we were at this convention, as we attend every year, expecting little more than a packed gathering of robotic quints and their spokespersons following single file and moving as one... We were investigating the substantial menu when we met with the most interesting orc females. Normally we avoid such rambunctious devourers with table manners unsuited to our own preferences, but we overheard them speaking with such vigor and glee about their hopes and dreams that we were inclined to be jealous.
What was this association of natural born killers? Who were these muscled males and females who set their glittering armor on sturdy shoulders, throwing axes and daggers to hit pink faces betwixt the eyes?
Who were they that carelessly slung such gorgeous tabards over burly frames, stomachs bursting with food and power beyond our wildest dreams? For the price of plate after plate of solid meals slid beneath the pug noses of the gutteral orcs, we heard stories such as we had never heard in our lives.
We left that convention with not a single gold coin clinking from within three purses but we left rich.
Please accept us into your fold.
-Mixzi, Kixzi and Bixzi
A letter attached to a box of fine goblin wine.
Moderator: Officers