Sewer Papers Newspapers Reactions

[Greum]

A massive oaf of an orc, whose terrible body odour could surely put an entire village to death on its own, could be seen standing in Galmair's streets with a newspaper in his hands.
Scratching his head, the orc squinted his eyes while staring intently at one of its pages before exclaiming:
"Dis can't beh! Impossibul! Meh... Meh forgot... Meh can't read!"
With a disgruntled grunt, the orc tosses the paper aside in frustration into a nearby bush as he walks off with a blood spotted hammer in hand.
Later, he is seen bludgeoning ratmen to death, his hammer earning new spots whilst he shouts "Meh can't read!? Yoo can't read! Yoor whole clan can't read!".

((If anyone feels like posting their characters reaction to any of the papers articles, whether current ones or in the future, feel free to post them here. I imagine most character's thoughts about his paper would be negative, if they even read it, but it would still be fun for me as the author of Greum's drivel (and I imagine others could find it amusing as well) to see how people respond. Sadly I for various reasons rarely get to see their responses in game, which can feel like I am making these issues for a non-existent audience, so I thought maybe on the forum I could get to see some reactions.))

[Alytys Lamar]

The messenger brought the latest news from the realms. Including the unfortunate newspaper called *Sewer Papers*
Aly just shook her head as she read it all.
"Luckily nobody takes you seriously, you stinking uncouth something of an orc. But enough is enough - I really should kick your arse hard, I can still do that at my age!"
She looked up to where Inara was still asleep and, after a moment's thought, used the newspaper to light the chimney.

"When she goes to Galmair to work, she'll see this crap anyway..." she grumbled to herself before setting the breakfast table.

[Inara Valdris]

When Inara got up, Aly had already set the table with breakfast. However, the conversation during breakfast was limited to the daily routine, which for Inara mainly involved going to the
workshop in Galmair to work. Aly didn't mention the latest issue of the Sewer Papers at all, and of course Inara didn't ask about it.
Inara was in good spirits when she entered Galmair, the town was almost a second or rather third home for Inara. She greeted the city guards at the gate and the three craftsman in the
workshop. However, they looked at Inara a little strangely because of her good mood as she spread out her tools on the workbench.
So Inara frowned, looking from one to the other.
"What? Why are you looking at me so strangely?"
Tony was the one who spoke up.
"Well, maybe you should take a look at Greum´s newspaper?"
He was the one who carefully held it out to her. Inara raised a brow and took a deep breath before grabbing the newspaper and starting to read.
Inara closed her eyes as she lowered the newspaper and handed it back to Tony a little more aggressively... or threw it. Her pointed ears twitched treacherously, as did one of her
eyebrows. Inara opened her eyes again and narrowed them slightly.
"I..will break his nose...several times! That greasy..."
She shook her head, taking a deeper breath.
"Not only that he still can't spell my name correctly...no, now this insolence and insult!"
This time it was Thorgrem who cleared his throat slightly and had an objection.
"I would reconsider this, young friend. Hitting him might not be considered politically correct. Well, you know how it is here between the realms."
Inara gave Thorgrem an angry glare at first...before sighing and slumping her shoulders a little.
"I know!...but reason and political correctness are not quite compatible with my fiery temperament! But...I...will try to restrain myself..."
Then Inara grabbed her axe and set off to leave the workshop. But she cast a quick glance over her shoulder.
"Don't worry, I'm only going to chop down trees... at least as long as Greum doesn't get near my axe, it's hard to see the difference."

[Asphy]

Rose placed a written parchment in front of Asphy."There you have it, it's written here - frail elves of Runewick - you must eat more!"

Asphy took the parchment and as she read, her expression changed several times between astonishment, indignation and smirking.

She had already read several of this orc's publications and had recently met him for the first time at this tournament. Her initial curiosity at finding a special specimen of this species turned out to be a disappointment, as he seemed simple and clumsy. Nevertheless, he seemed to have a particular hubris, as he sat on a throne-like seat that was obviously reserved for high leaders of the realms. For a moment, she thought of Malchus.

In any case, she was relieved that she didn't have to compete against this Greum, especially as a foul odor wafted over from him. Aswe probably sighed for this reason when the participants of the first round were announced.

"How dare that embarrassing orc!" she snorted with feigned indignation.

She was aware that orcs generally tended to consider themselves superior due to their size and strength. A self-assessment from a time when they were still superior to the early humans.

Aswe had almost playfully put him in trouble with her fighting technique "He's slow with his weapon and his head" she thought to herself with a grin.
"Maybe I should get to know this orc, what do you think Rose?"

Rose snatched the parchment from Asphys hands and walked away shaking her head and tapping her head.

[Katharina Brightrim]

Sitting at her desk in Cadomyr, Katharina browsed through report after report, through this letter and that letter. Most of it bored her out of her mind, if she was completely honest. But work had to be done and being informed about stuff and things was part of that work, allegedly. So, when she spied the headline, promising her the "Sewer Papers", she skipped past the other letters on top of it, reading through it eagerly. The frown that usually settled in on her forehead while working softened with every article she read and by the time, she had reached "Greum's corner", she was chuckling softly. "For all his faults, his papers are amazingly witty. I really wonder who's writing them for him."

More cheerful than before, she got up to show the latest news to Amanda, to share the amusement. And to procrastinate the rest of the other parchments waiting for her. Probably more that than the amusement-sharing, if she was frank with herself.

[Malchus]

Clad in armour and wrapped in a sullied yellow cloak, Malchus trudged into Runewick's tavern to dine and rest after a long day of mercenary work, his mud-caked boots leaving behind a trail of dirt where he walked.
When he sat down in front of Rose and paid his silver for a mug of mead and a bed for the night, she gave him an admonishing frown.
"Yes, yes, I got it. I gonna take a bath before I lay down on yer oh-so-clean bedsheets. No need for that look," Malchus grumbled.

While enjoying his drink and an apple pie which he had brought with him, Malchus noticed a copy of the "Sewer Papers" on the bar counter, no doubt left behind by some other patron.

"Looks like they managed to stitch Greum together again. Or maybe Cherga simply couldn't bear his stench in her realm," he sighed and began to skim through the news.
He couldn't but smirk in amusement, occasionally murmuring comments about the latest news to Rose.

"An imposter pretendin' to be Aswe? Tsk, don't tell me they're still peddlin' that doppelganger nonsense from Mas 71. Cowardly knights; now 'ere's sumthin' that greenskin got right! Their knights sat back an' watched while their Lady tussled inna fightin' pit, can ya believe it? At least their Countess proved that she still got sum guts, 'cause I began to think those hoity-toity desert dames forgot how to fight with a sword, an' only fought by writin' angry letters."

[Aswe]

"it is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known" Aswe said aloud, and then closed the book shut. She looked up at the grave and smiled a sad smile. Irina's last book, the one by the bed when she died. Finished, read to her. She could rest easier now, knowing how it ended.

"A decent read" she sighed, "if a little bit heavy on it's prose" she shrugged gently as the gravestone maintained it's silence, Aswe stared at it for what seemed like an eternity to her, thoughts flowing through her mind. "Oh.. i.. found a copy of that sewer rag from Galmair." she pulled it from her bag. "I know.. i know you hated when i read that. But.." she trailed off and shook her head, reading it to the stone.

After finishing the first 'article' she looked at the carved headstone. "He misunderstands why Malachin did not host the tournament himself. He.. bizarrely queries snow in the desert and reliably displays the arrogance borne of ignorance." she shook her head in frustration.

Aswe's eyebrow raised. "I suppose even a blind squirrel sometimes finds a nut." she said in dull surprise. "He rightly lambasts the Cadomyrian knights for not getting involved in S'rrt's tournament, calling it an indicator of cowardice." she scratched her cheek. "and.. he confuses your name and Inara's..." she says with a slight chuckle. "I do not know if you ever met her.. but i believe the only thing you and Inara had in common was you both had great chests." she grins to herself, as if imagining a retort. "Of course yours was better."

She read the last part quietly. "Oh.. there is a section here about.. My own entry into the tournament.. Now.. i know you would not approve. but.. it was fairly safe.. precautions were taken.. i felt me taking part was important for diplomacy.." she held up a hand defensively. "I know.. i know... But.. according to this, he believes it was an impostor as my hair was not green. " She looked at the grave again, as if being questioned. "Oh, yes. i haven't toid you, have i? I just.. assumed you would know.." she ran a hand through her hair. "I am not colouring it at the moment.. It is.. a.. it is how my people show mourning. Free of adornments. So.. No dye.." she shook her head again. "It always worries me how many people believe green is my natural hair colour."

Aswe then stood up, looking at the stone. "I shall be back again soon, Irina. " she looked at the sewer paper in her hand. "Hopefully with better reading material."

[Alytys Lamar]

Aly took the light travelling bag off her back and unlocked the door to the villa.
The pile of correspondence lying in front of the door led her to believe that Inara had once again spent some time in Galmair.

She grabbed the pile and went inside.
Her hair still smelled of the salty sea air and she smiled gently. The days at sea with Caldan had once again been wonderful.
A cup of tea was quickly brewed and she took the papers to sort through them.
A sigh could be heard as she took the "Sewer Papers" in her hands and skimmed through everything.

"Well, you daft fool - if I'm at sea I can't take part in the tournament. It looks like Inara wasn't there either, hardly surprising if you knew her opinion of Nargun."

She crumpled the thing up and threw it into the fire "At least you're good for something" she mumbled to herself before returning to her tea and more important matters.

[Inara Valdris]

Inara had spent the last few days in Galmair. There was a lot of work to do, after all, she had to earn a coin or two to pay the rent and everything
else. She had one or two places to stay in Galmair, so that was the easiest way.

Inara was finishing a staff in elven design when Tony cleared his throat slightly behind her. She paused and took a deep breath.

"What is it Tony? I'm in the middle of the finishing touches."

"Well...Inara you...weren't at the tournament these days by any chance?"

Inara frowned and turned around. She raised a brow slightly.

"You don't mean the Nargun's Armory Championship? No, I didn't take part in that. Let's just say I have.... a certain aversion
to anything to do with Nargun. And have reservations about it. That includes gambling and this tournament."

Inara wanted to get back to her work but then frowned.

"Why do you ask and... what are you hiding behind your back..."

Actually, Inara already suspected what it might be and when Tony sighed and pulled out the newspaper, she sighed too and took it to skim through it.

"I thought...you should know that Inara..."

"I was almost afraid of this....and like before, this is the biggest load of crap I've ever read..."

Inara grumbled angrily and crumpled up the copy of the Sewer Papers. She went to the furnace and threw the paper into the fire.

"That's where it belongs and yet...forgive me Brágon for bothering your fire with it..."

Inara closed her eyes briefly and returned to the workbench. She picked up the staff again and continued working. When she seemed to have finished,
she examined the staff carefully.

"No, it's definitely too good to smash around that orc's ears. May Brágon give me the strength to resist..."

[Juniper Onyx]

In Runewick, Bernie is up late into the night working on Coats and a special Leather Armor for Asphyxine, when he notices a recent edition of the Sewer papers blowing past him. His eyebrows raise and he snatches it in eager anticipation.
((viewtopic.php?t=43228&start=30))

"Ah! I see Gruem is back and writing again! That's good!"

For many months, Bernie has enjoyed the Sewer Papers. He remembers years ago when he published another Galmair paper called "The Daily Profit" which only lasted 4-5 issues, and actually admires this strange Orc his persistence to keep writing, even if it is sometimes erroneous, it is hilarious and good for activity in Galmair. He even chuckles when he remembered Article 30, Gruem suggested that Sir Fishy wanted Caswir's Nut. Obviously an innuendo, but hilarious. Last Issue was about Bernie being a philanderer! also hilarious! Obviously he was misquoted by this Orc who wanted to eat him, yet didn't realize Bernie's value as a trader to warriors desiring his perfect Armors. He finally did get the Orc to order a nice set of new Armor though, which he gave to Malchus to sell due to time differences.

Bernie puts down his tools a moment and peruses this Month's Issue. The first article caught Bernie unawares and he yelped into a bellyrolling laugh.

"A Battle to the Death!! Haha!!"

He thought a moment and started to nod in agreement. "Interesting idea, but..." his thoughts wandering obnoxiously to, "I'd kill them!" Bernie wasn't just the best Smith in the land, but the best in all three Smithings known in Galmair.

"Yeah, it would be a slaughter...by crafting standards of course" with a chuckle.

Bernie read on. The second article was agreeable. He agreed with this Orc, Galmair was a great place to be and Gruem has good taste.

The third Article explains something Malchus said last night when he said Gruem claimed he never ordered the Armor.

"Piss-Pot! He called that Armor a Piss-pot?" Bernie exclaimed. Bernie remembered the work to gather the ores, melt them, collect the gems and grind them and the several pieces he threw away to vendors because they weren't perfect until he created a "Perfect" set of Armor for this mad Orc. "Piss-Pot?"

Bernie thought a moment as he read what this Orc thought of Malchus. Perhaps he didn't get a chance to see who made the Armor and assumed Malchus made it? "Awww.." Bernie sighed and muttered, "He knows I'm the best and can't stand to buy something from someone he sees as inferior, Awww...." Bernie's heart went out to this Orc. Maybe if he got the Armor and explained to him he would remember, maybe not. Bernie shrugged. "Doesn't matter, there is always someone willing to buy perfect set of armor like that."

The last lines had Bernie a little concerned. It sounded like Gruem was thinking about quitting, and that would be a shame. Bernie was rather enjoying each Issue.

"I wonder what he will write next?" Bernie muttered. It was then he decided to try to find Gruem, praise him for the paper and the writing he's doing and then see about the misunderstanding about the Armor.

Bernie never imagined he'd have anything in common with Orcs, but muttered, "Galmair needs more people like him and me to add to the distinctiveness that is Galmair. We're special!" Bernie smiled happily, tucked the paper in his pocket as a keepsake and continued with his work.

((Keep up the good work man! I'm loving it! My character certainly does too!))

[Juniper Onyx]

*Bernie is watching some wheat grow and reads the latest edition of the Sewer Papers*

*He Gasps at the first story*

Promise 10 Gold? What?

*Suddenly it dawns on him why Gruem was insistent on only paying 10 Gold instead of his discounted 15 without explaining why. He thought the Orc was just haggling with him.*

It's been so long ago when we discussed this, *Tries to remember but can't* there have been so many orders and deals, how come I can't remember this? *taps his head in frustration*

*sighs* Perhaps he's right. It sounds like something I would do even if I can't remember it. *shakes his head*

I'll have to apologize to him and sell the set for 10. *sighs*

I should write things like this down. *frowns and can't read anymore of the paper today, as he notices the Wheat just matured.*

Time to Harvest this! I'll talk to him later. It'll be OK. *dashes off with his scythe to take out frustrations on many an innocent wheat life.*

[Greum]

Leaning back in his chair, a massive oaf of an orc that smells surprisingly clean and of soap, stuffs a pipe with tobacco. Idly lighting the pipe with a nearby torch, nearly burning his hand in the process, he appears to be reading a newspaper like quite the distinguished gentleman; the picturesque example of the kind of reader who might enjoy the latest issue of the Sewer Papers newspapers. Nodding along sagely, he puts down the paper to take a drag of the pipe as he says "Yubbah, meh still can nub read.". Not having time to dwell on his illiteracy however, as he soon goes into a coughing fit, throwing away and stomping angrily on the pipe as he calls out orcish slurs about the 'oomies' that invented such practices as smoking tobacco in the first place.

[Katharina Brightrim]

Reading the latest issues of the Sewer Papers Newspaper™, Katharina shakes her head, chuckling to herself, as she says to nobody in particular, "Got to hand it to Greum or whatever noseless creature that writes this stuff in his name, they always surprise you by coming up with more and more ridiculous and farfetched nonsense, it is actually impressive. Blaming Cadomyr for the Letma-crisis and then also demanding gratefulness for that rubbish, that's quite stupid." The chuckle dies in her throat as she blinks, suddenly coming to a realization. "Wait a second... is he blaming me indirectly as well?!"

[Garlicá]

((Post No.8; Reactions))
~Happenings in the Guardhouse kitchen.~

* The halfling farmer scrubs the kitchen floor while the orkish kitchenmaid sits at the kettle,
having finished reading the paper to her, stirring the pot with once boiled herbs then, proclaiming. *
„Dib`onclusion is weeb`s trub`l`is tell us wib it!
Twice`ib sai`s. D`is nub yubba, weeb`s big bi`s. “

The scrubbing pauses and the farmer asks.
„T`o stones and we be big bis`ness?“

* The kitchenmaid nods more then a dozen times quickly, smiling toothy. *
„Dib`soon trub`l.“

* As she finally stops nodding, the farmer nods once, tilting head a moment, relativating. *
„No`orries pear, will do, we`ll do. “

* The kitchenmaid nods babout half a dozen times quickly, smiling surpressedly, blinking. *
„Nub`s kno`s none of`eh big pig, none of`eh piggies an we do`go farmin`.“

* The farmer sighs in playfull manner and stretches her shoulders, continuing to scrub the floor for a while. *

* The kitchenmaid points at the millstone. *
„Br`ollsies amiss`o miss!“

* The farmer gazes at the stacked grain sacks and takes a deep breath, nodding about a dozen times. *
„`Ou get`em buckets an`i ride`eh stone?“

* The kitchenmaid rises from the kettle, laying the Sewer Paper on the comparably orderly kitchen counter. *
„Why`nub`em men go milkin`, ey`ad the manymo`bigger buckets? Why nub em Greum go milkin`?“

* The farmer bursts in laughter. *
„`Ou`go tell`im, an`don`im the stones,`ight?“

* The kitchenmaid shakes her head twice, her wellcombed hair flowing from side to side. *
„Nub`ib did`ig`im t`o coins. T`o fifty.“
* The kitchenmaid nods half a dozen times. *
„Em`b`em som`ingots. None`of`em stones. And`en`em cook em, an`smash`im.“

* The farmer pouts with a smirk, shaking her head half a dozen times. *

* The kitchenmaid leaves kitchen to the back alleys, carrying two empty milk buckets towards the gates,
still giggling. She comes to the conclusion to divert some of her employers next leather delivery. *

[Flannery]

The day it was published, a red-haired woman, was entertaining Rose and her guests at the tavern of Runewick with some melodies and some small illusions and tricks. Some students keep whispering and chattering with staring gazes while she performs, leaving behind a paper as they leave. Later, when Rose invited her on a cup of Cider, she took the paper and read it with a crocked smile dancing on her lips, muttering:

"There's no such thing like bad publicity.
At least a catching advertisement...
Maybe I should consider it sometime..."

((Reaction on this issue: viewtopic.php?p=718622#p718622))

[CliveSeger]

Illarion is facing critical, overlooked problems, perhaps structural issues, societal corruption, or a forgotten history that holds solutions. Clive Seger's ultimate goal is to see these truths acknowledged and acted upon by the only entity he believes holds the power to enact real change: the mighty Greum. Reaching Greum, a figure often spoken of in reverence and mystery but rarely seen or directly addressed, became his singular obsession.
Clive discovered the "Sewer Paper Newspaper." Operating from the literal underbelly of the city, it was a defiant, independent publication, often crude in production but vital in its mission to disseminate uncensored information and amplify unheard voices.

His relationship with Greum was entirely one-sided and aspirational. Greum represented ultimate authority, the distant, almost mythical figure whose understanding and approval could change everything. Clive's feelings were a mix of awe and a desperate need to prove his worthiness of their attention.
Clive had submitted anonymously what he felt was perhaps his most crucial, most dangerous piece yet – an analysis that addressed a foundational myth or structure of their society, directly referencing a blind spot Clive believed only Greum could see. He waited, as he always did, for the latest edition of the Sewer Paper.

The day of distribution arrived. As the bundles of paper appeared, a crowd, larger and more frantic than usual, gathered. Rumors were spreading like wildfire – something big was in this issue. Pushing and shoving, driven by a sudden spike of adrenaline mixed with dread and hope, Clive fought his way to the front.
It was framed in a way that indicated it wasn't just reporting on dissent; it was acknowledging the truth of the observation. And the paper explicitly stated this acknowledgment had come from the highest echelon, echoing the rare, deliberate phrasing only attributed to the mighty Greum.

The world narrowed. The noise of the crowd faded. Months of tireless work, of being ignored, of shouting into the void via deaf ears, culminated in this single moment. Greum. The mighty, distant Greum. He saw it. He acknowledged it. Tears, hot and sudden, blurred the smudged ink. It wasn't just recognition; it was the possibility that everything he fought for, every truth he uncovered, might finally have a chance to make a difference. The tears were the release of months of pressure, validation, and overwhelming, fragile hope.