Edmund Cheddarmilk

Human wizard and scholar


First of all, I’m not the “creature of habit” everyone thinks. I’ve travelled as much as most people have—to libraries in Waymoor and elsewhere in Lindor—and I’ve also stayed at inns and taverns throughout the Greater Akkash Region (GAR) while acting as a correspondent for various local news scrolls. (Perhaps you remember the scroll I published last year about the missing child who reappeared some days later, dazed but apparently unharmed, at the bottom of a well. What a story.)

Most of the journeys I’ve taken have been by public cart and I’m not ashamed to tell you that I’ve gotten into a few scrapes along the way. Some people have commented that I’ve got a bit of a temper, if you must know. I’ve even taken to carrying a quarterstaff whenever I leave the neighbourhood. The fiendish, thuggish, sickening symptoms of cultural inertia are everywhere these days. “Born too late, Edmund. Born too late,” my father used to say.

But the tourists, the tourists. Oh for Apiloch’s sake. Does it make me “irascible” that I hate them? Or, am I just a sensible man who doesn’t like his progress through the neighbourhood impeded by our dim, cultureless cousins from the country. Some of them wear the strangest clothes.
—Edmund Cheddarmilk, date.

Edmund Cheddarmilk

Flickering Shadows Rixos cheddarmilk