Southshore, Level 34

Dear Marshal Redpath,

You recently asked me to conk some ogres and seemed pretty bent on me taking their knucklebones. I have to admit, I kind of blew it at first. I beat up those big guys pretty good, and then took their fingers. I thought maybe you had a thing for knuckles. I had an uncle who was into little toes. (Not the big ones! Ew.) Or maybe you collected unique and hard-to-find knuckles and had a little display case at home. (No Mrs. Redpath in this scenario of course.)

When I was rummaging through one of their loincloths (robust odor) looking for spare change, I noticed that they actually carry knucklebones! My bad, good sir. What a knucklehead! It appears the funky brutes use them as some sort of dice to play games amongst themselves. But evidently the ones I gathered were dirty!

I was happy to help you take those crooked knucklebones off the streets. Although those pungent ogres seemed pretty simple-minded, I understand now that they’re cleverly running some sort of recreational item black market. What’s next? Unclean checkers? Smudged dominoes!? (I do enjoy a good game of Filthy Boggle.)

If you’re interested in a bag of bruised ogre knuckles, I know where you can get them. Perhaps you could make a delicious knuckle sandwich. (mustard, Alterac swiss, tough hunk of bread, yum!)

Until next time,
R. Pebblebottom