TEXT:  
   
  HARSH WORDS DISRUPT 
  OLIGARCHY MEETING 
  For 
  dedicated 
  readers 
  of 
  The 
  Grumbler, it should come as no surprise 
  that there’s trouble a-brewing in the halls of 
  the Directing Oligarchy.  According to 
  trusted sources that only required moderate 
  bribing, the last session of the Oligarchy was 
  marked with passionate arguments, raised 
  voices and copious use of sarcasm.  Eritai 
  Kaan-Ipzirel, High Priestess of St. Cuthbert, 
  serial divorcee and ambulatory barrel, has 
  demanded that Greyhawk release some of 
  the supplies being stockpiled for the army.  
  She would have the city use these supplies 
  to help the poor and the refugees displaced 
  by the war with the Pomarj.  Nerof Gasgal, 
  the Lord Mayor of Greyhawk, who 
  indulgently allows this broadside to continue 
  printing and only had one of its editor’s 
  fingers 
  broken 
  when 
  The 
  Grumbler 
  suggested continued ties to the Thieves’ 
  Guild, nobly refused this demand as 
  misappropriation of resources in a time of 
  war.  The council fractured on known fault 
  lines. The merchants and guildmasters 
  aligned with the reasonable and charismatic 
  Lord Mayor, and the churches and military 
  sided with the pushy priestess.  The meeting 
  ended with Eritai storming out of the 
  council meeting in disgust.  In retaliation, 
  the Lord Mayor enjoyed a fine steak dinner. 
   
  WILD COAST TURNS TAME! 
  The war with the Pomarj appears to be 
  taking a break with no indication of 
  restarting anytime soon.  Sources from the 
  Wild Coast inform The Grumbler that the 
  war has settled down into sporadic raiding 
  over the vague border.  In addition, The 
  Grumbler made a startling discovery while 
  reviewing military correspondence while the 
  courier was sleeping off one too many 
  drinks that were bought for him.  Greyhawk 
  plans no major offenses this year!  Will this 
  lull hold?  What does the future bode for 
  the Wild Coast?  What of all the refugees 
  who lost their homes and are camped 
  outside 
  the 
  walls 
  of 
  Greyhawk, 
  inconveniencing editors who are trying to 
  deliver broadsides to the adoring public on 
  time?   
  This respite follows two years of 
  intense fighting in the northern Wild Coast.  
  The latest round of hostilities between 
  Greyhawk and the Pomarj began in 586 
  when the orcs burned Narwell to the 
  ground.  Later that year, Turin Deathstalker, 
  military governor of Safeton, former head of 
  the Greyhawk Assassins’ Guild and victor 
  of the “How Many Ways Can I Kill You 
  With My Bare Hands?” bragging contest, 
  led a counterattack, cutting off the orcs’ 
  retreat and shattering their army. 
  After building a giant mountain of orc 
  skulls, Deathstalker turned south to face the 
  great tactical advantage orcs have other than 
  surprise – numbers.  With an ability to 
  reproduce that leaves rabbits whistling in 
  admiration, the orcs had a second army at 
  the border, ready to meet Greyhawk’s 
  advance.  After a dozen inconclusive battles 
  that remind The Grumbler of two dwarves 
  trying to bullrush each other, the border 
  remains approximately where it was two 
  years ago. 
   
  STREET NEGLECT HURTS 
  COMMERCE, ANKLES 
  Greyhawk may be the Gem of the 
  Flanaess but the state of its streets is the 
  Embarrassment of Oerth.  After years of 
  neglect, the cobbled streets of Greyhawk are 
  suffering horribly.  Stones are cracked or 
  missing and some have even been replaced 
  with stale bread.  The sorry state of affairs 
  has started to impact business on The Strip 
  by the Cargo Gate, claims Curain Nyie of 
  the Griffon’s Nest.  “The roads are horrible 
  – truly horrible.  I’ve got a pothole in front 
  of my inn so deep that when a paladin fell in 
  one yesterday, he had to summon his flying 
  mount.” 
  The Grumbler posed the question of 
  wide-spread economic impact of the poor 
  roads to Cariel Mansharn, officer of the 
  Merchants’ and Traders’ Union, member of 
  the Directing Oligarchy and political crony 
  of Nerof Gasgal, who replied “Shove off, 
  you annoying gnat.”  Other economic 
  experts go so far as to claim that the poor 
  roads help the economy.  “It’s an example 
  of trickle-down economics,” explained 
  Stakaster Villaine, Patriarch of Zilchus, 
  member of the Directing Oligarcy and 
  geezer.  “When a wagon hits a pothole, it 
  knocks things loose which fall off the 
  wagon and roll down the streets, trickling to 
  the poor.”  To prove his point, Villaine 
  showed The Grumbler numerous pie charts, 
  which unfortunately were not in fact pie. 
   
  MISSING HIERARCH FOUND 
  The remaining Hierarchs, once proud 
  evil rulers of the Horned Society and now 
  humiliated deposed despots on the run from 
  Iuz, have scattered across the Flanaess.  The 
  Grumbler has learned that one of the 
  Hierarchs is hiding in the town of Hardby!  
  To escape the notice of Iuz’s assassins, the 
  Hierarch was forced to take the meanest of 
  jobs and was being used as a footstool by 
  the Gynarchy.  “It was surprisingly bony,” 
  complained Despotrix Aleeta Norbelos.  
  “And it kept muttering ‘Someday you will all 
  pay.’ A footstool should be seen and not 
  heard.” 
  Through impeccable sources, The 
  Grumbler has learned that the Hierarch’s 
  true identity was revealed when the 
  Despotrix spilled her hot spiced wine, which 
  unbeknownst to her had been spiked with 
  an elixir of truth, on to the footstool.  In the 
  resulting tirade, not only was the Hierarch 
  un-upholstered (the furniture term for being 
  unmasked) but he revealed several nefarious 
  plots to conquer the world, spoiling a dozen 
  possible adventuring opportunities. 
   
  DISAPPEARANCES PLAGUE 
  VELUNA, CAUSE PANIC 
  Strange things are afoot to the west of 
  Greyhawk.  Reports have reached The 
  Grumbler that wide varieties of people, 
  places and things are disappearing in Veluna 
  and being replaced by something that takes 
  up roughly the same space.  Lamps are 
  replaced with vases, dogs are replaced with 
  aardvarks and worst of all taverns are 
  replaced by consignment shops.  The 
  
  Grumbler has even heard tell that entire 
  neighborhoods are being replaced.  These 
  bizarre occurrences originated in the 
  mountain towns west of Mitrik about a 
  month ago and has been stretching east 
  since.  Sources available only to The 
  Grumbler, who paid extra for the privilege, 
  believe this is the work of the Church of 
  Rao and that the clergy is hiding something 
  again. 
  While The Grumbler urges disbelief 
  and scoffery for such far-fetched tales, even 
  our fair city was once ruled by Zagig 
  Yragerne, who invented the Flying Flapjack 
  and Doughpleganger.  The unlikely is often 
  true!  With that in mind, The Grumbler has 
  compiled a list of people that it would like 
  to see disappear and replaced, starting with 
  that mono-browed beggar who hangs out 
  near the Black Gate and trips hard-working 
  editors every morning.  For a fun game, 
  make your own list and compare with your 
  friends and neighbors.  Discuss and let the 
  good times begin! 
   
  LOOK OUT!  ST. CUTHBERT’S 
  DAY APPROACHES 
  In preparation for St. Cuthbert’s Day 
  on Growfest 4th, the faithful of the Cudgel 
  are gathering in town for their largest annual 
  festival.  For safety’s sake, be sure to wear 
  padded hats in their presence!  The 
  festivities begin at dawn with a singing and 
  chanting parade through the city.  The 
  children run alongside with green switches 
  and chastise the marchers in the Cleansing.  
  The Grumbler cautions against others trying 
  to join in the switching, as those caught are 
  force-fed fifty of your own broadsides and 
  then tossed face-first in the Millstream.  A 
  feast for the faithful follows at the Sacred 
  Temple of St. Cuthbert from noon till dusk, 
  which includes a ritual viewing of what 
  might be the Mace of St. Cuthbert.  
  Attempts by The Grumbler to verify 
  whether or not this is the actual relic have 
  been stymied by the ancient Cuthberran 
  prayer “Release the hounds.”  That evening, 
  the priests light a large bonfire which can 
  remove curses from the penitent and add 
  burns to the clumsy. 
   
  SHOE LEATHER MOST 
  POPULAR FLAVOR 
  In the latest poll conducted by The 
  Grumbler, shoe leather remains the most 
  popular flavor in the Slum Quarter and in 
  Shacktown, beating out wattle and daub by 
  a nose.  Why shoe leather? "They can pull 
  the shoe back out and reuse it. Wattle and 
  daub just dissolves into a soggy pile," says 
  Father Nicholi Nortoli, a priest of St. 
  Cuthbert who helps many of the poor in 
  Greyhawk.  Others who were polled 
  disagreed strongly with Father Nortoli.  
  Almost Toothless Len said, “Daub’s easier 
  ta swallow. When ya’ve got one toof left, ya 
  gots ta protect it.” 
  The Grumbler, being a valued member 
  of the community, urges those with plenty 
  to assist those with less.  Father Nortoli’s 
  chapel in Shacktown and the soup kitchens 
  he runs in the Slum Quarter can use your 
  assistance.  Someday it may be you in the 
  soup line when the Constabulary raids your 
  offices and seizes your presses. 
   
  CLERKSBURG STUDENTS 
  GATHER IN PROTEST 
  Last week, scores of students skipped 
  class and gathered on the Commons before 
  the Hall of the Dean of the Grey College in 
  Clerksburg to protest poverty and social 
  injustice in Greyhawk.  Aisley Lockswell, 
  granddaughter of the famed Lord Lockswell 
  of Gnarlwood, student agitator and beauty, 
  led the protest and harangued the crowd 
  with details of the crushing poverty that 
  many Greyhawkers face daily.  Her words 
  and zeal affected many in the crowd who 
  cheered and whistled at her almost nonstop.  
  Dobolas Huzzak, a third-year student at the 
  Grey College was particularly moved.  
  “She’s a total babe; I’ll support any cause 
  she leads.”  Rundall Grast, a second year at 
  the University of the Flanaess, agreed, “I 
  always pretend to care about her causes.  
  She loves that.” 
  The Grumbler was lucky enough to 
  score an interview with Lockswell, making 
  him the instant envy of the male half of the 
  crowd who hooted their encouragement.  “I 
  think the distribution of wealth in this city is 
  disgraceful,” Lockswell said. “People are 
  eating shoe leather soup while the Lord 
  Mayor is enjoying fine steak dinners.  
  Something must be done or we’re going to 
  face severe social unrest.  My face is up 
  here, you know.” 
   
  GROWFEST DELIGHTS 
  SOME, BORES OTHERS 
  Is that spring around the corner?  Are 
  the fancies of young men turning to love on 
  the Bridge of Entwined Hearts?  With 
  Growfest approaching, The Grumbler sees 
  the signs of the passing of winter.  This 
  week-long holiday marks the arrival of 
  spring when the first caravans head out and 
  trade begins in earnest. 
  Our benign tyrants on the Directing 
  Oligarchy have a full schedule during the 
  festival.  On Growfest 1st, they meet with 
  foreign diplomats in the Second Seasonal 
  Conference.  Out of respect for our 
  cherished rulers and a threatened jail term, 
  The Grumbler has agreed to stop calling 
  this the Parade of Fools and is no longer 
  encouraging the citizenry to camp outside of 
  the Lord Mayor's Palace with rotted 
  vegetables 
  to 
  improve 
  upon 
  the 
  ambassadors’ wardrobes.  On Growfest 6th, 
  the patience of the Oligarchy is tested by the 
  quarterly meeting with the Public Council of 
  Greyhawk.  For ten long hours, the 
  Oligarchy must endure this advisory body 
  elected by the general public.  It is with great 
  fondness that The Grumbler remembers the 
  talking goat that represented Clerksburg on 
  the Public Council for eight years.  No one 
  said “nay” better. 
  Growfest ends with the spectacular 
  Desportium of Magic at the Grand Citadel.  
  This event should not be missed!  Over the 
  course of the evening, fifteen contestants 
  compete to cast the most magnificent 
  display of illusion magic or slide the judges 
  the largest bribe under the table.  The 
  performance must use the long-established 
  theme: an attack upon the Grand Citadel by 
  a monstrous horde that is repelled by the 
  stalwart defenders.  The Grumbler cannot 
  help but draw a parallel between this theme 
  and the war with the Pomarj.  Will this year 
  see an orc horde?  Will an illusionary 
  Turrosh Mak make an appearance?  The 
  Grumbler is giddy with anticipation! 
   
  ADVENTURERS PETITION 
  FOR LICENSE REMOVAL 
  The Mercenaries’ Guild has filed a 
  formal 
  complaint 
  with 
  the 
  Directing 
  Oligarchy 
  on 
  behalf 
  of 
  adventurers, 
  requesting that the license requirement and 
  restrictions on weapons be lifted.  “I can’t 
  walk down the street in this town without 
  being jumped up to three times a day,” said 
  one adventurer who asked not to be 
  identified as she has offended the Thieves’ 
  Guild one too many times.  “You know 
  you’re going to be jumped; it’s just a matter 
  of when.” 
  The City Constabulary would have 
  none of it.  Sir Gavin Ambus, City 
  Constable, 
  member 
  of 
  the 
  Directing 
  Oligarchy and wearer of highly-polished 
  shoes that would never be used in soup, 
  explained that the rules are in place to keep 
  the mortality rate down when fights break 
  out.  “With the number of adventurers 
  prowling our streets hoping for fortune in 
  Castle Greyhawk, we have to put some 
  limits on them.  These are dangerous 
  people,” he explained.  Sir Gavin refused to 
  answer The Grumbler’s pertinent and 
  necessary 
  question 
  as 
  to 
  why 
  the 
  Constabulary never shows up until after a 
  fight ends. 
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Dungeons & Dragons [multi]/EXTRAS/Greyhawk/Living Greyhawk - RPGA/_Greyhawk Grumbler/Living Greyhawk - Greyhawk Grumbler #1 Coldeven 598 n1.pdf