Dear Osvaud,

This is Osvaud. We are writing things down because our memory is falling apart in our extreme decrepitude. If we stop remembering how great we are, we’ll just start moping about with nothing to do. Neither of us wants to end up a floating bejeweled skull. I mean, we’ve spent millennia building up our wardrobe. It is only a matter of time before that pink robe of the archmagi is back in fashion. So sit up, and pay attention.

If you are not me, then you are lame.

It is safe to assume you are some Sir Smashevil who thinks that just because a fellow is a bit of an undead “abomination” that it’s somehow socially acceptable to break into his home, kill his pets, and violate his privacy. Seriously, how would you like it if I sauntered into your… I dunno… temple or whatever, murdered your fluffy puppy, and read about that secret crush for your magic sword? It’s like the second a guy shoves his soul into an unholy receptacle everybody forgets about common courtesy.

So… quit reading, or you get what you deserve.

Also, if you don’t mind, please rethink the many no doubt ridiculous life-choices that brought you here. Which sounds better… having to deal with a guy who can scry, teleport, and kill you with words or selling that sword to settle down with an actual flesh and blood person? Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Anyway, Osvaud, quick recap. We run Bemmea’s famous Red Door Market (where we sell everything from knickknacks to artifacts). We do this because it is a fun distraction from ennui for a century or two, and we were getting kind of bored with killing all those burglars. We either got too good at it or just needed a change of pace. As it turns out, we get the same kick out of closing a tough sale as we do from watching a thief fall onto animated poisoned spikes. Isn’t existence weird?

Still, at some point we are going to feel the urge to build another elaborate trap-filled basement or create some protagonistic foil. It is just in our nature, and let’s face it, a lot of fun. Toward that end, we’ve decided to take the time to jot down everything valuable we can recall. This way, we don’t run the risk of repeating ourselves. While we might have some fun rediscovering all these lessons, one mistake at a time, it could hurt our rep. You and I both know we’d rather get beaten into boney paste by some holy mace-wielding hero than run the risk of becoming banal.

This might take a while. We’ve been at it for an age, and it’ll be a job to just hit the highlights. On the upside, we’ve always got our handy dandy immortality.