Ulesorin speaks and men tremble. From beneath my whiskers springs forth the wisdom of ages. I write to you now from the tallest tower on the most storm-wracked peak in all of the Free Kingdoms. Before me lies this scroll, the world-storm contained in a bottle, and one of the imps that I had been employing as help before their perpetual whispering of evil secrets became tiresome and I was forced to deep fry the whole staff. Imp tastes like chicken, if you wondered. How is that for a taste of the wisdom of ages?

What could the two of us have in common, you might wonder. I am a wondrous being of pure arcane might and you are but a humble human. Your days draw short while mine stretch back from antiquity until the final battle at the end of time, yet still those things I have learned in my time can enrich the brief splutter of existence that you are experiencing. There is a bond between us, for you are troubled and I am the Ant of Agonies.

***

Dear Ulesorin,

I recently attended a great conclave of Druids and fey in a mystic hall in the land of Eire. It was a great moot at which much mead was consumed and persons previously known only through insubstantial astral projection manifested themselves as real and entertaining people.

Many learned conversations took place and I came back invigorated for my Druidic work, and yet also hankering after the next gathering in far off Zealand.

Pray tell how may I balance my eagerness to attend another such gathering with my need to get on with laying down some decent Druidic tomes!

Respectfully yours,

Druid Dublin Down.

***

Dear Dublin Down,

How utterly surprising that the people who believe that rubbing mud on themselves and barking will give them supreme arcane power are also mead-swilling louts. What an entirely unpredictable turn of events.

Still, it is wonderful that it has encouraged you to return to your own rustic shack and explore your own personal journey to greatness a little more. Just think, if you progress far enough down the path of the druid, you may eventually become almost as useful as an apprentice wizard!

It is of no surprise to me that balance is the subject that troubles you; you tree-huggers are all obsessed with the subject. Let me tell you something: I didn’t “balance” my studies of the arcane arts with adventuring throughout the land and defeating the evils that would have brought the world to its knees. I didn’t balance my passions when a great dragon expressed her interest in me, and we brought forth a race of majestic lizard folk from our joining. Balance is imaginary. Choose a course and stick to it, you moral coward.

You have enjoyed your adventures, so go forth and adventure further! You have danced with the fey and drunk of their honeyed liquor? Then go dance twice as much and drink thrice that vile distillation! There will be no end to the time that you can devote to your tome-laying in your latter years, when you, like I, have not the energy or the inclination to travel, slay monsters or loot their treasures. Though your years have limits, the hours will stretch on in those twilight days and I can assure you that not one person in your old druid’s grove will be regretting going on too many journeys and having too much fun while they still had the chance. Live your life, you sweet, antler-wearing buffoon. Live, so that those of us past our prime might look upon you in our scrying glass and live on through you vicariously while trying to get persistent imp-bits out from betwixt our teeth.

***

Having relationship issues? Need career advice? You name it, our ‘Agony Ant’ can help!* Email your problems to thefantasyhive@gmail.com with the subject ‘Ask the Wizard’, or leave a comment below.

*Disclaimer: All answers are provided for entertainment purposes only. It may not be in your best interests to follow advice provided by a 1794-year-old man who lives alone in a tower with nothing but the distant memories of past glories for company.