Hail to you peasants and pedants, tis I, Ulesorin, returned to you once more in all of my glory. Take a look at the verdant forest green of my accoutrements. Marvel at their richness. Neither the blandness of blue nor the putridity of yellow, but a far finer vestment than either, now that my rightful colours have been returned to me following the ultimate gruesome end of the dread dragon divorce dealings. They are the only thing that I still have from my old home in the free kingdoms. Them and the kobold lawyers on retainer, constantly chittering and whining at me that answering letters from pathetic reprobates on other planes of existence is a term of my public service for my contempt of court charge, not the actual divorce proceedings.

To the letters!

***

Dear Ulesorin,

Will you write my mid-winter festivity cards please?

Cheers.

***

I am coming to suspect that the immortal wisdom of the greatest wizard of our times has been somewhat misunderstood by you people. That the incredible gift that I am offering up to you people on your little round world without the slightest hint of magic and wonder is being overlooked in its entirety. Particularly when I receive requests in this manner.

Could I write all of your mid-winter cards? Of course I could. It would be a simple matter for a genius such as myself. My calligraphy is so beautiful it could make the very angels weep. I need not even lift a quill to perform such a feat, I could craft a spell that would seep into your mind as you are sleeping, pilfer the names and addresses of those who are deserving of a remembrance in the cold time of the year, and inscribe them upon plates of solid gold, hewn from the heart of a dwarf-king’s throne-egg. Were I feeling spiteful, I might also have the spell inscribe the precise number of times that you had pictured the person you expect me to write to on your behalf without their clothes on.

But of course your question, so artfully phrased, did not ask if I were capable of such feats. Nay. It asked if I was willing to perform them, and to that I must give a most hearty no. Why, I do not even have the time to address and dispatch all of the many scrolls of festive greetings to the myriad kings, queens, dark lords and ladies, dragons of ill repute and miscellaneous heroes that are my own acquaintances. There simply is not enough time between now and the longest night! Furthermore, it would be a most grotesque waste of my precious time to do so.

The greatest and most beloved people of my realm, and I cannot spare the time to send them a simple missive? Let me tell you first and foremost that with eternal life comes a great many introductions, and even were you to recall a fraction of them, it is supremely unlikely that you shall muster the energy to recall the respective lifespans of each person that you met. To whit, I cannot write for fear of addressing my card to the great grandfather of the currently reigning monarch.

And even in the unlikely scenario that I could recall both who I am writing to, and whether they are alive, I still would not bother myself with such frivolities, for I am Ulesorin the Green, mightiest of wizards! You expect a man of my stature to write you little notes telling you I’m happy you survived another year? I could not give the faintest whiff of a damn. If you live it is only because you have not yet caught a stray fireball in the midst of one of my epic conflicts.

Should I ever come upon your world, dear writer. Rest assured. You shall catch a stray fireball, even if I have to hand deliver a demon to your next door neighbour as an excuse.

***

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

*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 firmly believes that arson is the best medicine.