Lezard had been following the
compy post of doom with much interest. Having endured his own compy-facilitated ordeals thanks to Steff and Turlough, the nerdboygodmage could sympathize, insofar as it was possible for him to feel sympathy. Call it a mixture of schadenfreude and projection: he winced even as he chuckled.
He wanted to reply, but he didn't want to turn the compy users' attention toward himself. The better part of valor, clearly, was old-fashioned quill-and-ink correspondence.
An owl flying into the compy lab might be anachronistic anywhere else...
Carl Norman:
This message is enchanted to turn into a frog if anyone else reads it, so if it has come to your hands and is yet legible, you are the person whose nom de guerre has been bandied back and forth between yourself and various nemeses on the Hogwarts intranet.
Allow me to express my condolences. Hogwarts does not respect its finest minds, I am sorry to say.
You may expect all manner of scurrilous rumors. Why, may I ask, do you contribute to your own calumny?
- Anon.
Postscript: The person using the name triontimetraveler is in fact Vislor Turlough, a bizarre fellow who wears undignified short pants and who lusts after his betters. I warn you he is sufficiently unloved as to resort to polyjuice, which allows him transformation into a comelier likeness. Be suspicious of beautiful women: they may be this Turlough in disguise, seeking love in all the incorrect locations!