I have big posts in the pipeline for this blog, unfortunately they are still baking. So instead of rushing something undercooked out the door I decided to whip up a quick and humerous project to tide you over with the help of chat gtp. Sliberberg is a famously chaotic city and nobody knows this better than the young ladies in the Sliberberg City Watch Dispatch unit, nicknamed affectionately by the patrolmen as Pixie Princess unit since it is where most of the female pixies, sprites, goblins and leprechauns in the watch end up. Sergeant Tilda Bramblethorn is one of the desk sergants on duty at the unit and deals with her regular afternoon shift with biting sarcasm and wit. Here is a brief snippet of her day and her report from the beginning of her afternoon shift.
“Princess, My Wings” – Morning Shift at Alteburg HQ
By Sgt. Tilda “Tilly” Bramblethorn, Dispatch Desk
The worst thing about working second floor is the stairs.
Sure, I can fly. Of course I can fly. I’m a pixie, not a pigeon. But it’s early, and my wings are still crinkled from sleep, and do you know what pixie wings sound like when you stretch them too fast after a dream about falling into a honey pit? Wet cellophane. Loud. Undignified.
So, I walked. Up the stairs. All forty-three of them. One more reason to petition for a dumbwaiter.
I was halfway down the east corridor when I heard him before I saw him—Corporal Knobs, mid-bluster, narrating his latest heroic disaster to a pair of bored rookies from Riot Control.
“…and then I says, ‘Stand back, citizens! This broom is fully warded!’ Course, the goat didn’t listen, kicked me right in the—oh! Morning, Princess Tilly!”
He smiled. Smiled. Like he hadn’t just lit the fuse on a powder keg.
I stopped mid-wing stretch. My eye twitched. “Excuse me, what did you just call me?”
Knobs blinked. “Uh, Princess? You know, like everyone does? It’s a term of—”
“Oh, no no no.” I hovered up two inches, enough to give him the full brunt of my five-foot-nothing rage in a nine-inch package. “Look here, Corporal Broomkiss. That nickname is a leftover from a decade-old jest made by one long-retired oaf after a bad date with a dispatch pixie. You lot ran with it like pixies on cider, and somehow, we’re the joke?”
“I didn’t—”
“I’m not a princess. I am a Sergeant of the Watch. I run communications for two hundred officers and four air division mages, and I do it with half the budget and none of the sleep. So unless you want your next street detail posted in latrine alley behind the goblin butcher’s, I’d suggest—”
A familiar voice like grinding granite cut through the hallway.
“That is enough, Sergeant Bramblethorn.”
Everyone froze.
There she was. Commander Tamsin Ironshoal. Seven feet of sandstone scowl wrapped in plate armor and braided hair that could garrote a man. The hallway went silent faster than a gnome at an honesty festival.
I saluted so fast I nearly pulled something. “Commander!”
She raised one eyebrow. The left one. That’s the bad one. “You are nearly late to shift, Sergeant.”
I squeaked. “Y-Yes ma’am! On my way ma’am!”
And I was gone. Wings flaring, heart hammering, professionalism dangling by a thread, I zipped down the hall and spiraled up the stairwell like a hummingbird on fire.
The second floor of Alteburg Watch HQ always smells like ink, old paper, and anxiety. The new speaking tubes—fancy enchanted brass jobs—were hissing like snakes with sinus infections. My team buzzed between desks, all talking over each other.
Callie was balancing on a human-sized chair leg with a quill in each hand and one in her mouth, scribing faster than her brain could keep up. Visky was glaring at a spellmap that refused to update properly, muttering kobold curses that would curdle milk. Sparkles was half-visible, floating above the orb with one leg crossed like a smug little pixie. Someone had spilled coffee on the paperwork pile. Again.
I hadn’t even hit my desk yet when I spotted him.
Ivan.
One of the old bell hunchbacks. Built like a sack of potatoes with a face like someone had drawn a man from memory. But sweet. Gentle. Had a voice like velvet left in the rain.
And he was holding a rose.
He looked up as I hovered closer. His cheeks flushed beet red. “G-Good morning, Sergeant. I… uh… heard you’d be starting early today. So I thought…”
My brain did a flip. My heart did three.
“You… brought me a flower?” I asked, landing delicately on top of my desk.
“I did. I mean. Yes. It’s enchanted to smell like cinnamon buns. It’s from the Pixie Court greenhouse.”
I took it. Gently. It did smell like cinnamon buns.
“Thanks, Ivan. That’s… actually quite lovely.”
He smiled. I swear, if that boy had wings he’d have floated out the window. Instead, he just nodded awkwardly and wandered off, walking like his boots were two inches above the ground.
I sat down, adjusted my badge, tucked the rose into the edge of the quill jar, and took a deep breath.
Then I hit the rune to open the morning dispatch line.
“All right, darlings! Let’s get this disaster parade rolling. Who broke what, where, and how many gnomes are currently on fire?”
The tubes screamed to life.
And the shift began.
Sergeant Tilda Bramblethorn – Dispatch Log
12:00 PM – 1:00 PM | Alteburg Watch HQ, Second Floor Dispatch
12:01 PM – Object Spotted Over City (Code: 608-Skybound Anomaly)
Reporting Watchhouse: Alteburg HQ
Summary: Air Patrol reported an unidentified low-flying structure drifting over southern Slibermond. Initial panic subdued when object identified as the floating home of a very lost Cloud Giant, name unknown, accent thick enough to chew. Apparently mistook the city for “High Haven.”
Response: Air Patrol rerouted to provide aerial assistance and a very large map.
Commentary: Directions given. Giant thanked us by sneezing and causing a mild weather event over Knacker’s Alley. Memo to Sky Control: Maybe put some actual signage up there?
12:03 PM – Escaped Sentient Sandwich (Code: 322S)
Reporting Watchhouse: Alteburg HQ
Summary: Animated veal and pickled onion sandwich escaped from a High Street bistro. Last seen bounding down mountain slope shouting “I want to live!”
Response: BOLO issued; pursuing officer tripped on a tomato. Suspect sandwich remains at large.
Commentary: This is the third sentient food incident this week. Recommend magical food licenses or at least a condiment check. Last thing we need is a mustard rebellion.
12:06 PM – Shoplifting & Arcane Force Incident (Codes: 41 & 731T)
Reporting Watchhouse: Silver Moon Way and Holly Road
Location: Silver Moon Bakery and Café
Summary: Attempted theft of enchanted baked goods by a goblin thief. Responding officers found the suspect crispy-fried and clinging to a basket of scorched bread.
Primary Actor: Matron Tansy Fleetfoot, registered witch (and terrifying gnome).
Outcome: Multiple witnesses support her version: thief got warned, zapped, and flambéed. Victim was stabilized and carted to the Resplendent Hand before formal arrest.
Commentary: Tansy did include a receipt for the mana used. Note: Update registry with “Don’t Touch Her Bread” as a formal warning under magical encounters.
12:07 PM – Incoming Dragon (Code: 901D)
Reporting Watchhouse: Alteburg HQ
Summary: Air patrol sighted what appeared to be a hostile dragon approaching city airspace. Additional units scrambled.
Update: “Hostile” dragon turned out to be Duchess Kaidia von Silverwing, silver dragon, princess larper, and part-time etiquette instructor. Traveling with her adoptive daughter Ruby (a very enthusiastic red dragon wyrmling in a baby harness).
Response: Escorted safely to Castle SLiberberg per her prior request.
Commentary: Please mark all future dragon fly-ins on the calendar with BIG RED INK. Preferably with glitter. Duchess Kaidia promised the watch a gift basket. I’m hoping for chocolate, not tiny armor polish again.
12:10 PM – Escaped Thoughtform (Code: 808-Mental Manifestation)
Reporting Watchhouse: Silver Moon Way and Holly Road
Location: Coláiste Draoidheil, courtyard
Summary: A professor’s “theoretical demonstration” went too practical. Escaped living thought infected several bystanders.
Manifestation: “The desire to frolic through flowers like a pixie maiden in a pink leotard and flower crown.”
Impact: Six officers down due to sudden twirling and flower chain weaving.
Containment: Professor subdued the thought using a poem about taxes.
Commentary: I have never felt so violated by my own species’ stereotypes. Sending flowers to the affected. No pun intended.
12:13 PM – Fire at Alchemist’s Guild (Code: 504F)
Reporting Watchhouse: Market Street
Summary: Fourth fire this week at the Alchemist’s Guild.
Response: Fire brigade dispatched alongside standard containment crew.
Cause: Unconfirmed, but likely candidate is either volatile potions or careless apprentice (again).
Commentary: We need to start a punch card system for this place. “Ten fires and your next bucket’s free.” Also considering billing them for overtime.
12:15 PM – Funeral Escort Request (Code: 215-March of the Dead)
Requesting Party: House of Bones
Summary: Watch detail requested for Lord Gearingbone’s funeral procession this afternoon.
Note: Low turnout expected. Higher turnout of relieved neighbors more likely.
Response: Patrol assigned. Map route confirmed.
Commentary: Frankly surprised he asked for a procession. Man was about as beloved as toe fungus. Still, it’s our job. Bring torches. Not for mourning—just the rats.
12:19 PM – Castle Break-In by Magical Nanny (Code: 2701N – Unauthorized Entry: Domestic Aspirant)
Reporting Watchhouse: Alteburg HQ
Summary: A break-in was reported at Castle Sliberberg. Officers arrived expecting a thief. Found instead: Mary Pippin, self-declared “world’s best nanny,” engaging Princesses Whimsy, Marigold, and Ruby von Silverwing in musical choreography and airborne kite-based activities.
Response: Commander Tamsin ordered the standard “kindly don’t break into castles, dear” protocol. Queen Aoibheann reportedly charmed but not officially hiring… yet.
Ongoing: Investigating how she bypassed six gates, three enchantments, and a literal moat without so much as a hairpin.
Commentary: We may need to update the castle warding matrix to “Nanny-Proof.” And someone please warn the royal tutor he’s now in direct competition with a woman who rides umbrellas and teaches kids to summon birds.
12:20 PM – Goblin Shoplifter in Custody (Code: 731T Follow-Up)
Reporting Watchhouse: Martyr’s Row
Subject: Imos McDum (yes, that’s actually his name—confirmed thrice)
Summary: Recovered goblin from the Silver Moon Café incident brought in post-healing. Clerics applied curative spells, several hymnals, and one exorcism attempt just to be safe.
Response: Goblin was grateful, if a bit shaken. Claimed sanctuary clerics were “too enthusiastic” and kept threatening him with a life of charity.
Commentary: Poor sod just wanted a sweet roll and got divine guilt instead. We’ve recommended light incarceration, mostly so he can take a nap.
12:22 PM – Stolen Food Cart (Code: 1402-Wandering Wagon)
Reporting Watchhouse: Market Street
Summary: A food wagon from Chicken Legs Fried Chicken was reported stolen. Wagon in question has literal giant chicken legs for wheels, which apparently got bored waiting and walked off.
Owner: Out behind the stall when nature called. Came back to find the wagon halfway to the Wharf, clucking.
Response: BOLO issued; traffic patrol has been advised to avoid chasing it with breadcrumbs.
Commentary: If your vehicle can walk itself into the Feywild, maybe don’t leave it unattended next to a bard’s festival. And yes, this is the second time this month.
12:25 PM – Brawl: Man vs. Sword (Code: 339F – Sentient Weapon Dispute)
Reporting Watchhouse: Market Street, Iron Oak Inn
Summary: Officers responded to a physical altercation between local adventurer Ian MacDuff and his newly acquired sentient longsword, Ironfang.
Cause: Ironfang apparently developed second thoughts about its wielder and initiated its own ownership termination clause—by trying to stab him in the neck.
Response: Sword placed in magical holding cell with gag rune applied. Ian treated for minor cuts and major bruised ego.
Commentary: Suggest revising guild training materials: “Ask the sword if it actually wants to be wielded before drawing it in a tavern.”
12:28 PM – Romantic Misfire at the Kitty Kat Lounge (Code: 142L – Love-Struck Idiot)
Reporting Watchhouse: Quarry Junction, Red Lantern Warrens
Summary: Officers responded to loud meowing and broken glass. Perpetrator: Sir Whiskerly du Meow, a Cait Sith musketeer from Cheshire.
Incident: Proposed to a dancer mid-routine after declaring she gave him “the best petting of his life.” When refused, drew a dueling rapier and challenged her current boyfriend, two bouncers, and gravity to a fight.
Response: De-escalated with catnip-laced tranquilizers.
Commentary: I have filed this under “Typical Thursday.” Booking charge: Public intoxication, romantic delusion, and aggravated wooing.
12:33 PM – Comedy Factory Incident (Code: 420-H: Workplace Accident)
Reporting Watchhouse: Carrey Head
Summary: A standard workplace accident at the Comedy Factory escalated into a goblin slapstick nightmare. An office safe mysteriously skidded across the third floor and dropped perfectly onto a cart full of itching powder, joy buzzers, and preloaded whoopee cushions.
Casualties: 12 goblins scratched into a frenzy, 1 unconscious teamster found clinging to a flagpole like a holiday decoration, and possibly a small fire started by a flaming prank cigar.
Response: Area cordoned off. Clerics summoned to apply anti-itch ointment and treat bruised egos.
Commentary: One witness described it as “funny until it really, really wasn’t.” Factory owner insists the safe “just had a funny feeling about finance.” I’ve marked this as “Unintentional Attempted Goblicide via Laughter.”
12:35 PM – Musical Lungs Lawsuit (Code: 999-M: Medically Induced Harmony)
Reporting Watchhouse: Market Street
Summary: Officers responded to a disturbance at Friendly Otto’s Organ Repairs and Sales. One recent patient, whose stab wound was repaired via semi-legal surgical enchantment, now whistles like a church organ every time he uses the letter ‘E’.
Conflict: Complainant threatened to sue after being laughed at in three different taverns. Otto offered a refund in harmonics and organ oil.
Resolution: Suit dropped after mediation. Follow-up ordered to determine origin of original stabbing. Otto remains “Friendly” but possibly needs to change his slogan to “We Put the Pipes in You.”
Commentary: The man does, in fact, say “cheese” like a cathedral full of angels.
12:36 PM – Bone Theft from Philosopher Bum (Code: 104B – Grand Theft Skeleton)
Reporting Watchhouse: Market Street
Summary: Lazybone Joe, knockenvolk and noted skeletal layabout, filed a complaint after waking to find his bones stolen while he napped on a park bench.
Suspects: Local dogs seen running off with tibias and one confirmed femur. K9 Unit dispatched to negotiate bone return.
Commentary: This marks Joe’s third bone theft in as many weeks. Quote of the day: “It’s hard to feel whole in a world that keeps stealing your parts.” We’re considering stapling a tracking charm to his spine.
12:39 PM – Goblin Delivery (Code: 612 – Courtesy of the Market)
Reporting Watchhouse: Quarry Junction
Summary: An unconscious, hog-tied goblin was dumped at our doorstep by a Sliberberg Bounty Hunter Union rep. Attached was a handwritten card from Overseer Nib stating:
“This dimmwit was caught stealing from Grexx Saex’s weapon stand. On behalf of the Goblin Market, we deliver the miscreant to you for disposal.“
Condition: Bruised, possibly concussed, and very quiet—probably for the first time in his life.
Response: Logged as standard 612 (Goblin Market Discipline Transfer). Awaiting decision on “disposal.”
Commentary: Honestly, I’m just impressed someone actually filled out a card this time. Usually they just chuck ‘em over the fence with a note stuck in their ear.
12:43 PM – Rogue Fog on the Wharf (Code: 410-F – Atmospheric Menace)
Reporting Watchhouse: Long Wharf
Summary: Reports received of a traveling sentient fog bank, described as thick as soup and smelling of rotten eggs (possibly sulfur, possibly bad seafood). Sightings suggest it’s meandering through the docks.
Effect: Several sailors reportedly walked into it and failed to exit for several minutes. One claimed he was “emotionally tested” by the fog.
Response: Alchemical dispersal team dispatched with fans, charm spells, and lemon-scented candles.
Commentary: Based on past patterns, this is either a lost air elemental, a disgruntled gas spirit, or an extremely passive-aggressive prank by the Weather College. Recommend breath masks and mild existential dread until resolved.
12:45 PM – Rodent-Run Robbery (Code: 411-R – Tiny, Organized Crime)
Reporting Watchhouse: Alteburg Yard
Summary: Lord Charnwell reports that the elusive Hole-in-the-Wall Gang pulled off another daring heist.
Stolen Goods: 12 wheels of cheese, 20 loaves of bread, two cakes, assorted condiments, and a jar of truffle oil “worth more than some serfs.”
Casualties: The palace mouser was found gagged and hog-tied with what appears to be licorice rope. The humiliation may outlast the bruising.
Response: Crime Scene Unit dispatched with miniature magnifying glasses and bait traps.
Commentary: If they ever unionize, we’re all doomed. Suggested Charnwell install anti-vermin wards that aren’t decorative. He told me to “cheese off.”
12:47 PM – Whole-Room Robbery (Code: 506 – Grand Theft Architecture)
Reporting Watchhouse: Alteburg Yard
Summary: Count Dunswaine reports a magical burglary of impressive audacity—his entire bedroom and study were stolen, in one clean spatial scoop.
Suspect Theory: Count blames political rivals looking to snoop through his private documents. Bedroom believed to be “accidental collateral” (which raises other questions about his taste in décor).
Also Missing: One cat, name withheld for security reasons.
Response: Crime Scene Unit on-site, currently standing in the void where the second floor rooms used to be.
Commentary: If anyone tries to file this under “domestic dispute,” I swear to the Moonmother. We’re treating this as a precision planar burglary—again.
12:49 PM – Birdhouse Burglary (Code: 211-A – Avian Home Invasion)
Reporting Watchhouse: Old Maple Pixiewood Post
Summary: Cock Robin (yes, that one) reported that his birdhouse, along with all property within, has vanished.
Suspects: Possibly a squirrel with a grudge, or a wind spirit with poor spatial awareness.
Response: BOLO issued for suspicious activity involving small-scale homes and/or feather-themed looting.
Commentary: Robin is incensed, quoting old songs and demanding poetic justice. I told the sprites to keep him from declaring a blood feud in rhyme again. He gets very Shakespearean when angry.
12:50 PM – Unauthorized Murder (Code: 4 – Corvid-Related Chaos)
Reporting Watchhouse: Martyrs Way
Summary: The Corvid Guild filed a formal complaint after a non-guild flock of crows formed an unsanctioned murder on Lamentation Street, raising an absolute ruckus.
Concerns: Loud cawing, pecked refuse bins, and aggressive loitering.
Resolution: The murder was dispersed under threat of light stoning and mild bolt fire. No injuries reported, though one crow reportedly swore vengeance in a voice uncannily like Lady Margra the Elder.
Commentary: That’s three interspecies guild infractions in one week. Recommend Council schedule a summit before the pigeons get ideas.
12:53 PM – Conceptual Burglary (Code: 320 – Theft of Abstracts)
Reporting Watchhouse: Market Street
Summary: Grunther Jewelry Associates held up by perpetrators believed to be members of the Drolls gang.
Stolen: 10 display cases, 7 wall shelves, 2 chamber pots, and—bafflingly—the concepts of the letters E, Y, and J from the immediate area. (All signs in vicinity now read like bad Scrabble hands.)
Not Stolen: Literally any jewelry.
Additional Notes: Witnesses describe the culprits as “colorfully dressed and alarmingly interpretive.” Property covered in surrealist graffiti, including a haiku about elbows and a mural of a confused flamingo labeled “Jeremy.”
Commentary: Filed under “Technically a robbery, metaphysically a cry for help.” Linguistic specialists and conceptual mages dispatched. Someone bring them a thesaurus.
12:55 PM – Mutinous Vessel (Code: 507-F – Shipnapping)
Reporting Watchhouse: Long Wharf
Summary: Captain Fearghas Coineagan reported his merchant vessel, the Mary, ran off. By all accounts, the ship sprinted out of port under its own volition with a full load of chocolate from Atzlan aboard.
Current Status: Ship is at large. Crew left behind. One dockhand reports hearing it giggle.
Referral: Referred to the Sliberberg Free Navy, who’ve issued a BOLO and begun scrying efforts.
Commentary: Working theory: the ship fell in love or gained sentience via sugar exposure. Either way, we’re looking at maritime desertion.
12:57 PM – Moose Curse (Code: 21 – Curse; Mammalian)
Reporting Watchhouse: Market Street
Summary: A large moose wandered into the watchhouse, bellowing and weeping uncontrollably. After some consideration, determined not to be an enthusiastic petitioner but a curse victim.
Response: Called the Sanctuary of the Resplendent Hand.
Next Steps: Inquiry to be made with Aunty Foul, hag of known mischief and petty spite, who’s recently been moving high volumes of “emotional affliction” curses.
Commentary: Moose now resting in holding cell with chamomile tea and calming bardic sonatas. This job is weird.
12:58 PM – Aerial Disorderly Conduct (Code: 347 – Unauthorized Sky Sports)
Reporting Watchhouse: Silver Moon Way & Holly Road
Summary: Aerial patrol dispatched after unauthorized broomball match broke out above Caldron Road.
Damages: Multiple shop awnings collapsed, one unicorn spooked into a fountain, two chimney stacks disassembled mid-match.
Resolution: Patrol broke up game; players grounded for “reckless endangerment of open airspace.”
Commentary: They insisted it was a “friendly scrimmage.” That’ll really help the baker whose sourdough is now somewhere over the Feyglimmer Sea.
12:59 PM – Quimby’s Questionable Cure (Code: 1021-B – That’s for You, Barnabas)
Reporting Watchhouse: Market Street
Summary: Disturbance at Market Grove Bazaar over the sales tactics of one Barnabas Quimby, street peddler and serial footnote in public safety memos.
Issue: His “miracle hare-grown tonic” does not, as he claimed, “enhance virility, intelligence, and hairline” in humanoids. It’s for rabbits.
Side Effects Reported: Fur growth in unusual places, excessive hopping, a craving for carrots.
Resolution: Quimby to pay Greater Restoration fees for affected customers, and to correct spelling on his product labels (“for rabits” was the least alarming error).
Commentary: He is, once again, on thin ice and thinner eyebrows.
Conclusion: The laws of reality barely clung to coherence this hour. We faced sentient fog, enchanted poultry, disappearing architecture, and philosophical skulls ranting about canine theft. All in a day’s work.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to drink something strong, possibly flammable, and definitely not enchanted.
The feengrenze historia 
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