Bungo Grubb, Noted Pipe-weed Farmer
22 Tilled Way
Oatbarton, Shire

Will Whitfoot, Mayor
The Town Hole, Michel Delving, Shire

Dear Mayor Whitfoot,

I am writing this letter of complaint from my home in Oatbarton, which, as I hope you will remember, is well within the bounds of the Shire and therefore the concerns of its residents should greatly concern you as mayor. I do not doubt that when you hear all of the facts of this matter, you will be filled with as much surprise and alarm as I and my wife Opaline are, and will take decisive action to find and punish the perpetrator of this misguided prank. I believe I know who is behind it, but I will save my conjecture for the end of this letter so as not to colour your opinion; I am certain you will come to the same conclusion as I have done when you have heard the facts of the case. So, to that end, here they are:

1. I am a citizen in good standing of the Town of Oatbarton, in the northern reaches of the Shire, and my pipe-weed crop has taken multiple prizes at the Annual Growers’ Festival for the last three years (Sweetest-Smelling Smoke in 1416 and 1417; Most Relaxing Smoke and Best Overall in 1418).
2. Numerous residents of Oatbarton and the surrounding communities were aware of my intention to submit plants from my pipe-weed crop to this year’s Growers’ Festival. You may contact me for names of good, honest folk who can attest to this, such as my wife Opaline or our good friend Rosalyn Smallburrow, also of Oatbarton.
3. I have not changed my growing habits or techniques since last year, so there is little reason to expect that my submission for this year’s festival would be of lesser quality than my previous, prize-winning entries. I do not mean to boast, but my pipe-weed plants were shaping up to be of even higher quality than in years past! You can speak to the individuals noted above for their opinions, and they will certainly agree that my pipe-weed crop was proceeding exceedingly well for the season.

Given those facts, you can see that I take a great deal of pride in the quality of my pipe-weed. Imagine my alarm when I woke up this morning, drank my morning tea, prepared a small breakfast, and took my customary mid-morning stroll to observe my plants… and found them withered, brown, and wilted! They will win no prizes in this state! They are fit only for compost now! Unimaginable!

Right in the middle of my field, someone had placed a tall stone block bearing unpleasant symbols. I do not know what to call it, but I would not like it anywhere, let alone in the middle of my pipe-weed field: the pipe-weed field that was thriving yesterday, but after the appearance of this horrible thing is no more! Furthermore, this stone artifact, or relic, or what-have-you, is a public nuisance! Anyone who gets too near it begins to feel most unhealthy, and cannot bear to look at the thing for too long.

I told you at the outset, Mr. Mayor, that I had my suspicions about who could have done this to me, and here they are: my neighbour, one Adaric Burrows. He is very jealous of my success at the Annual Growers’ Festival these past few years, and has been most vocal in his belief that his own pipe-weed (a very low-grade and unsatisfying smoke, if you ask true experts) deserves to beat mine. I do not know how he managed to move this large stone into my field, but I don’t doubt that he found some way, and now thinks to run his own pipe-weed unchallenged in the Growers’ Festival!

I wish you to prepare a declaration saying that Mr. Burrows is forbidden from entering his pipe-weed in this year’s Festival on account of the underhanded and unworthy prank he has pulled on me and my innocent plants, which did no harm to anyone. I await your response and said declaration, signed by any necessary parties and delivered in triplicate, and remain,

Bungo Grubb, Trusted Citizen, Pipe-weed Farmer, and Diligent Voter