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. Mayor
Metwinger was Kendermore's 1,397th mayor. Not all of them had been
kender. Nailed to the wall in the council chamber was a portrait of
the 47th mayor, a leprechaun named Raleigh who reportedly had been an
excellent mayor, having successfully held the post for nearly a year.
Rumor had it that Raleigh resigned after a dispute when a pot of his
gold mysteriously disappeared. Thirteen hundred fifty mayors had worn
the coveted purple mayoral robes in the intervening three hundred or
so years. Merldon Metwinger had been in the position for a little more
than a month, which was longer than average, if no great achievement.
Accidentally elected when the populace confused his moneylending
advertisements for campaign posters, he found that he enjoyed the
vaunted position. He particularly liked the purple velvet mayor's robe
with its many secret pockets.
Looking out at the occupants of the council chamber, Mayor
Metwinger rubbed his hands in gleeful anticipation; it promised to be
an exciting Audience Day. Two old, white-haired kender were struggling
over a bony, wide-eyed-with-fright milk cow, each tugging on one of
the animal's ears, which poked out of holes in a ratty straw hat.
Metwinger would liked to have watched them get the cow up the narrow
flights of stairs to the council chamber, which no doubt had
contributed to the cow's anxiety.
Also waiting for a turn with the mayor were a male and female
kender, obviously married from the way they were glaring at each
other
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