I'll keep on writing my poems in protest of OSI changing my character name. I will keep his name alive in the poems I write and hope one day OSI will read their emails and find the one I sent to them. I’ve written another poem, So I am heard far and wide, I want them to give me my name back, The name is Bob the Scribe He is my favourite character, He is my scribe and bard, In the dungeons of Britannia, You’ll see him fighting hard. With his little musical instrument, And the scrolls that he has made, He’ll kill off all the monsters, With magic instead of a blade. His name reflects his profession, Which he holds with pride, And that’s the reason behind, His name being Bob the Scribe. He hasn’t been in trouble, His record is sparkling clean, It’s just a couple of players, Who I think were being mean. He was kind and generous, He would help anyone out, He’d give you clothes off his back, That’s goes with out a doubt, He used to be great fun, If ever you had met, He’d have you laughing in minutes, All day long I’d bet. You could find him in Trammel, And in Felucca at the Champ, In dungeons with the Dragons, And also at Brigand Camps. He was'nt created to con you, He wasn’t the malicious kind, In all the lands of Britannia, No better player you’d find. I still can not understand, Why his name should go, I didn’t try to scam people, As most of you would know. There aren’t a lot of vendors, With a title like Glorious Lord, I think the spoilt little players that day, Were getting a little bit bored. They weren’t having much fun, That’s all that I can see, Behind their reason for doing, This terrible deed to me. They couldn’t handle the spawn, That Bob the Scribe created, Too many for their nightmares, That is what they hated, No talent to go into combat, To fight them toe to toe, They always rely on their nightmares, To slaughter all their foe. They stand there complaining, That the monsters are too tough, And there I was thinking, There surely isn’t enough, There were Dragons, Daemons and Firesteeds, It was truly a place from hell,, They came from all directions, Too many for me to tell. I looked around the dungeon, And guess what it was I saw, Those two little nightmare riders, Heading for the exit door. Oh boy this is bad now, I am all-alone in here, But brave old Bob fought on, Without any sense of fear. The sea of monsters killed me, You must think I’m insane, Because I’d go and get ressed, And come back to fight again The spawn was slowly dying, I was getting it under control, That’s when I suddenly vanished, If swallowed by a black hole. This is where my story started, That day they changed my name, I hope you two mare riders, Hang your heads in shame. You’ve spoilt my reputation, In the game I play. But you are both forgiven, What more is there to say. It looks like I will have to keep, Erskine as my name, In the dungeons of destard, I still play the game. If any reds are reading, This poem I wrote for you, Go and check your email, I’ve sent one to GM Review. It’s been over two weeks now, I have not had a reply. Please, Oh please read your email. You could at least try. I want to get my name back, Erskine is too weird, I’m ashamed to show my face, So now he has got a beard. This poem will have to end now, It’s getting far too long. It was just a little rhyme, But now it is a song. Goodbye to all you readers, From places far and wide, Please have a minute’s silence, For poor old Bob the Scribe.