Letters Unsent, Fears Unspoken, Hope Unrealized

J.L. Collins

Warm greetings to you sister,

I would hope to think on you smiling when you read of my news, but it is I who smile, helpless, knowing this letter will wait in my personal chest along with all the others I have written you this season. Two more ships, hastily-built, set sail last season, before the coming of the winter winds, but no return voyage has appeared. Whether the rumors of the reefs that await beyond the fog-laden shores are true, or whether those who return to our home wisely linger, to seek the company of cherished friends and devoted family.

I came to know two from our bloodline this past season, though it was for only one season. One, a scout under Dwarf command perished at the hands of vicious underdwellers, and the other was transferred out to an advance outpost. Needless to say, it was well to share company with our own blood, even for a short time.

This letter wanders as my last did, and I did not share my news. I am promoted to first scout, and I will finally escape the dirty streets of this fish-catcher’s hovel. I will walk with several Elves, and report to the Gnome commander for this area. It is said he is a firm, but reasonable Gnome, not that you often hear reasonable used to describe anything they do.

I must prepare for my journey north, keep a fire warm for my return, give Mother my blessing, and Father my best word.

Quinthesal

Warm greetings to you sister,

I write this while resting along my journey in a small native village that is secured by the Taumur. Thankfully the natives here are suitably controlled, and some even seem to welcome our presence. They are the few who recognized that in exchange for law and civil behaviour, we bring needed supplies, defense, and strength of law as the great quake and floods subside.

Not all dwell easily here. There was a Dwarf, a master of the seige, who was demoted last eve for viciously beating a native woman who looked him in the eyes. That these incidents occur is expected, that they occur more frequently now, when once they were unheard of, is a concern. Who is at fault? Have the natives grown too accustomed to our presence now, and mistake our generosity for acceptance? We give them leave to raise their young and tend their fields. In return they must only keep the peace and accord us the respect we have earned for bringing the joys of Aerandir to this raw, unchecked land. Or have we become too sure of our own place here? Have we forgotten that these natives live and die at the whim of their barbaric desires, without any semblance of law?

This makes fifty-seven times I have written you, with fourty-two letters still unsent, waiting in my chest. May it be that one day I will give them to you by hand, and have them remain unopened, so that I might share these stories with you in my own words.

Keep a fire warm for my return, give Mother my blessing, and Father my best word.

Quinthesal

I include this small note for you sister, as a reminder of why I must remain ever-vigilant in my journey. The master of the seige I described to you in my letter I wrote this night past, was found dead in a wagon, his throat cut. It did not take the local Taumur long to sort out this barbarism, and the brother of the native woman who was battered and bruised, has fled the village, presumably to take up arms with the rebels who live in the hills above us.

If I was to remain here, I would not be writing you on this cool morn, and instead be seeking the murderer and his allies in the deep forest. This is not my charge however, and my orders stand. Damn that young fool, he will die as he now lives, scared and alone. Damn too the Dwarf, for his failed discipline only makes our task more the harder.

Quinthesal

Warm greetings to you sister,

My journey is at the end, and I now sit, writing you, in one of the view-towers that rests in the centre of his remote outpost. The remainder of my journey was mostly peaceful, though I did aid our escort in hunting and putting down some native thieves who preyed upon both Taumur and native wagons. It was a reminder that for many of these natives, there is no law inside their own hearts, only greed, and hate. My bow ended one at range, and my blade silenced the desperate cries of another. They were ill-fed, poorly armed, and foolish.

Starting with first light on the day coming, I will begin my marches, learning this new land as I did my last, learning the names, the bloodlines, and the skill of my fellow scouts. I met the Gnome, and he was stern, but weary, as though he has lingered in his post too long. I often hear quiet whispers that the Gnomes have no stamina for this war, yet always they are the first to volunteer a bloodline or a clan for service in the name of the Taumur.

There is a native village under our watch, a collection of farms and fish-catchers who harvest the river. Already some of the scouts have warned me of rebels in the area, and the possibility of worse as well. I am not afraid. Our presence will do what it always does, drive them further into the wilds, and give us the pause necessary to establish rule of law so the Taumur may prepare more lands for the eventual landing of our kin back home.

I tell you true sister, the further North I walked, the more unclaimed this land became. There is enough room for several bloodlines if the Taumur wished to send them here. I miss Aerandir, our house, our walks, but the opportunity for a fresh start, to be given domain and land that rivals even the oldest bloodlines is a cause worthy of this sacrfice that keeps me from my family.

Would the captains get on with mapping the new shore that rose in place of the old one, and you would soon be ready to sail to see this land for yourself.

I will keep a fire warm for your arrival, give Mother my blessing, and Father my best word.

Quinthesal

Greetings to you sister, but no warmth can ward off the chill in my heart,

We crossed the path of the rebels this day, and they were not the ill-fed, foolish and foolhardy rogues I have encountered thus far. They acted with discipline, they fought with skill, and they commanded dark arts that I heard had died with the coming of the quake. That is not the darkest part of my tale. They shared their camp with underdwellers, and the underdwellers did not devour them, but fought alongside them.

Three scouts fell, along with twice as many rebels. That would be well news, if not for the fact that the rebels outmanned us three to one. How they gathered so many in such a remote place, and who taught them their skill and training are questions that vex the Gnome and his advisors even as I write this. Every available Taumur within a day’s ride has been summoned, and we set out at first light to break the morale of these rebels.

Whispers pass between the scouts asking if the native village shares their guilt, and has been aiding the rebels. If this was found to be true, it would be a hard day, for the village would burn, and the natives escorted South to a secure camp. We cannot accept the natives aiding these rebels, not when Taumur fall because of them.

I fear I will find no easy rest this night.

Keep a fire warm for my return, give Mother my blessing, and Father my best word.

Quinthesal

Warm greetings to you sister,

Worry not that the penmanship you read is not my own. Nasellem, a scout who walks beside me nearly ever patrol, listens to my words and writes them as I speak them. I cannot write you myself, for my arm is cradled against my chest, as I took an arrow that nearly took my life. Had I not raised my arm when I did, it would have pierced my chest, and not my wrist.

We sought the rebels, but to our surprise, it was they who sought us. The ambush came shortly after we left the outpost, the rebels playing a risky game that our number would be so large, no reserves would remain at the outpost to challenge them. They trapped us in a narrow gully, raining arrows on our heads, while their blades kept us from retreat. The only time I felt a moment of fear, was when their caster appeared, and his art brought such pain to his victims, that they cried for mercy. Again, our skill and discipline held, and we ended the day half our strength, as did the rebels, but seeing the dark magics used again, and with such venom, reminds us all that the Taumur warnings hold true. The natives who rebel are beyond mercy or caring. That they wield such dangerous weapons means we must not falter.

I can see Nasellem’s quiet nod as I write these last few words myself. Though the pain is great, I want you to know I keep strength in reserve. Even as I know our cause is just, and we must save this land from itself, I start to wonder if it is not the Gnome’s stamina that fails, but his will. I would welcome the glimpse of sails, even briefly, to remind me of why I must finish this task.

Keep a fire warm for my return, give Mother my blessing, and Father my best word.

Quinthesal