Letters to Amet
Hello friends. Below the cut is a letter written from Seb, my character in a D&D campaign, to his father. This is my attempt to fill the void left when our superb bard was drawn away from us. I doubt anything I write will equal the Lay of Ideld, but here it is, none the less.
Beginning of Winter: Aran returns
Dear Father,
I do not think I will like this winter. I cannot reach Amasar. Something turns me away when I try to venture north. It may be that Amasar is keeping me away, or it may be Fandrigan. One is worse, but both are bad. Will I be kept away until there is only a corpse on the ground? I do not want to be too late again.
And now there is something new afoot. Aran has returned, apparently dismissed by the mayor of Hill's Edge. They are now a town without guard and I worry they will not fare well.
Aran has taken stock of our situation, and he does not seem impressed. And, when I summed our circumstances, I could hardly feel different. Corrigan is gone. I feel now that she must truly have despaired for our chances. Glothram has gone to raise arms to turn against Ideld while Ivellios reminds us that a force of arms may never do us any good. So now he and I stay here in Morningvale. He speaks with his voices and I pace about, trying to find any way at all that I may yet do some good. With things as they are, Aran is right to point out that we have almost resigned ourselves to defeat. He has asked me to lead him to the Trialta Hills so that we might at least learn how Brighstone Keep fares, and if Ideld is there.
Ivellios cannot and will not journey with us, so it will be me and Aran. Even for a ranger and a monk I fear this will be difficult. A journey like this is hard enough for its own reasons, but I worry more that I am somehow travelling blind. We are now scattering ourselves even further and I do not know how to travel with Aran.
I once thought monks would be much like druids, but no longer. Aran is strong and brave, but he is alien to me. I find myself thinking of the company as it used to be. Of when Glothram was less angry. And when I could hear Panlos sing at the dawn and fuss with his attire. I miss Ivellios when he was happy. And I miss Amasar. And I miss Corrigan. I think also of my brother, but perhaps there was never a time when things were right between he and I.
This year I am especially glad to remember that winter is the time of sleeping only and that spring will always follow.
Seb
Beginning of Winter: Aran returns
Dear Father,
I do not think I will like this winter. I cannot reach Amasar. Something turns me away when I try to venture north. It may be that Amasar is keeping me away, or it may be Fandrigan. One is worse, but both are bad. Will I be kept away until there is only a corpse on the ground? I do not want to be too late again.
And now there is something new afoot. Aran has returned, apparently dismissed by the mayor of Hill's Edge. They are now a town without guard and I worry they will not fare well.
Aran has taken stock of our situation, and he does not seem impressed. And, when I summed our circumstances, I could hardly feel different. Corrigan is gone. I feel now that she must truly have despaired for our chances. Glothram has gone to raise arms to turn against Ideld while Ivellios reminds us that a force of arms may never do us any good. So now he and I stay here in Morningvale. He speaks with his voices and I pace about, trying to find any way at all that I may yet do some good. With things as they are, Aran is right to point out that we have almost resigned ourselves to defeat. He has asked me to lead him to the Trialta Hills so that we might at least learn how Brighstone Keep fares, and if Ideld is there.
Ivellios cannot and will not journey with us, so it will be me and Aran. Even for a ranger and a monk I fear this will be difficult. A journey like this is hard enough for its own reasons, but I worry more that I am somehow travelling blind. We are now scattering ourselves even further and I do not know how to travel with Aran.
I once thought monks would be much like druids, but no longer. Aran is strong and brave, but he is alien to me. I find myself thinking of the company as it used to be. Of when Glothram was less angry. And when I could hear Panlos sing at the dawn and fuss with his attire. I miss Ivellios when he was happy. And I miss Amasar. And I miss Corrigan. I think also of my brother, but perhaps there was never a time when things were right between he and I.
This year I am especially glad to remember that winter is the time of sleeping only and that spring will always follow.
Seb