There were constants in Myrken Wood, safe certainties that could be counted upon, season after season, year after year. They were the pillars that held up the establishment, the foundations that withstood the winds of change. They were few and far between, however, and in the face of such unfortunate realities, beggars in fields afar could most certainly not be choosers.
So it was that Aloisius Horatio Treadwell would receive a letter, beaten and battered by weather and time, at his toyshop, were it still standing.
Aloisius,
I send this letter with a request empowered by the age-old force of goodwill known as "I would do this for you were our situations reversed," and expect to find that more than enough to move your hand, aged and gout-ridden as world-weary as it must be, now in the midst of winter. I write to you from Razasan. It is upon you, my old friend, to decide whether or not to believe me when I tell you that I do what I can for Myrken, for its freedom, for its autonomy, and maybe for it's well-being. It's really more of a look the other way sort of situation though. Frankly, no one wants to look at Myrken for long.
I hear things, of course, but not much. I'd have returned in a moment if I had heard of one of the more outlandish possibilities, war with Darkenhold, my wife returning from the grave, a drow invasion, you being kidnapped or otherwi., that sort of thing. But I worry I am behind on the news of the last year and ask you to write me a few detailed paragraphs, putting in your own words, from your own, unique point of view, a summary of the major events.
Were you to do this, I would be in your debt once again.
Your friend no matter what others might claim,
Glenn Burnie