The letter arrived with very little haste. It arrived with a caravan of trade goods, just something sent in passing, as inexpensively as possible. Somehow, that showed in the writing as well.
Tennant Tolleson,
Even the timing of this is awkward. It's been six-and-a-half years. That's quite a long time but it's not a neat time. Still, I find accounts unbalanced and this letter is an effect of that.
Our encounters were few. Perhaps one or two in passing, then one with meaning and another with less meaning and less result. I write you from exile of my own making. I write you, as well, with an understanding that I may return to Myrken within a year's time. As such, there are a few loose ends that I think it better to deal with sooner than later. I assure you, despite the monumental event that we partook in (you against your will), this is still easier than the letter I will have to write to Kacela (a she-wolf? Do you know her?).
I know very little about your relationship with your sister. Are you close? I know very little about your upbringing. I imagine it was kind enough, stable enough, for despite your illegal proclivities, she turned out to be a very fine person. Something in the middle then. Mine were less fortuitous. That is no excuse, of course, especially not for the only thing I would be excused for, my intentions. You know as well as anyone, I imagine, what Myrken can do to someone, the madness it can bring. You knew Jirai if not Sarayn, perhaps? Certainly not Faeryl, though she would have adored you, likely to death. You always reminded me a bit of Roschen, just more tussled and put upon and less deranged (though he had a level of unflappability that you do not because of the madness). So many names. My apologies. I'm avoiding the point.
I was deranged myself when I sent you to the bottom of the lake. Yes you received a pardon for your effort. Yes, you experienced something that no one else of our generation has. I imagine it's yet another story, barely believable like many others, that you can use to amaze women in taverns. If things had gone differently, your effort might have gone a long way in saving Myrken from some of what befell it. That it did not was of no fault of yours.
Still, I did you wrong by it. It is not something that I would do today. I was made mad by the same forces I imagine you've experienced over the years, though at the heart of that madness was the very core of my being, both then and now. I apologize. I know how empty that sounds, but truly, unless you would be fool enough to seek more employment from me, I have nothing else to offer you.
Glenn Burnie