Scattered Communications.

Scattered Communications.

Postby Carnath-Emory » Mon Apr 09, 2007 9:44 am

There comes a series of these, run from one end of town to the other, by small, clever Felix, whose mother is employed in the bakery of one Altias Bromn. They are all very brief, sketched in charcoal upon various mismatched slips of paper, and read as follows:

[INDENT]Governor Coriolanus Helstone,

I return as soon as I am able.

Ariane Emory.



M'Ser Syl Duquesne,

I return as soon as I am able.

Ariane Emory.
[/INDENT]

Surely a woman upon her sickbed might be forgiven a slightly ... repetitious nature. The Governor's message is delivered to his home, for the Meetinghouse yet lingers in a state of disrepair; Duquesne's to the tavern, as 'Aithne' is a word, but not a destination, to the one who'd directed Felix on his deliveries.

[INDENT]My sister Quincy,

I am well, Altias has taken care of me. Come see me when you can.

Ariane Emory.
[/INDENT]

This one for the tavern as well, and one could be forgiven for reckoning its composition superior to that of the others; could be lauded for guessing that poorly-literate Ariane had not been its author. But there are no mistakes to be made about the last of the small group, for it is as blunt as its writer, as perfectly precise. As bleak.

[INDENT]Coran D'zir,

When is the day?

Ariane
[/INDENT]
Night after night, from words to dreams, to flesh, to phantoms. Possession and deposession. The flowers of the moon, the broad-backed palms of jungle growth, the baying of bloodhounds, the frail white body of a child, the lava bubbles, the rallentando of the snow-flakes, the floorless bottom where smoke blooms into flesh. And what is flesh but moon? and what is moon but night? Night is longing, longing, longing, beyond all endurance.

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A Posse Ad Esse.

Postby Kylerryth » Mon Apr 09, 2007 3:52 pm

The reply came in much the same form as the question that spawned it: on a scrap of folded parchment, unsealed, the writing simple, the words concise; but not bleak, no ... not bleak. Sad, perhaps ... but not hopeless.

[indent]It is done. Now in Almark with Burel, Companions. We bury him on the morrow.

C.
[/indent]
I'll either find a way or make one.
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Postby Carnath-Emory » Tue Apr 10, 2007 3:38 am

He will earn his coins today, this boy, this Felix. He will run like the winter wind, furiously fast because he's been paid well to be just that, by a woman who could scarely breathe.


[INDENT]Hold. I accompany.

~ Ari.
[/INDENT]
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Postby channe » Wed Apr 11, 2007 1:00 am

The boy is told to wait; and to return a letter.

Miss Carnath-Emory,

You are not one to be inattentive to your promises; nor to miss your regular appointments with Hrimfax. I do hope you are well.

You must have heard the news by now, I would imagine, being a friend to him. I am sorry. He was a good man, and undeserving of such a fate.

Sincerely,
Coriolanus Helstone
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