Vraal sat within his room at the Broken Dagger. Tapered, long fingers toyed with the length of a quil as it hovered just above the small pot of ink. The occasional spring breeze carressed his pale, angular countenance of harsh, calculating lines and angles. He allowed himself a small smile at these simple, fleshly pleasures: the feel of the quil, the lively scent of the air, the sound of chirping birds and the wind amongst the trees.
"Dear Madame Swinton," he began in a slow, elegantly curved hand. The calligraphy came to him at but a moment's recollection as he dryly scratched his message upon the virgin parchment.
"Rumors of those dreadful remaining inhabitants, who have taken advantage of your goodwill and hospitality, has reached my ears. I find the whole matter apalling and you have my sympathies.
I have some news, however, that might cheer you.
A small shipment of rather exotic teas has reached me here in Myrkenwood and I would be delighted if you would showcase them in your tea house. They are of a particular blend that, unless I am mistaken, you do not currently serve. The particular ingredients are unknown to me. Perhaps in the future we might share a cup and puzzle out the mixture between the two of us?
I also took the liberty of acquiring more of those delightful red candles that you used to keep in your windows.
You should find both in the small box accompanying this message and messenger. If there is anything else I mgiht do for you, Madame, do not hesitate to ask.
Sincerely,
Sin'Vraal"
He included his full name with a flourish. With any luck she might conclude the appelation "Sin" to be merely some form of foreign title. And if she didn't, he considered as he drew back from the desk and shut the window so as to prevent the parchment from blowing about the room, then it would make no difference regardless.
He slipped the package, message and a pair of coins to a young lad and bid him to make haste to Swinton's tea house.