It's a day for letter-writing, isn't it? With the air grown warm already, but the skies so overcast that the world's been made over in humid shades of grey. Perhaps it inspires a certain dramatic streak in a person, so that they want for ink and paper and very grandiose phrasing. Perhaps it makes Myrkenfolk think of coming storms...
This is the pursuit that has certainly occupied the most of one swordswoman's morning. There has been a very unlikely request sent to an attorney who vacations far from here; there has been the morning's letter sent to architect Duquesne, and nevermind that he's had six weeks and more to meet his death. It is a short thing, but written with particular care, and it features such exotic words as 'codicil' and 'extortion' and 'faith'.
And then there is this, clearly penned in some haste, and delivered to Treadwell's businessplace by a runner who's earned his coin with sweat and enthusiasm.
[INDENT]Glenn Burny,
I am glad of the map, gladder still when it is complete. I do not allow that you will be murdered before I receive what I have paid for, to whit your lessons begin today and in earnest. I've a mock weapon for you, you will do well to fetch yourself a helm a padded jerkin pants you do not fear to ruin suppel boots. We speak of Vraal at soonest chance we speak particularly of Snowstill, for you do me a great service by learning this thing and I must know all that you have learned. What I would say of this cannot be written upon a page.
Thank you.
Ariane.
[/INDENT]