A Letter

[Templar Raeflyn]

It was late, well past midnight for certain. Dark clouds had moved in from the southwest, blocking out the light cast from the full moon that hung in the summer sky. The Village of Daris sat in darkness, the townspeople for the most part asleep in their respective homes. The occasional sentry walked the dusty and beaten roads of the village, stopping to chat now and then with each other. As usual, they had a long night ahead of them, and for the most part a rather uneventful night. The sentries carried brightly lit torches this night, as it was difficult to see with the moon hidden behind the veil of the clouds. They had secured the village, locking the gates tight and securing each checkpoint as they did every night. The village was, for the most part, asleep. Save one room of course, high above on the second floor of the Blue Boar. This one room apart fro the others. The curtained window betrayed the sleepless patron, as the lamp that had been lit hours before still burned brightly within. Now, past the brown woollen curtains lay a small but clean and presentable room. It was no larger than any of the other rooms within the Inn, but certainly not cubby-hole. To one side of the room, tightly snug against the wall below the window, was a bed of modest size. Strongly built with oak from the nearby forest, it had seen hundreds of patrons from across the nation. Across the room near the door lay the desk. The owner of this fine establishment had the foresight to equip many of the rooms with solid and well-built desks. Many of the patrons frequenting the Inn were from Dasar, and as such were on trips of a business nature. This of course required a comfortable and dependable writing surface. This desk, for the time being, was occupied.

The man who filled the chair was tall and lean, a familiar sight within the village. The townsfolk knew him, the guards knew him, and the Baron knew him. While a few of the new folks to the village had not yet met him, his name was entrenched within the history and stories of the old and war-torn settlement. At this point, the man was simply sitting and writing. His left hand eloquently led a fine-tipped pen across a quality cut piece of parchment. The penmanship was neat and tidy with years of practice and patience, although the hands that cast it were adorned with scars, scratches and old wounds; witness to years of hard service and dark times. The document itself was of an official nature, as atop the letter was a brilliantly painted Crown with several heraldic devices adorning the gilded circlet. The sigil sat atop a rippling silk banner depicted in violet paint that read, “Her Majesty’s Royal Guard.”

The man writing the letter ended the document with an eloquent signature. He stood, satisfied with his work. Craning his neck to the left he examined that sigil atop the document with a curious expression. He had worn it for quite a long time now, perhaps as long as he had served in the Redboots. No, it couldn’t be that long. He breathed a sigh of contentment, reaching forward to extinguish the lamp that had served him so diligently for the evening; but something caught his eye. Squinting he reached towards his pack that sat next to the desk, withdrawing the bauble that had caught the light in the room. It was an old memory come to visit him.

He held the object up to the light, examining it carefully. The insignia, as it were, was made of a durable and solid metal. The insignia was composed of a tall, broad heater shield, painted gold. Atop the golden shield were two brightly painted red boots; the same style worn by the illustrious organization today. The small metal boots were trimmed with gold paint. He held it in his hand, gauging the weight of the small trinket. He had worn it for a long time, and as such it had seen better days. The metal of the shield was smudged and tarnished in some areas, and the red paint on the boots had worn dull with use. He smiled, admiring the object thoughtfully. Perhaps he would wear it again.

With inspired determination he set the insignia down, taking up the document he had just drafted. With careful hands he folded it three ways. He grabbed the nearby candle that he had left burning, tipping it lightly over the folded parchment. Several pools of wax collected neatly at the seam. He grabbed his signet ring and applied the face with firm and equal pressure. He would send this to Dasar first thing in the morning. Perhaps he’d get a reply by the end of the week.

Satisfied, Raeflyn E’Doras extinguished the lamp and candle, and went to bed.

[Ohio41]

Umm, can I say....excited?

Heh. Yup, I'm excited to see the ole' bugger in town again. Raef, good to see ya mate. Can't wait to see where this leads.

[lankycheese]

Woo! Someone to suckup to again

Do go on.

[Boon]

It is good to have you back, Raef.

Nicely written btw.

[Ramblinwomble]

((Very nicely written... the game's a foot me thinks

[Lictor Ki'athano]

The lictor kneels before her Regnant as she reads the letter and awaits her reply. Queen Nelina's hasty quill scratches across the fine parchment are the only sound in the hall. Her Majesty rolls up the scroll and seals it casually in an unthinking motion, rehearsed so many times. She rises from her chair and hands the scroll to the Lictor who looks up to receive the letter.

The regnant speaks, "Duty and loyalty each many names but thier faces are unchanging." She quietly returns to her seat, deep in thought.