Letter

Ethuilon.

That was a bloody foolish thing you did. I hope you don't need me to tell you that.

Your false leg is under the bed, and I've left you some water, though I doubt you'll need it. Would that you lot had been blessed with the gift of hangovers! Mahal knows you could do with a bit of discouraging.

Thordralin sifts through the contents of his fathers' belongings. He seems alive even now, in all these objects left behind. It's a sad and gruelling task, but the Uzbad does not complain; the slow digestion of memories is just one part of the mourning process. Placed tactfully at the bottom of one wooden box is a carefully preserved letter. A letter from Thordralin, back in his caravan guarding days. Or rather, at the end of them...

Branalph was startled to find this note in his boot, wrapped around a chunk of rock too big to overlook. 

Aiya, hammer-wielder!

There is a feast upcoming, and I fear your quartermaster has prepared strangely -- where there ought to be meat, there is only cheese. Bloody great heaps of it.

The man holds the envelope in his fingers and approaches the conundrum with an initially strong but inevitably failing confidence. One might think that is odd. After all, he’s been working in the information business for years. Letters are, were, and will always remain a frequent part of what he is and what he does.

The letter is scrawled hastily, as if something is more pressing, something that is happening soon. The typical handwriting of Stitches is ruined by this, and it is written with such haste, that he does not remember to address it properly. Nameless, it continues to whom he writes it for, without greeting.

Letter to Manadhlaer from Merenellon,

Elegant handwriting on a good paper, that smells of herbs.

My dear Lady,

Friend Wisterhya,

I trust you be well - it was an unexpected delight to speak once more last night, after so long.  Alas, I have recently been occupied with errands in the north, and so have been an infrequent guest of the Pony - with luck, I shall be present again soon.

A letter passes across the Uzbad’s desk on it’s way to the library of the Longbeards. It is written in the hand of his estranged brother, the scholar Thorvralin. He does not bother to read it.

Dear Helvari,

I attended a market not so long ago in Ered Luin, I was able to sell a large number of ores from the family vault here and amass a fair few coin. I have sent some ahead of me with a waggon heading your way. I trust that it will help keep the estate well preserved. I look forward to seeing the library that Helfór spoke fondly regarding when I too was young.

I trust that you are all well. My troubling dreams continue, please keep an eye on Helfór - though I dare say he keeps his eye on you also!

Dear Helvari,

In light of recent events, increased goblin and orc activity, and my suspicion that a dark askâdul figure may be targeting our kin, I decided to return to the Blue Mountains.
We only have one guard at the old home now, and since it is only myself there, I feel one is plenty. The rest of the kin's ushmur remain with you in Erebor or on their way to join you. I trust that they will be well received.

I must admit that I am troubled by strange dreams of late, I trust that Helfór is well?