Myharl (prime)/A Commitment Honored (vignette)
Title: A Commitment Honored
Author: Myharl
This is a vignette reflecting upon some of Myharl's actions during the evening proceeding the delve into Thurfel's abandoned dungeon and Prinn's discovery of the sealed hidden passage beneath Icemule Trace. Events take place in the Hour of Ronan inside his office within Gryphonwind Ventures located in Wehnimer's Landing on Leyan, the 10th of Olaesta in the year 5124 of the Modern Era.
The dark office was dimly illuminated by a glowing orb set upon a heavy wyrwood-paneled desk, the sphere casting more than enough light to illuminate the hulking kindred seated behind it as well as the ornate nightwillow stationery box set on top.
Myharl seemed lost in thought, his eyes transfixed on the shadowy nothingness that extended beyond the lucent glow. His mind wandered over the events that had occurred as he accompanied the treasure hunter, Prinn, The Mayor and Town Council of Icemule Trace, and several concerned denizens of the North as they delved deep into the dungeons beneath the glacial city into the abandoned abode of the cursed fire mage.
He felt reassured about Talliver’s commitment to Icemule Trace when the mayor offered ten million silvers on top of the payment offered by Prinn’s mysterious employer. So impressed by the show of earnest intent that the giantkin himself immediately offered to match the reward amendment on behalf the free citizens of the North.
Myharl lifted the lid of the nightwillow stationery box and released the front flap, pulling it forward to serve as a writing slope. Carefully he removed a smoky glaesinth inkpot set in wrought silver talons and a lightless stygian quill from within, followed by the additional accoutrements needed to fulfill his vow.
After setting aside a small ebon parchment envelope, a cylinder of shadowy black wax, and a moon-inked midnight blue stampbook, he prepared a fresh page upon the writing slope. The mist grey parchment inked in pewter-limned ebon feathers mirrored the valravn quills the kindred was so fond of donning upon himself—a signature trait identifying him as a denizen of Cold River and hunter of the Hinterwilds.
Dipping the sharpened quill tip into the inkpot, he dabbed it upon a small ebon cloth and put pen to paper…
Mayor Dabbings, I hope the day finds you well during these troubling times. As I mentioned when we were in the dungeons beneath the town, on behalf of the free folk of the far North, I would like to amend your reward offer to the treasure hunter, Prinn. I believe it imperative to ensure this mysterious orb, whatever its source or power may be, is not allowed to fall into the hands of the Dusk Coven nor their complicit allies, the settlement of Sablecross. Enclosed you will find a promissory note issued from your local bank in the amount of ten million silvers to match your pending offer for the safe recovery of the orb. With luck, the combined offer will be enough to entice her to acquire the orb at the behest of Icemule Trace. With hope, Myharl, The Dark Tower
Wiping the excess ink from the quill, Myharl set it aside and read over the document before nodding to himself affirmatively. Reaching into the pocket of his shadowsilk robe, he withdrew crisp promissory note issued by the bank of Icemule Trace. The document denoted the value of ten-million silvers.
While he and Mayor Dabbings may have differing perspectives of governing the North, he had no doubt the man held the best interests of the region at heart. After hearing his proclamation against the Dusk Coven, there was little doubt in the giantman’s mind that the halfling was more than bold enough to be worthy of the trust so many had placed in him.
Without hesitation, he placed the note inside the misty grey parchment and securely folded the document. He picked up the cylinder wax and heated its end until a glossy black blob fell upon the fold of the secured document. He then slid a tower-ensigiled onyx signet ring from the middle finger of his right hand and depressed the sigil into the pliable wax.
The elaborate sigil upon the stygian onyx ring depicted a shadow-shrouded dark tower beneath an eclipsed moon borne upon a starless night sky bound by two opposing ardent rampant wyrms. The Crest of the Dark Tower, his personal seal. As he pealed the ring from the solidifying wax it left behind a perfect impression of a shadowy black tower.
Sliding the sealed parchment into the ebon envelope, he repeated the process, affixing his wax seal to bind the fold before flipping open the stampbook. Selecting a moon-backed raven stamp from within he positioned it carefully on the envelope, he paused to admire the signature artwork. Ultrafine, silvery ink just barely detailed the feathers of a raven silhouetted against a brilliant white moon, an overlapping reddish orb brought a touch of color to the otherwise greyscale design.
Equipping his quill once more after placing his signet back upon his finger, Myharl scribed the appropriate information onto the dark envelope and slid it into his robe pocket. The evening was getting late, and he wished to send the letter via courier before dawn.
He neatly returned the equipment to the nightwillow stationary box and folded over the writing slope, pushing it forward before closing the lid. His hand momentarily graced the luminescent orb, dimming the room to shadows as dark as those that writhed around his cursed figure. He made his way out of his office to honor his commitment.