02.16.05 Letter to Turrinrond (short story)
Title: Letter to Turinrond
Author: player of Charna Ja'Varrel'Kav
"Correspondence" is not in the list (essay, letter, periodical, poetry, short story, song, storyline, vignette) of allowed values for the "Creative-work-type" property.
A roll of ivory-hued vellum bound by a simple grey ribbon and sealed with a crescent-shaped smudge of black wax
Fashnos 16th 5105
Mo Muinteoir,
I deliberated long on how to start this letter, and even now with those words, I know that they may remain unread. If there were a form of magic, some elemental that I could cajole into sending these words to you then I would beseech them. Even now I wonder if this ivory vellum will lie in the orange flames of your hearth, curling slightly at the edges before they are consumed. With luck, or perhaps a bit of my hard-won hope, I will find these words before your eyes and you will read them in full.
I began the letter with words of my mother’s tongue. I know that some few of them have become familiar to you, but these perhaps not. Mo Muinteoir. My teacher. As the days of this war progress, turning into longer nights filled with sweat, blood, and the screams of the dying, I find that I still learn from you. In my mind's eye, I can see your right eyebrow rise in skepticism but it is true nonetheless.
Your lessons echo in so very many things that are done here, done to preserve a town that I know you abhor. I now carry no less than seven weapons on me. My Storm Bringer is still at my side, her blade worth more to me by presence than by simple damage. Yes, I still have my weaknesses. I carry Death’s Call with me as well now, she is a beautiful axe carved into the image of Goseana. Her blade is wide and flat, the larger beasts cannot sustain a blow to their legs with her. I also carry a slimmer blade that is coated in poison, even a knick with her on a beast, beyond my ability to handle or not, does enough damage that later in a fight I can take him while he is weak with her sickness. And lastly, I have a slender short sword used to do finer damage. There are many eyes in this battle that saw her flash of light and then nothing more. They are not alone, hidden throughout my body are three daggers. Each sharp and quick. I found myself not long ago devoid of my larger blades and only the daggers to guard me. It was the echo of your words to me, your lore that drove me to gain more than the one, for what would I do should the one become stuck in the body that presses in on me.
Your shadow lays ever-present upon my arm, it is lighter than any shield yet still strong. It is more than just the defender of my body, but in part, it reminds me of what I came from and how I got there. With it in my hand I hear a people that are not my own, calling and singing me to battle.
In your absence, I have flourished, though I stand amazed at what has come to be and what is yet to do. Had you not provided the stones, I could not have found ground with which to stand upon.
Two things during this season of war have left me in awe and I feel that you, my teacher, should know.
The first found me standing alone, as I have been wont to do of late. I have grown quiet, some have seen me and say that I am a shadow of myself but I know I have become the watcher. There is little that I miss that passes before me, though I still feign a youth that has long ago bled out of me from this long war. I feel old, though I am not more than twenty-four winters out of my birthing. Something has gone missing deep inside of me, and only through the preservation, I learned at your hands do I survive it.
As I stood there, watching the way the urchin’s hands slipped in and out of pockets with ease and practice, Subarashi came to me. She bade me join her and I did, eager to be away from the crowds that I have come to hate. We sat together, me feigning merriment I did not feel, while she related the tale of an event that happened up North. Secret rooms within Leya’s Shrine were found and the tale of her first amazons spilled forth to glitter like rubies in a dwarven vein.
When her tale was all told, she placed within my hand a dagger that was ancient in making. A moonstone glittered at the hilt while the etching of a steed showed in sharp relief, still fresh and new, upon the long blade. The blade belonged, in days long since passed, to one of the original Amazons of Leya. It was a beautiful piece. I admired it dutifully, as she spoke the words that were found upon the walls of the shrine room. “Those you fight to defend the weak and show honor in battle should wield this weapon as the Amazons once did”
I am sure you smile now for, as you probably know, I tried to deny the words. I expressed to her that I do what must be done. Nothing more. If anything my words drove her to smile wider. The blade now numbers among the three that I carry.
The second thing that has come to pass is that I have found a will I did not realize I possessed and have striven to unbind myself to the laws that once bound me. I have challenged the Gleeman and begun to stand for my own. During an officer's meeting of my own calling, I challenged him. Either he returns my rank to me or I would resign. He could not run HERT without me, it took me a while to realize this but it is true nonetheless.
What else could he do, pinned as he was between losing me at his side or me gaining rank? I am now Captain of HERT’s Fighting Forces. There are several that were going to leave because of the gleeman’s rule, now there are several that flock to me. It is a strange thing, though I know it is, as you would wish it to be. This is what you molded me for; this is what you shaped me to be.
I have been told that with me at the lead of HERT, or as one of the leads, the Fury may join the Elanthian Alliance. May, not certain but possible. General Valicar trusts his troops under my leadership but not the Gleeman’s. It is all so strange to me.
The general speaks of you, speaks of how he wishes to draw you back into the Fury. I think he wishes in vain. Though I could be wrong, I often am.
I could wish that I was born in another time, of another race. I am finding that the lessons you taught are coming to me late, late because I am too human at times and too naïve. That naivety seems to be washing away like mud in a storm. I have many flaws, to name them all would be a waste of this scroll. You are more intimately aware of them than anyone I know so let me not list them but instead apologize for them.
I have failed you even as I have achieved your goals in me. You sought a kindred spirit in me, someone you could truly name as a friend and I have failed you in that. Even though our minds have touched, sharing things deep inside of us that the other could never speak. No excuse I can give word or pen to can ever take that away.
My intent with this letter was not to blather on as I have but instead to speak to you on behalf of another man.
His name is Denrit. He is a strong man, a struggling leader. When no one else would step forward. He seeks to learn, to understand. He seeks what you can give. He has asked me to teach him all that I know, but I am not the teacher that you are. No one is. I can start him on a path but only you can get him into and out of the forest.
Teach him, please. I will not beg you but I would not have another man fall beneath the will of another. I would not have another that could surpass me fall by the wayside.
Perhaps through Denrit I will be able to start on the road to forgiveness with you. It is my hope.
Sincerely,
Charna, your sister in the Lok Iluve.