Special delivery, your hands only!
It hadn’t taken very long, a surprising feat considering the bandits and dragons and soldiers that prowled the roads openly. Nevertheless, a humble courier made his delivery to one Lady Susette Voclain, a woman who was far too impeccably dressed for his comfort.
The parcel was neatly wrapped in brown paper, and between the twine and ribbon holding the package together was a neatly folded letter— the courier swears he’s never read a word— much to Lady Susette’s pleasure, she can trust the lad, after all. If she didn’t, who would?
The letter is a simple one, written in a simple hand, but the calligraphy denotes someone who has studied his letters for far too long, an educated man, perhaps. It reads:
"Dear Lady Susette of the esteemed House Voclain,
I’ve heard about the news regarding your departure, and while I haven’t been given the circumstances as to why you’re leaving, and while I feel there is always much good a Voclain could do in these troubling times, I’m also relieved to hear that one of our own honored fighters will be returning to our homelands to protect it with the ferocity and strength it deserves.
Perhaps I’m waxing too poetic, and you must excuse the pun. On my travels I had come across a book of poetry from High Rock. I thought that perhaps, on your journey back, it would serve as a reminder for the home that has raised you, perhaps even easing the homesickness.
I hope you are well, and that I am glad for meeting you here, despite all the trouble this land has given our lot.
As you peel back the wrapping paper, and— yes, those are dried rose petals, how quaint— there is indeed a rather thick, but portable book of poetry, written in Bretic and singing nothing but the tales of heroic legends and the beauty of High Rock’s rolling hills.
Susette spends some time alone, that evening, sequestered in her room. Fingers trace slowly, lovingly over each page in the book, drinking in the words, the language, of each poem. A glass of wine is forgotten next to her, only remembered when the candle flutters too low and she realizes she has been reading for hours.
