Solo The Letter of Recommendation

[Opalla]

Autumn 86th, 512 Isulla sat at her desk with an exhausted sigh. The day had been long and tiresome. Jaavolin had been irate as a wounded tiger the whole week, and today it had worsened. Trampling over everyone’s business, screaming, furiously trotting the ladders up and down, scaring costumers and employees alike. Until yesterday he had been searching for whatever manuscript he had lost. The days of continuous search on every archive and every shelf had been stressful for Isulla but when he finally accepted his fathers manuscript had been irreversibly misplaced among the thousands of Bohrnn&GoldWoerth’s archives, she nursed herself with the idea that things would cool down. Jaavolin’s mood this morning however had proven her wrong. Her partner and friend was a wreck and she was starting to think this mysterious manuscript might contain more than just a few Jewelcrafting notes. At least the day was over and she had managed to send Jaavolin home to rest, maybe take a few days off to sail around the bay on his Sloop and take a breath of the sea before the winter closes down on Zeltiva. Outside her window facing the bay, the sun had sunk behind the peaks around the bay casting the shadows of nightfall over the pier, the docks and the roofs of the shipyard. Despite the darkness gathering outside her study was well lit. Twelve burning bee candles added a white light to the red glows emanating from the fire place, turning it into a mild yellow light. Isulla rubbed her eyes trying to ease the weight over her eyelids. Before her, the great sedimentary fields of the post Valterrian bureaucracy, perfectly stratified chronologic proof that she was undeniably in dire need of a new assistant. The paper work had been piling up at an increasing rate ever since her previous record keeper had fallen victim of the Harvest. She had been striving to recruit a competent replacement for the late record keeper but thus far success on finding a suitable candidate for the job hadn’t been possible to achieve. The candidate must have at least basic knowledge on gadgeteering and accounting, this was not hard to find in Zeltiva and certainly not at Bohrnn&GoldWoerth. But Isulla also needed someone who could manage to keep the records in the Isurian way, and unfortunately the rare Isurians she did encounter in the city had better things to do than become her privet assistant. She had asked for Steelbent’s help but the Master of B&G’s forges was not keen onto the idea of meddling with paper work. Towering over the Himalayan pile of paper cheats and unrolled scrolls, Isulla eyes laid eyes on brown folded papyrus sealed with dark blue wax and baring the stamp of the Sylirian Knights. “Are they finally paying for what they owe us?” She smiled widely in rejoice, “Suspending the supply deliveries to The Ironworks was a good call after all…” She picked the letter from the top of the pile, carefully so as not to provoke a landslide, or better still, a paperslide and broke the seal with a swift flicking motion of her thumb and unfolded the missive. The wide smile that had inhabited her thin lips was rapidly replaced by a grin of contempt. “They’ll have a better chance to get siege weapons for the siege of Sahova from the Sahovans then from us. If they think we’ll sell them anything else before they pay what they owe us they are dead wrong. As dead as the Nuit!” She folded the letter again and placed it on the border of her desk. I’ll have to show this to Jaavolin later, the sight of the Knight’s sigil made her silver blood boil. “On second thought…” She pressed her index into the letter and pushed it smoothly over the wooden desk and over the border. The weight of the wax seal drove the papyrus letter into a fast dive into the paper bin placed at the base of the desk but the sheer wild bulk of papers filling the bin deflected the Knight’s message and projected it into the floor. “Screuha! Get in here!”, she called. There is no point on infuriating the beast even further. I’ll wait until he is over his father’s manuscript loss, and then I’ll tell him, she thought to herself. “Screuha Bluddie, I called you here! Now!!!” she shouted this time. If the creaking of the wooden floor hadn't announced his presence Isulla would become aware of him firstly by his nose, which at a normal walking speed usually preceded the rest of the body for about 2 seconds. With a body shaped like a fig towered by a chinless small head, the sixty seven year old shop keeper had been working for Bohrnn&GoldWoerth since the early days of the partnership. In all measurements an ugly man, Screuha Bluddie had the misfortune to be born with ears big as hands. Then with age his ears grew larger still and as an irony touch fate made him def. Yet the biggest characteristic about the peculiar 5ft tall man was his 9" long nose. He creeped in uneasily, unsure about how long had Isulla been calling for him. To be Continued