Solo The Scratch of parchment

Niall Writes a Letter an old Friend from his past.

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Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

The Scratch of parchment

Postby Niall Hammerfist on December 3rd, 2013, 2:00 am

Winter 1st 513av

Niall Hammerfist was sitting at the Desk in his room looking out the little window overlooking the harbor, a soft expression on his face. How was it that he had taken so long to write Pjeil. The little lad had practically become his brother by the crucible of survival, and he had not written him in over a year. The Isur bowed his head in thought as he spread parchment on the table, and dipped a simple chicken feather quill in his clay inkpot. He owed the lad some apologies, or at the very least news that blood still flowed through his veins. With a great sigh of resignation he pressed the quill to the parchment and began to write.


So many times I took quill to parchment only to crumple the velum in haste or frustration. The Road has been long and hard, every passing day taking me far from my beloved Kingdom. Though, it has put distance between me and my pain, and what little family I have left. I miss you little brother. I know our time together was short, but I feel as though you and your mother are the only family I have left in this world at times.

Niall took a deep breath in thought and exhaled slowly letting out the feeling of sorrow with the air. Silently he rubbed the forming of a tear in his eye, accidentally wiping ink across his cheek from a stained finger. After he reread his words he continued as the quill scratched pleasantly against the parchment.

There have been days when I have felt the patience we so pride ourselves on slipping through my fingers. Some days I look at myself in the Mirror in the Inn and I doubt the Isur who looks back at me is myself anymore. It feels as if I’ve been chasing my revenge so long that it almost feels as if it has lost its purpose.

“Lost my Keel” as the sailors at Port say. The world outside of Sultros is such a strange place my friend. There are poorly kept roads on the surface. Nothing compared to the great tunnels our folk delve in the deep, but serviceable. The people who walk them tread carefully. It seems danger is hidden behind every tree, and bush. Convoys are attacked regularly by man and beast. Though, with the right force of numbers, many of them can be proven unambitious.

Zeltiva is an amazing city. It reminds me of a large version of our trade posts at the border. Though, my little brother, nothing could have prepared me for the ocean. Imagine a massive lake ebbing and flowing. It feels as though it is alive! One can feel Lavikus presence in its movements. It is an amazing sight to see, and I hope one day you will be able to see it. Humans sail the ocean in massive ships that ride upon the waves. Imagine a giant Mine Cart made entirely of wood blown by wind in a giant cloth.

Niall shook his head at his poor description and closed his eyes trying to envision how they looked to him. Again, he let the quill drift over the parchment in scratches of ink.

Ahh Pjeil, I am poor at their description. They are far more beautiful than that. Their design is impressive. Curvatures of wood, held together with tar and pitch. When you see them from the bluffs they appear as white birds skimming the water. I have enclosed a ship design on parchment for you to ponder upon. I think you will find it intriguing.

Niall passed his empty hand over the little design of a Sloop that a shipwright had sold him in the market and pondered its design a moment before he turned his attention thoughtfully back to the letter before him.

I have yet to find a smithy with a quality that suites me here, and work has been scarce. Last season there was a Coup’d’état. The Denvali tried to take over Zeltiva. Yet more proof that the scoundrels have no respect or care for any creature other than their kin. This leads me to believe that my father’s murderers are close at hand. I may yet find them here in Zeltiva. I suppose my hope is vanity, or a desperate need for closure, I am unsure.

The Isur closed his eyes and looked down at his lap in disappointment. When he lifted his gaze he felt the little tap of stone on wood near his elbow reminding him of the pearl his friend and companion had given him the day they had met and it brought a little smile to his lips. A soft and sad smile, though barely touching his eyes.

Oh yes, I almost forgot, I met a rather spritely little Akvatari named Vernadel. I would think you and many others at home would think me mad for striking up a friendship with a creature so strange to us, but she is a pure soul. I feel such a thing to be rare in my travels, and as such something to be valued. If we are lucky, perhaps one day you will meet her. She is a great lover of jewelry, and baubles of all sorts. I could spend a month cataloguing the glass, and shells of sea creatures she has laced into her hair.

I hope all is well with you Pjeil. I pray Izurdin guide you and give you strength for the days ahead of you. If you find the time my young friend, send me word. I hope to hear from you soon.


Niall Hammerfist

His name signed at the bottom, Niall picked up a little cup of drying salts and spread them over the ink and softly blew. He watched the inky scratches dry and he folded the letter into thirds. He folded the drawing likewise and pressed them into a leather Parcel he had purchased. Once they were securely in place he tied the parcel shut with a Ribbon of oilled cloth he had cut from his old pants. At last he passed a bit of sealing wax over a candle to melt its tip, and pressed it into a circle over the fold in the ribbon to hold it in place.

Before the wax could cool, the young Isur pressed the thumb print of his black hand into the wax leaving his mark on it.

He sighed looking over the parcel one last time. A feeling of loneliness weighing on his mind. He missed his people. I missed seeing brow ridges and colored arms. He missed home.

With a stab of renewed energy he stood from his seat and made his way to the nearest parcel service, and sent the parcel along.

I hope it finds you old friend. Niall thought, and for the briefest of moments the Blacksmith felt the warmth of hopefull anticipation.
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The Scratch of parchment

Postby Eclipse on January 31st, 2014, 7:55 am

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