Vignette 3 Prose in Ilindith | World Anvil
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Vignette 3

A letter arrives to Evgeni’s hospital room, dropped off by a disgruntled-looking elf. She does not stop to see the letter received, only bashes the door a few times with her fist before slipping the note under the door and storming off. The letter is sealed with red wax stamped by the Ash rune. The body of the letter reads:   Dear Sir     It is with great sadness that I find I must send this note to thee. I thought us to be battle-brothers, blood-bound in the shield wall in the under-darkness beneath our fair city. But I have not been deaf to thy comments regarding Thor, ruler of the sky, governor of thunder and of lightning, wielder of mighty Mjolnir, conqueror of giants and slayer of great serpents.     If this is some personal issue thou maintainest with me, I would be glad to have it out together once thou art well. I will attend to having my armor dispelled so my fists are at no advantage.     If this is about a plus-one being invited to a meeting, I assumed I was entitled to such privilege after shedding blood with thee so many times. After freeing thee and our brother Hudwick from that cursed trial and slaying un-dead Twice-Maul     And if this is about a bloody wall, I will make it my sworn duty to have a company of the one hundred finest carpenters be assigned to our party and stand on duty at all times lest my grave sin, in blessed memory may that wall rest, be repeated.     If thou takest up arms against my god, as thou hast so flippantly suggested thou wilt, I will kill thee. I have no doubt the thunder-god could handle the matter himself, but I am duty- and honor-bound to meet such a challenge and settle it here in Midgard. My heart aches with the hope that thine words were a joke, or uttered crudely in a fit of anger. Such anger we have all felt atimes, and I do not begrudge thee the emotion.     I shall toast the Fates tonight, and hope that they see a thousand more battles in which we shall share.     Hafðu það gott, Xerxes Odinsson, the Red, the Long-Horn, First among the Preachers of the All-Father     Evgeni rolled his eyes and snorted as he refolded the letter and tossed it onto the little bedside table. He'd always wondered about the tiefling, but some days...   "Bad news?" Noor asked.   "Meh. Is nothing."   Noor arched a quizzical eyebrow. "Evgeni, I have known you much too long to believe that look is 'nothing'," she laughed. "Try again."   "Is nothing I will be bothered with now. Your story is better. And hair thing is not so bad, either. Please, continue."   "As you wish, Syd Afanasyev," Noor grinned. She picked her brush back up, gingerly separated out a fresh section of his thick white hair, and resumed running the brush through it in slow strokes. "Now where were we?"   Evgeni closed his eyes and melted under the brush. "The oasis," he murmured.   "Ah, yes! So just as the camel had promised, it carried the beggar to the oasis. But this was no ordinary place! It was like a bit of the heavens had fallen into the middle of the desert...."

BIGGEST of ups to Andrew for the letter from Xerxes!


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