Deep creases unfurl to expose what had once been protected by a seal of blood-red candle wax. The parchment’s weight confirms its author is of a noble house. Dark curves wind elegantly into words whose meanings clash with the manifestation of practiced serenity.
To The Excellency of The High Command of the Order of the Broken Sword,
I am lady Penelope Laurent, wife of lord Carmichael Laurent, lord of Dornei Alba, and I apologize in advance for the brevity that is unbecoming of my station. It is with great humility and regret that this missive be sent under far from fortuitous circumstances. Our modest realm serves the labour of a modest people. We do not have the resources to govern beyond those who are born into our village, and those who are content to stay and grow into their twilight just the same. Yet, a cruel sickness has come to usher the newly born and infirm towards death with a haste beyond what is natural.
I fear my lord’s health shares in our land’s surmounting misfortune.
The sickness has come without warning. Further, the plague that marches steadily during the day is only exacerbated by a slow, but worrisome, rash of disappearances in the night. It is true that those who go missing bare near insufferable reputations of ill repute. However, they are the souls of our people just the same. It is my hope - borne from an admittedly weak constitution - that they are those strong enough to flee the sickness, yet plagued by an infectious cowardice too powerful to face those who would rely on them before abandoning their responsibilities.
Our counsel has advised us that the disappearances and this plague are most likely born from a singular source of evil that haunts the mountains above our village. My husband’s health is deteriorating while our only son is still away by several weeks of riding. Our guard grows weary and frail with superstition. Please, if you may spare any number of your Templars - even one, whose piety might shine against the fog of misery - we would be forever indebted to your Order.
-Lady Penelope Laurent
Anastasia
To The Excellency of The High Command of the Order of the Broken Sword,
I am lady Penelope Laurent, wife of lord Carmichael Laurent, lord of Dornei Alba, and I apologize in advance for the brevity that is unbecoming of my station. It is with great humility and regret that this missive be sent under far from fortuitous circumstances. Our modest realm serves the labour of a modest people. We do not have the resources to govern beyond those who are born into our village, and those who are content to stay and grow into their twilight just the same. Yet, a cruel sickness has come to usher the newly born and infirm towards death with a haste beyond what is natural.
I fear my lord’s health shares in our land’s surmounting misfortune.
The sickness has come without warning. Further, the plague that marches steadily during the day is only exacerbated by a slow, but worrisome, rash of disappearances in the night. It is true that those who go missing bare near insufferable reputations of ill repute. However, they are the souls of our people just the same. It is my hope - borne from an admittedly weak constitution - that they are those strong enough to flee the sickness, yet plagued by an infectious cowardice too powerful to face those who would rely on them before abandoning their responsibilities.
Our counsel has advised us that the disappearances and this plague are most likely born from a singular source of evil that haunts the mountains above our village. My husband’s health is deteriorating while our only son is still away by several weeks of riding. Our guard grows weary and frail with superstition. Please, if you may spare any number of your Templars - even one, whose piety might shine against the fog of misery - we would be forever indebted to your Order.
-Lady Penelope Laurent
Anastasia