(Correction to above: Tanar bears a Least Dragonmark of Storm)
A letter from Tanar d'Lyrandar to Yasminaria of Seleushia, of the Autumn Breeze horselord tribe of Valenar
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*written in a slightly shaky hand*
Dearest Yasminaria,
As I write this, there's only one thing repeating in my mind: I don't want to die.
Oarsen is in another tent, as he put it, "readying himself mentally". Says he's never intentionally sought the life of another the way he does now. Must be nice to be able to turn on the bloodthirst when it's convenient like that. No, I'm not being fair. For all I know, he heaves his guts a few hours after killing same as me. It's just that I wonder about how he can act like the world's greatest ascetic and not bat an eye about killing in self-defense. I've been trying to figure out whether his monastery taught "Kindness to all things" or "Don't tread on me" as a life's philosophy.
Digger is in a workshop, busying himself with what he does best: creating. There's something heartening about him. How he can't seem to get angry, can barely raise a hand to defend himself, and seems genuinely satisfied when he takes raw materials and produces something concrete. He claims not to know what I'm talking about when I say that his eyes have a different light when he puts the finishing touches on something. I'm still not sure about the conversations with his hammer, though.
Gestalt is standing by somewhere. Another warforged, like Digger, but of a type I've never seen before. He's built with crystals providing his power instead of magic. He's like a psychic battery. And he frightens the hell out of me. He kills and kills and kills and states with neither malice nor remorse that it's what he was made for and what he's good at.
We've found ourselves in Taer Valestas as ad-hoc conscripts into the Valenar military. And our very first mission is likely to get us all killed. And for the life of me, I can't help but think it's all my fault.
I should have taken the captain of the Lady in Mourning as an omen. She was a half-elf by the name of Semanol, and she hated my guts from the word go. I couldn't figure this out until Oarsen and Digger pointed out the Mark of Storm on her wrist. Independent airship, dragonmarked captain, and an attitude that could chill fruit pastries when I introduced myself as "d'Lyrandar". I had the feeling that she was going to take out whatever greivances she had with the house on me. Over the course of our ill-fated voyage, she didn't disappoint me.
But you know me. I just smiled and let her spew her venom. I figured she just needed to vent and it wasn't actually personal. For all I know, it really wasn't, but she must have honestly hated House Lyrandar down to its bones for the abuse she heaped on me. Surly captain or no, I just made myself useful. 'Sides, I'd forgotten what it was like to fly.
You've told me stories about riding through forests and over hills, about the rush of air and that sense of weightlessness at the apex of your horse jumping a brook or log. Well, that's how I felt aboard the Lady. The rumble of the elemental in the ring sending a tremor through the deck, the swirling of clouds, and the roaring of wind were like a heady rush that the best wine never provided (not that I drink much anymore). The best part was that the fear that drove me from the skies to the sea had lessened. I felt genuinely wonderful.
The path to my current sorry situation started with a nightmare. One that I'm not entirely sure I've woken up from. I can only remember a sense of terror and a cascade of images that coalesced into my dead shipmates, staring at me accusingly for managing to escape the Mournlands even as they formed at the end of the War. I was moments from joining them when Digger appeared in the dream to inform me that the ship had lurched and everyone was in danger. It took me a minute to realize that I had awoken.
Sure enough, the ship had tilted almost forty-five degrees to the left. I sensed our position to be over the waters of Kraken Bay, which meant that our drift was going to shortly drive us into the mountains south of the Mournlands.
I was about to spring to action when Digger told me that the crew was dead.
*there is a drop of ink near the bottom corner of the page*
