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A neatly scripted, and rather 'elven' hand-written letter is received by the Thane's hold. It still smells faintly of ground herbs and the burnt essences of meditating, a strange perfume for parchment.
Thane Stonewhisperer,
I can never tell if these letters are read prior to reaching you. I hope you won't find the formality of your well earned title implemented, I simply don't want to purchase a fine insult to anyone whom may flip through this before yourself.
My waking hours are ever consumed by visions. Lines are beginning to blur and while reverie still brings me blissful rest, I find myself walking waking dreams. The old stone circle is calling, Dryn.
Today it is merely a dragging sensation from my body, and a settled vision of a wind unnaturally summoned through these arches. I can smell that odd scent the cold has, and old magic. I can run my fingers across the worn surface of each stone. I can only interpret this wind is of change, however. And without direct contact I can not tell for certain what change may bring. But the power that thrives through this circle is so dense, that the slightest change could be bring overwhelming fluctuation across the entire valley.
I have taken to your advice. I can't do this alone, not with one arm, nor two. I need your help, Dryn. I need the valley's.
I begin pursuit of those fellows that shall stride with me. If your offer is still standing Dryn, I'd ask preparations for a meet with the tribes northwards begin. I will gather as many as I may to push forward. Diplomacy or not, I have seen how the sons of Caul, and the Aurilites divide amidst themselves so frighteningly easily.
May this find you in good health, Dryn. I hope we shall see each other soon. Sweet water and light laughter.
The Starweaver
I can never tell if these letters are read prior to reaching you. I hope you won't find the formality of your well earned title implemented, I simply don't want to purchase a fine insult to anyone whom may flip through this before yourself.
My waking hours are ever consumed by visions. Lines are beginning to blur and while reverie still brings me blissful rest, I find myself walking waking dreams. The old stone circle is calling, Dryn.
Today it is merely a dragging sensation from my body, and a settled vision of a wind unnaturally summoned through these arches. I can smell that odd scent the cold has, and old magic. I can run my fingers across the worn surface of each stone. I can only interpret this wind is of change, however. And without direct contact I can not tell for certain what change may bring. But the power that thrives through this circle is so dense, that the slightest change could be bring overwhelming fluctuation across the entire valley.
I have taken to your advice. I can't do this alone, not with one arm, nor two. I need your help, Dryn. I need the valley's.
I begin pursuit of those fellows that shall stride with me. If your offer is still standing Dryn, I'd ask preparations for a meet with the tribes northwards begin. I will gather as many as I may to push forward. Diplomacy or not, I have seen how the sons of Caul, and the Aurilites divide amidst themselves so frighteningly easily.
May this find you in good health, Dryn. I hope we shall see each other soon. Sweet water and light laughter.
The Starweaver