Dear Pierce

[BenevolentManacles 2232]

 

 

 

The King of Curon would receive a letter by courier, a wax seal marked with a simple fiddle.

 

Pierce,

 

You sent me a letter some time ago, hoping that you might ascertain some semblance of response from me. How silly of you to think an indulgent wastrel as myself to make the time to upkeep the relationships to which I commit myself. 

 

I relished in my retirement for some time recently. The Lord Protector seemed to be doing well in areas of progress my dear late Alexander failed terribly. I do miss Alexander, too. Few things have hurt greater than standing over the boy I had grown to love like a son, sickly and weak, pale in face and purple of lip. For all his faults, I could never tear myself from my eternal affection for him. Though of course, those times my bottles run dry are close to the same sort of agony. I’m sure at times you, my dear friend, feel the same.

 

But yes, retirement. A farce, of course, for how could I ever stand idly by where I see so many cracks in the hull? My mind swarms with my past errors, and the errors of Empires past. I hear the voices of my critics, and the critics of my sovereigns, and all the while I plot in my head on how to plug every hole I can with these swollen, bruised digits at the ends of my hands. It is a taxing thing, to have such an active mind. I can only hope that you are not plagued by such things, Pierce, or your wife would berate you for drinking till the early morning, as Vespira so often does.

 

With the Lord Protector, the city was being built. The army was being built. This is where we failed before, most supremely, and in not fulfilling this most ultimate of charges, Alexander’s Empire, and my task was a resounding, disunited and chaotic failure. Yet even with the Lord Protector’s successes, my mind was screaming at me. Fix this, fix that. And then the woodkin killed my Mars, and I lost myself to those voices again.

 

I am worried, Pierce. I have thrown myself into the fray once again, but I do not know if it is right. I put myself here once before, and I failed. It will be taxing, and this time it may actually kill me, yet I can not stop myself. I feel selfish, stealing myself away from my wife and children again to perform some grandiose task I feel charged with by GOD. Yet perhaps the best thing I can do for them is give them a safe place to live, with friends and a good home, before I drink with Alexander in the Seven Skies.

 

Speaking of nearly dying, I went to visit Morsgrad, and alongside the Duke we slew a boar the size of three bears! I will take you there sometime to join with us. Tell me of your Kingdom if you reply. I tire of writing so much about myself, yet I know not what else to write; it is what I know best.

 

Always the best,

John