To Poets and Taletellers, Yours Truly

[Unwillingly 11108]

[!] Young couriers can be seen pinning a missive to various trees, notice boards, and walls throughout central and southern Almaris.
 

---

To my Poets, Bards, and Authors,

          Since I was a boy, my father taught to me the values of literacy and humanities. He taught me the merit behind paperwork and diligence, all while stowing away my longing for artwork and experience.

          For long I have worked to refine my skill with the pen and paper, to perfect the craft of self-expression. I see all the worth in the world behind this forgotten, yet ancient art we few hold so close to heart.

          So often I find myself without the sustenance of scholarly connection, of creative expression and artistic forging. In my suffering, I came to the conclusion that the pen is an illusion without its counterpart paper, just as the scholar is aimless without his likewise acquaintance.

          Here I write, grasping into the empty realm, bargaining with the utmost anonymous and strangers’ eyes of my life, for those who can provide what I seek.

          Please, find me if you have what I’m looking for. I linger in Vienne.
 

~Castiel A.

P.S.
Send a courier if you intend to write to me. I have a violent phobia of avians.

 

Spoiler

un-w#9099 if you have any questions. OOC comments should be in spoilers

 

[BobBox 3202]

“Long gone are the days of true authors, who’s stories have meaning behind them. I for one, welcome these back into society.” Remaked an Illatian store keeper.

[Melpomenne 1552]

"I do love a good story." 

Remarked the local baker, Marcela. 

[Heero 4077]

Meanwhile, situated in parts unknown, the atavistic 'aheral Crumena finds himself tending to one of the only remaining joys that brings the haunted Mali' solace -- his cherished pigeon loft. Abuzz with vociferate coos from the winged patrons, the decrypted Elf lazily skims over the copious mounds of missives that have found themselves forwarded to his residence. He shreds pamphlet after pamphlet upon assimilating their contents, all in the name of fashioning the wastes into would-be nests or fittings for his coop. Yet the discontinuance of a certain missive ushers a perplexed frown upon the rugged and marred features of the gnarled Elf.

 

On 5/7/2022 at 3:54 AM, un-w said:

P.S.

Send a courier if you intend to write to me. I have a violent phobia of avians.

 

Squinting to grasp the text a second time, perhaps omitting some vital detail, his attention immediate falls upon his avian company.

"The fuck do they mean?"

 

[Viraj Dobrial 319]

Trailing the path, an armored man found a scrap of paper laying alongside the road. Picking it up and unfurling it, his eyes went wide under his helm.

 

"...I have just what you need," he'd chuckle, tucking the missive into a slit in his visor before cackling viciously."