Letters To Summer

[Myoni 56]

A letter, thickly embroidered in spiraling gold vines, is folded in half and left stuck between two bricks on the bridge from the port to the city proper in Malinor. Upon inspection, there is a snowflake drawn carefully and painstaking in great detail, the letter also seems to be old, as if it has been in several places before ending up there.

Dear Sister,

I know it's been a while since I wrote to you Summer but I have been beyond busy; I've been moving around a lot, Arcum, Arethor, Eastfields, but now I think I've found a home, a town on the Southern Boarder of Salvus called Riven. There is this very sweet man here, and I think he's been considering quite hard on asking me to marry him. I'm not sure I can accept, maybe you could tell me about your husband, or maybe tell me more about my nieces? Maybe I should come visit! I'd love to see this estate I've heard so much about. Maybe you could come see this place that Uthor is building a big, huge castle, and he wants to put me in it.

I wish you'd actually respond to my letters more often, you know how much I worry about you, and it's been years since you responded to one! I know you can write, you taught me, so take the time to make your little sister stop being such a worry wort.

Love,

Winter

PS. Uthor's a Count so I might have to start putting 'Lady' in my letters, how silly is that?

(( You can rp to this by the way, It's wedged into a wall in Malinor ))

[Toren Neminis 21]

*As Toren is making his way towards the city of Normandor, his eyes catch the slight fluttering movement of something wedged in the wall. With each breath of the cool breeze, the paper, he realizes it is a paper, trembles as though in an attempt to free itself from its prison between the two gray bricks. Brow furrowed in curiosity, the Elf kneels and then ever so gently tugs and dislodges the folded parchment so as to prevent any tears. How has this made it here? he wonders to himself.

He rights himself whilst unfolding the paper. The parchment beneath the pads of his fingertips feels old and the swirling golden vine filigree looks faded as though Malinor is not the first place it has found itself. Toren briefly peruses the contents within and realizes that it is a letter, a personal one at that. He knows of no "Winter" nor of her sister "Summer". But "Salvus", "Eastfields", "Riven", and the other named places -- these are all locations that he has encountered before in his travels.

The Elf traces the snowflake with his forefinger before folding the paper carefully once more. He slips it into his pocket. Toren decides he will return it as he is almost certain Malinor was not its intended destination.*

"Riven...," he murmurs to himself softly, "I hope my memory serves me correctly and I am able to find this 'Winter'."