Curses filled the second floor of the Forgotten Knight, prompting one particularly disgruntled patron to shuffle down the hallway and bang hard on his neighbor's door.
"And the same to you! You hulking savage. Some of us Halone fearing men were actually trying to catch some rest!"
"At two bells past noon?"
"I was on night watch."
The pause lingered until the sleep deprived soldier was certain the conversation had ended. However the voice replied in sheepish tones, just before he turned away.
"Sorry mate.... I know that life. Right pain in the twelve damned arse."
"Just shut up." He muttered over his shoulder, "And be glad I don't report your blasphemous tongue to the church."
From her seat inside the overstuffed inn room, Klynzahr waited for the elezen's footsteps to recede. Three weeks in Ishgaurd had rendered her nearly deaf to those muttered insults. Yet she reasoned it only added more reason for her to be moving on.
She bent down to retrieve the wooden bowl at her feet and smacked her elbow hard against the writing desk. Grimacing she looked over her the remains of her letter, now swimming in warm water. There was an old shirt of hers tossed over the bed, within arms reach. Unfortunately her attempts to reach it sent the empty bowl rolling under one of the shabby chairs that were jammed up against her back. Swallowing the plethora of curses involving "Elezen who were too damned fond of furniture" which sprang to her mind, the Roegadyn retrieved her last bottle from the end table beside her other elbow.
Only to find it empty.
"Well. That settles it." She quietly told the dripping desk in front of her. "I'm outa here in th'morn ifin I find Ser Martylay or no."
With a dangerous glare, the huge woman mopped the water from the little writing desk, toweled off her bruised wrist, and helped herself to a fresh sheet of stationary from Eva's little writing desk. Hunched over uncomfortably, with her face six ilms from the parchment, she wrote in a large looping hand.
         Greetings Da
(And to Merlankka, since I know you will be the one reading this to him, I swear on the grave of my dead mother that if you change a single word, I will personally assure you meet a humiliating and painful demise)
         I hope this letter finds you and the boys in good spirits, with plenty of work. Weather must be lovely in Moraby right now. Have you had much rain? How is business? I have been quite well aside from a small mishap or two, and anything that Ginshaw might have told you about pneumonia is definitely exagerated.
        Â
I have been residing in Ishagaurd for about a moon now, picking up odd jobs to help with the war effort here. The weather is bracingly cold, with blizzards that can strike even in summer. It reminds me of the year we made port in Sharlayan and set a course out from her to the North Seas. I can remember sliding across the ice-slicked deck and helping to chip ice from the rigging. I can't remember how old I was though. Every night I take a peak outside, wondering if I might see the Nortyrliht again, but no luck so far.
         My watching will likely be paused, as I will be traveling south again soon. Not seven days past a good friend and I ran afoul with an air-crew out privateering. Before you worry yourself, we came to no harm aside from the loss of a valuable metal shipment. I am disinclined to give chase, without knowing where the bastards stand. So I thought you might keep an eye out around Limsa for a crew that flies a Green Swordfish as their standard. I need to know if they are mixed up with the Barracudas, before I risk getting mixed up with them. Fear not, I will not make that mistake twice.
    Your Mynanthota
Klynzahr Iyrnahctwyn
 The next morning a tall, young sea wolf, with deep blue hair down to his shoulders and a few clumps of bluish fuzz that were tentatively attempting to form a beard, burst through the door of the third largest blacksmith shop in Moraby.
"Da!" The youth bellowed, straining to lift his voice over the thunder of hammers. "Da! It's a letter! From Klynzahr!"
From deep inside the smithy, the ringing of metal were replaced by the sounds of an extremely large person quickly crossing the room. "Klynny? Is she well? What does she write lad?" The youth glanced up at his towering father, with a suitably grave look plastered on his face.
"Well... Says here that she's gone an' fallen for some great hellsguard warrior an' run off ter th'mountains with him, but on th'way they was lost in a coerthan blizzard an' the Ishgardain hoard came down on 'em like a pack o'ravenous sahagan." Glancing up at his alarmingly wide-eyed and pallid father, the youth put on an expression of extreme concern. "Would ye like to sit down befer I read th'rest Da? I'm not half through an' yer already lookin' a trifle green."
"And the same to you! You hulking savage. Some of us Halone fearing men were actually trying to catch some rest!"
"At two bells past noon?"
"I was on night watch."
The pause lingered until the sleep deprived soldier was certain the conversation had ended. However the voice replied in sheepish tones, just before he turned away.
"Sorry mate.... I know that life. Right pain in the twelve damned arse."
"Just shut up." He muttered over his shoulder, "And be glad I don't report your blasphemous tongue to the church."
From her seat inside the overstuffed inn room, Klynzahr waited for the elezen's footsteps to recede. Three weeks in Ishgaurd had rendered her nearly deaf to those muttered insults. Yet she reasoned it only added more reason for her to be moving on.
She bent down to retrieve the wooden bowl at her feet and smacked her elbow hard against the writing desk. Grimacing she looked over her the remains of her letter, now swimming in warm water. There was an old shirt of hers tossed over the bed, within arms reach. Unfortunately her attempts to reach it sent the empty bowl rolling under one of the shabby chairs that were jammed up against her back. Swallowing the plethora of curses involving "Elezen who were too damned fond of furniture" which sprang to her mind, the Roegadyn retrieved her last bottle from the end table beside her other elbow.
Only to find it empty.
"Well. That settles it." She quietly told the dripping desk in front of her. "I'm outa here in th'morn ifin I find Ser Martylay or no."
With a dangerous glare, the huge woman mopped the water from the little writing desk, toweled off her bruised wrist, and helped herself to a fresh sheet of stationary from Eva's little writing desk. Hunched over uncomfortably, with her face six ilms from the parchment, she wrote in a large looping hand.
         Greetings Da
(And to Merlankka, since I know you will be the one reading this to him, I swear on the grave of my dead mother that if you change a single word, I will personally assure you meet a humiliating and painful demise)
         I hope this letter finds you and the boys in good spirits, with plenty of work. Weather must be lovely in Moraby right now. Have you had much rain? How is business? I have been quite well aside from a small mishap or two, and anything that Ginshaw might have told you about pneumonia is definitely exagerated.
        Â
I have been residing in Ishagaurd for about a moon now, picking up odd jobs to help with the war effort here. The weather is bracingly cold, with blizzards that can strike even in summer. It reminds me of the year we made port in Sharlayan and set a course out from her to the North Seas. I can remember sliding across the ice-slicked deck and helping to chip ice from the rigging. I can't remember how old I was though. Every night I take a peak outside, wondering if I might see the Nortyrliht again, but no luck so far.
         My watching will likely be paused, as I will be traveling south again soon. Not seven days past a good friend and I ran afoul with an air-crew out privateering. Before you worry yourself, we came to no harm aside from the loss of a valuable metal shipment. I am disinclined to give chase, without knowing where the bastards stand. So I thought you might keep an eye out around Limsa for a crew that flies a Green Swordfish as their standard. I need to know if they are mixed up with the Barracudas, before I risk getting mixed up with them. Fear not, I will not make that mistake twice.
    Your Mynanthota
Klynzahr Iyrnahctwyn
 The next morning a tall, young sea wolf, with deep blue hair down to his shoulders and a few clumps of bluish fuzz that were tentatively attempting to form a beard, burst through the door of the third largest blacksmith shop in Moraby.
"Da!" The youth bellowed, straining to lift his voice over the thunder of hammers. "Da! It's a letter! From Klynzahr!"
From deep inside the smithy, the ringing of metal were replaced by the sounds of an extremely large person quickly crossing the room. "Klynny? Is she well? What does she write lad?" The youth glanced up at his towering father, with a suitably grave look plastered on his face.
"Well... Says here that she's gone an' fallen for some great hellsguard warrior an' run off ter th'mountains with him, but on th'way they was lost in a coerthan blizzard an' the Ishgardain hoard came down on 'em like a pack o'ravenous sahagan." Glancing up at his alarmingly wide-eyed and pallid father, the youth put on an expression of extreme concern. "Would ye like to sit down befer I read th'rest Da? I'm not half through an' yer already lookin' a trifle green."