Kinday the 6th of Dirondal

My dearest Anastasia

It was late morning when I came upon the quaint little village of Hommlet, which was not much to look at on first glance, but one has hopes. My arrival caused somewhat of a stir as the Viscount Du-Volonace’s personal transport was a bit out of sorts with the experience of the locals. You remember me telling you about that hideous land going fortress he has; its land yacht pulled by four gigantic indricotherium that shakes the ground beneath as it moves. Talk about overkill!

The viscount enjoys sending me hence to demonstrate his power and prestige as a great patron to those of the performing arts. Truth be known, the Viscount is an idiot who no more appreciates the arts than he understands them. I once recited several of the sonnets father wrote under that pseudonym, Shakespeare, and omitted several lines. Though the lady of the house noticed my rather abridged and incorrect recitation, the viscount was oblivious. Obtuse to the end, he bade me to stay on for a few weeks to entertain the lady Du-Volonace and her guests in a show of culture or some fool thing, while he tended so some affairs of state. A gentleman to the end I agreed, and whilst entertaining the lady she lamented that his culture and whit were not the only things lacking. Wishing only to give comfort you must understand, I provided her an ample portion of my endowment and ensured her satisfaction. Upon my departure the lady remarked before her husband that I was a cunning linguist whose performance did not disappoint. In gratitude for my services I’ve been sent hence via this contraption ever since.

Anyway…, I arrived in this quaint little village finding that even the most basic amenities were a rare commodity indeed. No theater, no true town hall, not even a descent pub or brothel! Gads, what is a man to do!? The only thing this village has to resemble a stage is a rather large tree stump at the center of town. As to the town’s defenses, with little more to protect itself than a group of peasants armed with pitch forks and other farm implements, one my even begin to consider me an experienced melee combatant. Ha!

Shortly after my investigation began a local noble arrived to take charge of the defenses. He wove a strategy which had the sound of reason where I and a rogue, also a new arrival, were to make haste to the area where the bandits had last been seen. Somehow, we were to infiltrate this group and stay with them until the assembled forces of the town could be brought to bear. Once battle was engaged, the rogue and I were to open the fortress doors that the town’s forces might enter more freely. As the key components of this bejeweled plan, we were assured precautions would be taken to identify us to the friendly combatants that we might avoid death at their hands.

Suffices to say that the rogue and I were quite successful in our masquerade, latching on to the bandits as stragglers we found our way to their fortress. Fortress indeed, it was a mess! What was left of it was still smoldering from a recent fire, which itself must have been a spectacular sight as it was powerful enough to remove the roof completely. Not far behind us was the welcome sound of the townspeople riding into the breach. Let loose the dogs of war I thought!

Within the walls the bandit leaders began to shout orders and assemble their men in the courtyard while others apparently manned the arrow slits. I was standing in the open doorway where there were once two doors, one of which was now being used as a bridge and the other hung so low from its hinges that a nudge would drop it hence. Looking out of the door it was possible see a member of the militia take aim and fire, striking me squarely in the chest. I could only think to utter, “Well, this is an inconvenience…” before I fell to the cold ground loosing consciousness. Precautions indeed! I wager that fool of a nobleman never bothered to inform all his inexperienced men that he had accomplices within the walls. Strategy…, tactics…, his leadership abilities like the cloth missing from the now gaping hole in my shirt become conspicuous by their absence. Perhaps he thought our arrow ridden corpses would make convenient doorstops once they were open? Perhaps this was a clever way to support our bluff that we may remain incognito? This is the sort of fool who would employ a great hammer to fix the intricate workings of a clockwork object, or the tender mercies of a club to win the favor of a fair maiden. Regardless, one gains solace from the fact that our portrayal was ultimately convincing.

To my benefit, I keep thread and spells handy that I may mend damage to the shirt you embroidered for me. As it is my favorite, I wish it to stay in good repair. Should I survive the outcome of this broken stratagem whose measure might be a portent of things to come it is safe to say I shall need more thread.

Yours truly,
Marius