Beláldur sits alone at a table, the room lit only by the lamp light resting on top of it. Near at hand is a sheet of parchment, a quill, and a small bottle of ink. The elf stares at the parchment for some time, then picks up the quill and begins to write:
To my companions,
He stops, quickly scratches out the words, and begins again:
I’ll be leaving at dawn, to head East towards Irecia.
I know the dangers are great, but the danger of what may be coming from there, and not knowing about it or being prepared for it are much, much greater. Even some small scrap of information that I may be able to bring back by scouting the enemy may wind up meaning the difference between victory or disaster. I must take the chance.
I will go alone, both because I cannot burden anyone else with this risk, and because my odds of moving about undetected are better by myself. A lone fish escapes the net where the whole school gets trapped in it.
Among my people, it is customary for a seaman to write a Sailor’s Will when he is about to head out on a voyage he may not return from. So now, my head being clear of clouds, I write this testament:
To Ragar, I leave my Legionnaires’ bow and Legionnaires’ dagger. A good hunter requires good tools, and in Ragar’s hands I believe they will be put to good use.
To Pyria, I leave the last of my gems. She may have them fashioned into jewelry of course, to compliment her amazing outfits, but I suspect she’ll trade them for components for plying her craft. If there’s one thing I know about wizards, it’s that the supplies needed to do magic are expensive. I hope these will help.
To Fergus, I leave my prized pipe and special leaf from Parabellum’s shop. I know Fergus is very serious when it comes to fighting, but the times I’ve enjoyed with him the most have been when he’s joking around, not taking the world, or himself, quite so seriously. I leave these to him as a reminder that sometimes you have to relax and enjoy the voyage.
To Mazlor, I leave my gold and brown cloak. I had a dream that is shared by some of the others, that there would one day be a group of riders willing to patrol these lands, keeping people safe and giving swift warning when new dangers arose. I know Mazlor has a dream too, that one day the followers of the Light will unite to defeat the darkness. I leave the Enonian Falcon cloak to him as a reminder that some dreams are worth fighting for to the end, no matter how much the odds are stacked against you. Gold is the color of the rising sun, Mazlor.
To Balto, I leave a map to a certain well that I’m certain he also remembers. He’s free to go back there and find more treasures, but I also leave him this suggestion, that he take the map to a certain friend of ours we’ve met a few times at the Militiaman and Bawd. In exchange for that map, I believe that his prestige will rise highly within a certain organization. There are more ways to grow than how the plants do it, my friend… just be sure to ask for a percentage of the profits, too.
To Borean, I leave instructions on how to find where I have buried a box containing a couple of items. I ask that he deliver one of them to one of the Sisters in Old Fawn. The other, he is free to keep until he finds someone that he deems worthy of it, someone fit to rule. I trust the warrior of the north’s judgment best of all in this, and he’ll know which item goes to whom. Be sure to send my love to Nannon as well, Borean.
To Grel, I leave my letter of credit, on the condition that he swears an oath to one day ride north and deliver half of it to the most needy of the elven ships that he finds there. I know that once his word is given, nothing in the world will make him break it. And also to Grel, I leave my leather headband, which I wore at times to honor our fallen friend Ja’Kar. Perhaps he will be good enough to take it to Jorann, as a reminder to both of them that sometimes sacrifices are necessary for the greater good.
That rest of my worldly possessions I leave to the captain of this fort, who was good enough to store and guard these items for me.
May the wind always fill your sails, and your ship always carry you home.
When the ink has dried, Beláldur rolls up the parchment and seals it in a scroll case. He stands, looks at it for a moment with a content expression, then leans over and blows out the lamp.