Missives to Mirrim

[Kirbiana]

A bundle of letters lies on a bench, perhaps fallen unaware from someone's pocket. Some are written on fine parchment in elegant greenink. Othersare justcrumpled scrapsandflaps torn from envelopes,stained withspotswhosesmell of salt marks them as eithersweat or sea-spray. They are written in very different hands.
  My dearest Mirrim, I am saddened to hear that your journey to Hlint with the fur traders did not go as well as you hoped. Please do notberate youself too muchover the loss of the white robes I gave you. Floods are as natural as days of sunshine, and what they wash away is meant to join some other part of the Great Cycle. Somewhere, another young cleric is rejoicing in the unexpected gain of an elfin-made robe. And I do not believe theAeridinite you met soon after your arrival wastruly shocked by your appearance. He was most likely concerned for your safety, knowing well that those of our faith do not appear in armor unless the need is dire. Treat your loss as a test of faith, my daughter, and perservere with your work. Your talent for healing has been well-nurtured in my peaceful glade, but if your true destiny is to turn undead, you could not have chosen a better place that Hlint to learn your way. The blesssing of Aeridin be upon you, my dear, from your 'elf-mother', Shereth.
  Told younot tolet the fur traders take any short cuts through narrow canyons.Next time, listen to your real mother when she says you should take a ship.And if you didn't know they were going to kill some animals along the way to add to their stock, then you've spent way too long with your nose buried in a book of healing. You'd be better off learning how to eat meat, anway.PS: Don't forget to carry your quarterstaff when you go hunting undead. There might bevarmints down in those crypts.--Luca Cade.
 
 
 

[Kirbiana]

My dearest Mirrim, your letter was most welcome. Itdoes me great goodto know that you are venturing upon the turning of the undead in the company of stalwart friends. Your young paladin John sounds especially wise for his years, in his counsel to you to save your turningpowers for the most powerful of the creatures that you sought to lay to rest. But I have a warning for you, my daughter, given thenumbers of Toran's folk that you have met in Hlint. Be wary that you do not take the ways of their lord to be precisely the same as the ways of ours. Toranites see theworld in starker shades of black and white than do wewho view the Great Cycle in all of its shades and colors. Often our ways will march together, but be vigilant that you follow your own heartin all ventures.
  I am most delighted also to hear that you have foundsuch a strong proponentof our faith to guide your steps in your new home.Please give my thanks to my lordLex'or and convey to him my trust that he is a suitablementor for you. Do not weary him with too many of your questions, my dear. Remember always the words of Aeridin: "Respect those who would teach you and ask nothing of those you teach."Just as Lord Lex'or does now for you, in time you will be able to do for others of our faith. Take care to bring sufficient food and water with you upon your journeys, mydear, and know that you walk always in the light of Aeridin even in darkness. Your 'elf-mother', Shereth.
  Hmmph.If your elf-mother didn't manage to teach you that the undead get stronger the deeper you go in the earth, what in the world were you learningduring all those years you lived with her?Count your turns as you walk, girl, and always leave when youhave as many left as you used to get down there.And if you're going to spend all your time running around with Toranites,you better take good care of that new armor. PS: Felled by a spider? A small spider? I can see that it might behard to hit itwith a quarterstaff, but couldn't youjust have stepped on it?  --Luca Cade

[Kirbiana]

Mirrim, my daughter in spirit if not blood, I must speak very plainly with you. This agony of guilt you bear for the loss of your friends is not fitting for an Aeridinite. I know that your heart cries out in anguish that youcould not see them where they fell, that youhad no time to heal them, that it was not fair. My dear, that is childish.You may once have thought that theworst part of battlewould bethe clang of swords, the roar of monsters or thehowl of battle spells. But everyhealerfinds soon enough that the real horror liesin the struggle to pull some shards of life from the wreckage when thefighting is done. Your power to heal on the battlefield will grow, Mirrim, but unless you find within yourselfthe ability to weather the losses of those youcannot healand continue to save those you can, you will never become a true battle healer. I will pray to Aeridin to send you courage, but you must wipe your eyes and look for it within yourself. Your 'elf-mother' Shereth.
  Mirrim, for the love of all the gods, don't you have a spell that lets you see in mage-cast darkness?Memorize itthe next time yougo running aroundwithrogues and rangers, and tell your friends totry splitting up just before the spell is cast. Ever hear of something called tactics?And take it from someone who knows, just becausethat young paladin isgiving you gifts of apples and grapes doesn't mean he's serious. Watch your step. PS: next time you take an ox into a cave, try to remember they're going to get stuck in tight passages. A little grease might be a good idea. -- Luca Cade

[Kirbiana]

The following letters are creased and stained, as if they had been carried for a while in an inner pocket before being bundled with the rest.
  Mirrim, my dearest, never have I regretted more that you came to me too old to learn the elvish tongue. With its subtle shades of meaning, I could perhaps explain better to you the mistakes you made on your most recent journey in the west. Do not shake your head as you read, my daughter…I do not mean to say that you should not feel loyalty to those two young Toranite paladins or to the wizard Timulty. Your healing skills are well deserved by those who are the first to strike and the last to leave every battlefield.
  But – oh, this is where the common tongue fails me – loyalty is a virtue that cannot stand alone, Mirrim. If you follow blindly and loyally all whom you love, without concern for their goals and deeds, you will find yourself standing one day in outer darkness, far from Aeridin's light. Your journey to the fens should have been a warning…its creatures were evil, but you were right to feel unease at the speed and fury with which they were slain. There is no part of the Great Cycle that can condone such ruthlessness.
  And then, my dear, to journey to Krandor! That name is legend even here, and not just for the strength of its undead. Your Toranite paladin Galan spoke the sober truth when he said that it is a place that changes even the best of those who venture there, a place that warps and lures them with the challenge of its impossibility. I fear that was true even for you, my dearest. You have practised your skills on the undead of Hlint, and you wished to see how much they had grown. That is Krandor's poison. When you saw that skeletal creature turn his gaze toward you as you lay hovering on the bloody verge of life and death, when it came toward you and lifted its gleaming hand in the shadows, and you thought "I wish I had died instead of lived" -- my daughter, that was truly when you saw the face of that crypt's evil.
  My letter grows long, but I must add one more thing. Loyalty can lead you astray, Mirrim, but it can also be the light that shines out in the darkest places of the world. Remember that out of loyalty, your Toranite paladins John and Galan turned away from certain escape at the door of the crypt and came back to battle the undead in order to save you. And out of loyalty, the wizard Timulty stood guard over you with nothing but his casting of invisibility to protect him, facing the skeletons who still prowled the darkness until at long last you had the breath to heal yourself. And did he not say to you then, 'run for the door first, Mirrim. I will follow.' That, my dear, is the selfless kind of loyalty you must seek for in yourself. Your 'elf-mother,' Shereth, believes you will find it.
  Girl, do you have the wits of a chicken? Bad enough to go down into a place like Krandor in the first place, but then to walk away in silence when those who ventured after you offered a share in its riches? Yes, I know you stayed outside while they went in to take your friends to their graves, but now you're just going to have to do it all over again. I'm telling you – stop hanging around with those Toranites. They have a bad effect on your common sense. PS: don't get too cocky just because you managed to afear some of those undead with your own dying breath. They were probably just being polite because they thought you were going to be one of them. – Luca Cade

[Kirbiana]

Mirrim, my dear one. I understand your scruples about wearing the cloak from the fur trader, Johan, but I think they are unfounded. Remember what I told you when you first chose to honor the Great Cycle by killing nothing for your food. The cougars and wolves of the woods kill only as they need, and their killing does benefit to all in the long run by giving mercy to the weakest and sickliest of their prey. So too do the best hunters among us select their prey for the greater good as well as for their own. If your friend who slew the beasts for you used such judgment and did not kill for sport or blood-lust, then no evil comes from accepting the gift and its result.    And as for wearing the furs themselves…well, the decision is yours, Mirrim, but I ask you to think as a healer would. You write that you feel the cold of that northern land so grievously that more than once the wizard Timulty has draped you in his own cloak to still your shivers. Now, is that a healer’s way? To take protection from a man who pours so much of his will and strength into magic that he comes staggering back pale and gaunt from each battlefield? My dear, I think you know better than that. Wear the cloak for your friends’ sake, if not for your own. And know that your ‘elf-mother’ Shereth sleeps more easily knowing that you do not shiver.
  Hmm. You must be growing strong as a healer, girl. Not that you ever say so, but why else would any man in his right mind take you adventuring? Forget about the poor hungry chickens, and whether or not you should watch while someone cooks fish. Turn your undead, heal your fighters and get to work on some useful craft. Otherwise you’ll end up living out in the swamps by yourself like that poor old witch with her bone collection. And stop fussing about that dratted cloak. Giving it back to the fur trader won’t bring the animals back to life. PS: On second thought, seeing you’re in Hlint, maybe it would. But the last thing you need around there is more undead -- Luca Cade

[Kirbiana]

My dearest Mirrim, the news you send of the queen’s loss is most disquieting. No rumors of it had yet reached us, and so I cannot help unfold this mystery for you any more clearly. Be wary, my child. A kestrel wind is rising in this clouded world of ours, and I fear it may blow trouble to us all.
  As for your friendship with the paladin Galan and the mage Timulty, I must echo the wise words spoken to you by lord Lex’or. There is no dishonor in venturing with those whose gods are friends and allies to our dear Lifebringer. But an Aeridinite cleric cannot tread precisely in the footsteps of a Lucindite mage and a Toranite paladin, no matter how brave and honorable they be. You may cry out in protest when your friends fall in battle, you may turn back from escape and run head-long toward monsters to try and lay your hands on their bodies before the last drop of blood drains away. Much as I dread to say it, this is what it means to be a battle healer. But when you fail, Mirrim –as you did most grievously in the cave of the ogres – you may not use your divine powers in fury or vengeance for your loss. Wipe the blood and tears from your face, my child, stand up and walk away. That is the only path to the peace of Aeridin, and your ‘elf-mother’ Shereth prays you will find it.
  Mirrim, if I could reach across the ocean from here, I would shake you ‘til your teeth rattled. You’ve got five generations of mercenary fighters on my side of the pedigree, girl, and god knows how many ranks of Toranite paladins on your father’s. If you can’t deal with the fact that warriors fall in battle all the time, then you’re an idiot. Do you think it bothers them? Why else would they drag their battered carcasses all ghostly to their graves, except to go running off and do it all over again? Stop blubbering every time it happens. Heal where you can, fight where you’re forced to and try to have some fun now and then. PS: Tell that mage of yours that it’s never a good idea to loot from an unconscious ogre. – Luca Cade

[Kirbiana]

Mirrim, my child, I hardly know how to respond to your last letter. You may not have realized it, dearest, but I believe you mentioned chickens at least a dozen times in your recounting of your adventures. Am I to assume that Krandor and Fort Velensk have been invaded by cursed flocks of undead poultry? That would be grievous news indeed. I hope it is not so, but then I would also be mystified as to why a cleric so blessed in her ability to turn the undead has not explored more than just the simple crypts of Hlint. Do not let your unhappy first visit to Krandor continue to hold back your training, my child. You must let go of your fears and plunge into deeper levels of darkness, or else rest content with the making of potions and – I suppose – with the feeding of chickens. Your ‘elf-mother’ Shereth hopes that Aeridin’s hand will guide you to the right choice.  Finally, a letter from my clerical daughter that has a grain or two of common sense in it! Yes, you’re much better off not mentioning those visits to Storan’s tomb to Shereth, at least not until you can manage to stagger out of there without being bruised and battered nearly to death. Next time you go, try to remember to wear your knuckle-bone necklace, and stick close behind that paladin of yours. His tower shield is big enough to cover you both, and you won’t end up running around like a decapitated chicken, trying to turn mummies while they hack you limb from limb. PS: Speaking of chickens, if you want to go walking out at twilight with handsome young men, you need to think up a better excuse than that. No one but you thinks those birds are adorable. -- Luca Cade

[Kirbiana]

My dear Mirrim, I must thank you. Your most recent letter filled my staid and peaceful halls with the kind of laughter they have not heard since you left. Yes, child, I can quite see why you are worried that such redoubtable Aeridinites as my lords Lex’or and Eghassmight find you a bit too flighty for their taste. After all, what have they seen of you? A healer who goes running off to adventure with any good-looking mage or paladin who waves a ship’s ticket at her? A crafter who mutters “Ick! Ick! Ick!” under her breath as she takes the ingredients for alchemist’s fire off to the distilling table? A gawky girl who makes jokes at the wrong times and paints her shield green tomatch her cloak rather than gold to reflect her faith? My dearest, you really cannot blame them. They are serious men who have seen much of the dark side of the Great Cycle. Model your behavior on theirs as best you can, my dear one, but your elf-mother Shereth has a secret to tell you. The shield does look better in green.  Hmm, let’s see. You’re eighteen, and you’ve never poked your nose out of your elf-mother’s library before. Now you’re getting yourself in trouble with ogres, running for your life from gryphons, and meeting dwarves in dark crypts. If you weren’t a little punch-drunk on that life, girl, I’d be a lot more worried about you. Quite trying to be such a saint. If you succeeded, the entire south coast of Rillara would disappear in an earthquake from all your Cade ancestors turning over in their graves. PS: I’m glad those dwarves were nice to you, but if you see them again, for the love of the gods don’t tell them you thought they were charming. I’m pretty sure they’d take it as an insult. – Luca Cade

[Kirbiana]

My dearest Mirrim, I had begun to worry at the lack of any letter from you, but when I saw that the postmark was Shoufal, I understood at once. The mail service in the back country is always chancy, unlike Hlint where the postmaster clearly runs a well-staffed operation. I did enjoy the little sketches you added around the edges of your letter, dear. It felt as if I could truly see the wild torrents of water pouring down the Sword Rust mountains and the towering peaks of Berhagen marching in ghostly ranks against the darkened sky.
  I am happy that you have found such a comfortable lodging in Leilon, but do remember to wear your fur cloak when you travel in those far northern parts. It seems as if the climate is growing colder by the day. Keep up your studies and remember that the time you spend helping others in our faith showers blessings on your own wisdom. If you can do as much for your young clerical friends Chino and Ameli as my lord Lex'or did for you when you first arrived, your 'elf-mother' Shereth will rest content.
  Here's my advice, girl. If you want to try and barrel around the country with a hulking great monk like Skarr, you better get your endurance up. Running up and down stairs would be a good way to do it, so long as there aren't any ogres waiting at the top. PS: for crying out loud, stop throwing away those bottles of Tower Malt you find in the crypt. Do you want to stay friends with all those dwarfs you've met lately, or don’t you? – Luca Cade