Orien Journal #3

9 Ides Heron, fourth year, second luster
To the Black Cloak of Dolphis, greetings.
On this day after market had ended, one Corsos Keringson assaulted a visitor from Alkone in Water Street. The visitor was the captain and owner of the Kingfisher, moored three days in harbor. Tassü the scribe from Alba came to the visitor’s aid. Between them and two washé owls, they gravely injured Corsos, and sent him to the house of the Indigo, Martyna Reilsdouttyr. Guildsman Lattemar went to see Corsos, then came to me, insisting the visitor from Alkone be detained. He was most put out to learn Tassü had vouched for the young man.
The visitor’s name is Awan Haughson, standing six foot, with long brown hair and green eyes, speaking with a west Kemblish accent. He is a trained scribe, and knows the twenty letters, the hundred runes, and the thousand glyphs. He also knows the kalenscant, folds washé, and may be in possession of a Jade Sash. He intends to journey to Dolphis, and made this intention known to Tassü on the wharf this evening. Others may know as well.
Be aware of his coming, and be watchful.
Serving the King’s memory,
Shayet, Black Cloak of Ambras

8 Ides Heron, Y 4, II Lus

My dear Ravad,
I hope you are keeping care of my affairs in Wasthavan. Life is so boring here in the North. No ships in many a moon, except for the occasional country bumpkin out of Alkone or Chelt. Nothing to buy or sell, hardly any greens in the diet, and the window sash rattles in the wind. Thank the Mother spring is here. I am glad you are my man down South, though I could wish to be in your place; everything is so dead and cold right now.
The North would suit you a man like you: it’s for the young. Some day you should come and see for yourself. It’s easy to get in the social life; a sophisticate such as yourself would not find it hard to wow the ladies; you’re such a charmer.
These Northerners are a superstitious lot, though. Always in their shrines, or consulting the Almanac or seeking advice from the Oracle. I do my job — count sheep in the folds, woolens in the storehouse, paper in the mill, and apples in the barrel. None of this dangerous earghing, as they call it, for me.
I’m bound to tell you we shipped forty-five sheaves of good paper your way, as well as cider and wool. Send me any urgent news you can about what would be good to get, or send a replacement, a strong and adventurous type, good with a pen and not so eager to take up a sword. We’ll civilize these Northerners yet.
Sincerely, Lattemar

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