Letters from Freeport in Beyond the Sanctum Forum

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Letters from Freeport

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Tylum	Letters from Freeport	Lead	[-]
Posts: 369 (08/17/11 3:49 PM) Ridol's Apprentice Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	Tags : None Candlelight flickers in the darkened room. At a rickety desk, a Feir'dal youth sits gripping a pen and staring at a sheet of blank paper. Tylum's been holed up in this room for a couple of days; he knew he'd have to lie low for a while, but for the first day he'd done little more than sleep. Fairly confident that his miniature safehouse was exactly that, he'd collapsed on the pallet in the corner and caught up on some long-overdue sleep. But today, the hours have begun to wear on him, and he's finally decided to do what he's been putting off. He pauses and stares at the name. It's wrong. He's sure it's not quite right, but he can't quite put his finger on it. He shrugs. Words never look right to him, no matter how many times he writes them. He'd promised to write to her, so he forges ahead, the pen scritch-scratching intermittently, punctuated by stretches of silence as the young man considers his words carefully. After nearly an hour, he regards his handiwork. An exceptionally long letter. He looks proudly at it, but his smile falters. It's so messy. But at least it's a letter. She'll be glad to get it. She always is. He dips the pen again, bends over the paper, and concludes, his brow furrowed with concentration but a tight smile on his lips. Smugly pleased with himself, Tylum folds up the paper, then realizes he's forgotten already. He unfolds it and wraps it carefully around a few platinum pieces and a couple of small gems, making sure that the paper rests between the coins so that they don't clink together and make the courier suspicious...or greedy. He wraps the small package in a makeshift envelope, making sure it's very well sealed, then walks over to the pallet and lies down again on his back, the letter resting on his chest. He closes his eyes. Tomorrow he should be safe to leave. He'll get some kid from the Pit to take the letter to a courier for him and get it delivered. Then it would be back to work again... The young man's stomach growls, but that'll just have to wait. He ignores it and thinks instead about his next assignment, working over the details in his mind, though concentrating is difficult--half from the discomfort of the hunger gnawing at him and half from the pleasure of the letter he holds in his hands. He's not tired anymore, but eventually he wills himself to sleep to pass the time. Several hours later, Tylum rises, pockets the letter, and slips out of his bolt-hole, heading through the sewers for the safest place to ascend to the streets of Freeport. It should be nearly dawn--perfect time to find an unoccupied street rat to deliver the letter to the couriers and still have time to make it to his rendezvous.
A Courier		#1	[-]
Posts: 4 (08/17/11 4:01 PM) NPC Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	At the Freeport fairgrounds, a journeyman bard makes a final check of his baggage. Clothes, instruments, several rolls of new music to take to the village he's been assigned to...check. Rations...right. He'll just stop by Brownloe's on the way out of town. He shoulders his things, turns, and nearly trips over a dirty kid of about seven or eight who seems to have appeared right under his feet. Careful, you'll get yourself squashed! The urchin, however, seems unfazed and instead holds up a wrapped package, telling him that if he's going west, could he please stop by the Sigils' Sanctum, just past Highpass Hold in the eastern plains and see that this was delivered to Antares. The bard hesitates. He is going that way, but...where has he heard of that place before? Oh, right. Master Lovesonnet's organization, and Maestro Windchaser was one of them, too. He relaxes a bit and nods. Sure, I can do that. The child hands him the package, which the bard tucks in his pack, and then reluctantly offers up a couple of gold pieces. The journeyman takes them, then hesitates, his heart touched by the Pit kid's honesty and glum face. The bard pockets one of the coins but hands the other one back. Better watch that coin good. You might have a hard time hanging onto it if you don't. The child's eyes go round with shock and then delight, and he's quickly gone in a flurry of dust from the dry, packed ground in front of the stage. Grinning, the courier heads away from his guildhall and out of the city, striking out across the commonlands toward Highpass and, eventually, the Sanctum. Last Edited By: A Courier 08/17/11 4:08 PM. Edited 1 times.
Tylum	Weeks later	#2	[-]
Posts: 372 (01/06/12 1:16 PM) Ridol's Apprentice Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	In the slums of East Freeport known as the Pit, a tallish Feir'dal youth walks briskly. Even in this city on the edge of the desert, the dry, cold gales can be almost as blistering as the hot winds of summer. Tylum tugs his coat more tightly around him and thanks Karana that at least it's not storming. As he walks like he has somewhere to be, he keeps an eye out. In this weather, the ragamuffin kids that usually stay underfoot are indoors...or in doorways. Either way, out of sight. Never can find one when you need one... Eventually, however, he does locate a skinny, dirty kid. His clothes are more hole than cloth--he'd be easily bought--and Tylum selects him immediately for his errand. He catches the kid's eye and steps into an alley...but not too far. He doesn't want to give the kid the wrong idea, but his attempt at reassurance fails. The boy remains wary and makes no move to follow, but when Tylum flashes a coin at him, he resignedly makes his way over. The fear and revulsion in the child's eyes force Tylum to swallow a sudden lump in his throat, but he leans down to speak to him--cautiously. You never can tell with these street rats... He whispers his errand to the boy, and the relief that overtakes his temporary employee's expression in damning. Tylum passes over an envelope and a couple of coins, gives the kid a little shove on the shoulder to send him on his way, and turns away quickly. He does not follow the boy out of the alley, but steps into the shadow of an unused back door and watches him walk away until he is out of sight. Tylum runs a hand over his face and sighs. Then he leaves the alley and disappears into the streets of Freeport's east side.
Tylum	And time passes...	#3	[-]
Posts: 373 (02/15/12 5:52 PM) Ridol's Apprentice Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	The weeks turn to months. About once every fortnight, Tylum makes his way to the Temple of Marr to retrieve his mail--and there is almost always mail. Each time, Tylum thanks Plur brusquely and escapes as soon as he can with his prize, scuttling off to some safehouse or bolthole with the letter burning in his pocket, begging to be opened. However, the young man will not risk it. He endures the agonizing wait as he knows that he will need to spend some time with each missive to puzzle out its contents. He marvels even as he struggles. Thalisa is so smart. She uses such great words...even if it takes him forever to decipher each one, it's worth it. She's written them for him. Each letter he carefully picks over the first time, but it's the subsequent readings that he really enjoys--the ones where he already knows what's coming and can read at a quicker pace, relishing the sentiments contained by the words instead of wrestling with each one. And somehow he finds the time to respond to every letter, though he laments his own writing. Thalisa's is so smooth and beautiful--just like her--while his... For now he sits again at the tickety desk in his tiny, boarded-up room beneath the streets of the city, gripping his pen once more. Clenching the writing implement in his fist so tightly that his knuckles whiten, he applies it to the paper. deer taleessa, Was that how it went? It doesn't look right, but then, nothing ever does. He goes on. how r yuo im ok. i got yre ltr tooday an it waz zo good to her frum youe bcoz i hav bin zo biz buz bize. things r ok her n i am zo gladd that yo hav tokt to yor sistr bowt th dres.it sondz bo beoo pritye. Sweat begins to bead on his forehead, and he lays the pen down, stretching his cramping hand, pressing the fingers back to flex them. After a minute, he picks up the pen again, settling it back into the cradling dent over the third finger of his fist. i wil hav alotv muney to snd son wuns im dun withis last thing.can you blev its th lazt but it iz tha promist It will be the last...well, for this job, at least. He can hardly believe it himself, but when last he'd met with Ridol, his master had told him that it would be. Ridol had had a funny look on his face when he said it, but then Tylum hadn't seen him in a long time. It had been good to see him. Tylum allows himself a rare smile. Ridol had complimented him on his effectiveness; he was doing a good job, and Ridol's behavior toward him was showing it, even though it made Tylum a little uncomfortable, truth be told. Ridol had never treated him poorly, but this last time they'd talked, the man had looked at and talked to Tylum like he was...well, somebody. Almost a different person. Come to think of it, even the higher-ups had said he was doing well! A surprising flash of pride and excitement makes Tylum pause in his writing, but the emotions are immediately washed away by a wave of guilt as he thinks of how badly Thalisa wants him to get out of this business. But he's good at it. She's right; he doesn't want to leave the organization. Leaving Freeport, however, will be a dream come true, especially with what he has to look forward to... then i can c yuo agin an we can gt mared lik we mant to.hows yr dad i hob hez ok. im sendn a lil muny thise tim but il sen mor sooon. The wedding. Their wedding! The plans he's left almost completely to her discretion, though he's attempted to offer as much input as he can, all things considered, and she's kept him well informed of the ceremony's progress and how she's been spending or saving the funds he's sent her. Pride in her wells up in him. i lu lov yuo talesa an il c you son i promiz. you mak me so hape i nevr thot i cud b so hape. i lov you. lov tylum Exhausted from the strain of writing, Tylum drops the pen to the desktop and exhales heavily. He leaves the letter open on the desk to dry while he massages his weary hand. He peruses the letter again. It looks terrible, but he shrugs to himself, unwilling to let himself be bothered by it. Instead, he smiles, letting his mind drift into a daydream about his love. Several hours later, he folds the now-dry letter and puts it into an envelope with a tidy packet of coins. Sealing the envelope tightly, he drops it into a pouch along with a roll of parchment, some well-wrapped jerky, and a beat-up stack of playing cards. He girds a scratched but serviceable short sword to his waist and slips a thin-bladed dagger into the sheath hidden under his left arm. He shrugs on a thick coat to ward off the cold and the damp of the Freeport sewers in late winter and moves to the "door" to listen. Silence greets him, and yet not silence. Sewer sounds abound. The skittering of vermin, the drip-drop of water and more repulsive substances...but nothing dangerous to him. Quickly and efficiently, he pries the boards loose that will allow his egress, slips out, and returns them to their place, making sure that they look undisturbed. His hiding place secured once more, Tylum makes his way out of the sewers to find another emissary to the Temple. He hopes it won't take long; he has a rendezvous to make on time. Last Edited By: Tylum 03/05/12 11:24 PM. Edited 1 times.
A Courier		#4	[-]
Posts: 10 (02/29/12 3:57 AM) NPC Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	Up the great marble steps of the Temple of Marr, a small, skinny street urchin climbs, holding a folded letter, tightly sealed in an envelope. It was heavy...the boy firmly believed with all his heart that it contained riches in coins, but as tempting as it was to tear open the envelope, toss the correspondence aside, and pocket those valuable contents, but the man he'd got the letter from looked like the kind of guy who'd find out if you threw away his letter. The kid certainly didn't need that kind of trouble. So up the stairs he goes, and inside he remembers to ask for “Father Plur.” He is ushered up some more stairs and into a large room with a great table, at which sits an older human man with a lined face and gentle eyes. The boy walks up and hands him the letter. The priest takes it, looks at it, and a fleeting smile flashes over his face. Good lad. A second look at the boy turns to the novice who had brought him. Philip, please see that this child is well fed from the kitchens. The young man, bows and takes a step back, his hand on the ragamuffin's shoulder. Plur makes him pause once more. And surely there is a coat in the Orphans Box? Another nod from the younger priest-in-training. The two leave the elder to his work, though he returns to his writing with a slight, but satisfied, smile.