October 8th
Dear Fjord,
All is not well. Against my better judgment (as usual), several of us have taken up with a gang of would-be heroes on an errand of such lofty expectations that I expect to perish in a most brutal and violent manner within a fortnight. Coincidentally, I find myself thinking of you. How are you, my old friend? By all accounts, that business with the stone has sent you into a declination of epic proportions. I do hope this letter finds you hale and if not happy, at least somewhat contented. I would rather that than to learn that you have shed your mortal coil in a fit of blind despair and even now the crows peck at your rotting eyeballs whilst you gently swing from a noose made from your own hempen rope. You were always so fond of your knots ...
Thinking of your untimely demise has boiled the guilt within me to critical mass. I crave the relief of your forgiveness, Fjord! It was I who stole your journal and read so many of your entries. Though you know me to me a thief of some renown, I assure you that I stumbled upon your sacred texts quite by accident. It was during one of our more insane ventures into that vile temple and you were holding the front line as befits your rank and equipment. I had exhausted my spell-casting abilities and and retreated to our horses to hold the rear (hide). I remembered that you had one of the party's last Kheeotum's ointments and busied through your belongings to find it before one of us (even you, perhaps) was dragged half dead from that inferno.
At first, I only took note of it in passing, as the task at hand kept my nimble fingers busy rummaging through your surprisingly unorganized backpack. Afterward, it occurred to me that the ointment was probably in your belt pouch. In hindsight, I now realize that the ointment is always in your belt pouch and my search had been in vain from its onset: a moot point. After a time, I grew bored and the temptation of reading the most closely guarded (well, not really, since you left it with your horse while you went to kill trolls, bug-bears and the like) writings of a friend grew from the faintest flicker to a fiery passion that could not be denied!
Well, now you know. Perhaps I could lend my somewhat advanced authorial knowledge to a critique of your poetry as compensation? Fjord, you have real potential! I do hope you have kept at it during our time apart. Kheops mentioned in passing that you had gone to school to learn to read and write. I'm afraid our brave paladin is easily befuddled by higher intellectual pursuits. My pointed questioning of him has led me to believe that you are not merely learning basic literacy (since I know you have a full grasp of Elvish at least) but are rather studying the exquisite craft work of the Elvish epic! By now, I am sure that you realize that your own poetry is every bit the match of the ancients in vigour, yet lacks the refinement and subtle adhesiveness that separates amateurs from professionals. Yes, even I, a simple gnome, have appreciated the works of Isilwen Anawamane in my travels.
Do not be insulted, by good friend! If your writing was poor, I would not be offering this advice at all. It is only because I believe in your talent and confidence that I would even venture this criticism from a festering bog betwixt forays into a temple overrun by lizard men, trolls and magically enhanced alligators. I say again, do not despair. Find yourself. Improve yourself. Return to us a new Elf, if you wish, but remain Fjord. I miss the oft overlooked comfort of intelligent conversation. Your replacement is an idiot Satyr piper who seemingly begs for death on every mission yet survives to the vocal disappointment of all. His playing is so terrible that half the time he puts his audience to sleep and the other times they flee in terror!
Your colleague and friend,
Faust
p.s. Another confession: I know what you're really doing in Sweden. Tyr'n did his best not to tell me, but I have a knack for hearing the unsaid. Your secret is safe with me, but I would encourage you to abandon this madness! Too late, you say? Well, when you get back, there is much that I can teach you ...
