My name if Fjord, son of Thonwas, of the house of Coldwater. I am writing you today for no other reason than to bestow upon myself the honour of your fleeting attentions! Pray forgive the audacity of one as low as I for ingratiating myself in this most obvious and tactless manner! Nevertheless, I am a fanatic of your work and nothing would give me more pleasure than to one day meet you in person and witness the cradle of the greatest swords in the history of the world.
Save one furlough (and one death/resurrection), I have spent the past five years in the lands of man, campaigning almost unceasingly against the vile Norse. But every time that I draw my sword from its scabbard, though it may radiate with powerful magic, I cannot help but wish that it had been crafted by an Elf, by you in fact. But, such are the fancies of many young faeries, I suppose. It is fortunate that my father taught me the exquisite Elf craft of the bowyer/fletcher, so that at the very least, the arrow I notch and the bow I draw need never be sullied by the lesser races.
As you may know, my father was a trusted companion of Thurinir Thand, and so you might say that I have inherited a lineage of reckless passion. And yet, I am not my father. I cannot simply be his instrument of revenge, his proxy in the greatest of all struggles between greaters and lessers. That Fjord died on the battlefield, and when he was brought back from the nothingness, his father's sense of vengeance had been surpassed by his own. You see, it was a magic maker who slew me, rather than a worthy warrior. I felt cheated, but absolutely certain that my return must be for something more.
Look at me carrying on as if you care about any of this! Anyhow, I have returned to a passion from my childhood (Oh, what times those first 90 years were!) and I now fancy myself a writer of burgeoning repute. I wrote an ode to you and your fine work (a humble trifle, but saturated in admiration), and you will find it on page 14 of my first collected book of poems, which I have enclosed with this letter. Note that I have been dabbling in magic this past year, and that the rune on the front is a magical wizard mark! The title of the book is also there, but invisible, and only a detect magic spell can reveal it! I intend for all of my future works to have this pretentious flourish as well.
I thank you for your time and attention, Lord Smusarek, and wish you good health and immortality, as all great elves deserve.
Your most doting and accommodating servant,
Fjord
Fjord
(From page 14)
Ode to "Smu"
Your legend was forged in temporal embers ...
... so to speak;
and yet your work continues -
hammering the iron;
breathing the smelt;
sweating the particulars;
casting off the cares of the higher planes.
For what joy is there:
in realms of staticicity?
in the quenched passions of the singing blade?
in the flux of melting ore than can never freeze?
Only here can your legend be eternal.
Only here can I grasp it in tactile memory:
Silareth Smusarek Steel.
