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Sarael decided to embark on this adventure; however, before proceeding with the tasks he had set for himself, he decided to return to his cabin. There, he wrote a letter, placed it on Tiberius's nightstand (if there was one), and left a note on top of it.
“Tiberius, this letter and note were written by Sarael, your roommate. I have a request: if for any reason I do not happen to be aboard the 'Drunken Whale' by the time of departure, please send this letter to the address specified in this note. Whether you wish to read it or maintain the confidentiality of its contents—I don't give a damn, do as you please, just ensure that it reaches where it needs to go. Thanks in advance.”
“Saella, given our relationship as father and daughter and simply as acquaintances, it is quite possible that you will burn this letter without even reading it—that's your business, but I, out of my own selfishness,
felt the urge to write a few words to you, tell you about myself and ask about you.
As many times before, I have entered into a fascinating journey and have already managed to visit many places. In the cold city of Sjyotouyukyur, located in the Kingdom of Rjyorvalia, I joined the crew of Lutiel the Sly—an incredibly interesting kinsman of ours who has not ceased to amaze me since we met. From there, we visited the Halehid city of Sharitokephal, then spent time on a nameless island, and afterwards headed straight for Limisklav in Gysteosia. Just imagine, none of my companions, mercenaries like myself, can endure sea voyages without unpleasant consequences. I think you would only laugh wickedly at them, as you often do, but during this short voyage I have already grown accustomed to them. I don't even know if they are worth mentioning; perhaps I won't name them; in any case, they will be of no significance to you. Among them is a Rjyorvalian; he seems like a reliable and interesting fellow to me, and I think he could become a good companion in my wanderings; that is, of course, if I wanted to take someone with me once again after Medea... You remember, don't you? I told you about her during our last meeting. Of course you remember; you clearly disliked her, considering that I loved her. You know, I have had many women, including your mother Santaella, of course, but I never loved anyone as much as Medea. How many wonderful months and years of life we spent together; even now I remember how I lost my head at the scent of blue medilia when we visited those fields, while she felt nothing; I remember how we enjoyed the Halehid theater... I've never told you how we parted ways. Perhaps the misfortune of your father will only amuse you, but the point is that Medea, like many other representatives of her people, committed suicide and left me alone. Why am I telling you this? I don't know. Perhaps I want to add to your life experience with my stories, or maybe I just want to share—who knows? I don't even know the answer myself. But returning to my current companions: I share a cabin with a curious Madian; he looks like a harmless scholarly man, but anyone who speaks with him a bit longer will realize that he is something more. There is another Madian, a mercenary who shoots a crossbow perfectly; we happened to work together during a very dangerous mission, news of which may even reach our home; I think I wouldn't mind heading out on some other assignment with this man once again. The Letian—a good lad, but seems very naive to me, while I haven't had the chance to cross paths with the Gysteosian. There was also a missionary of the Church of the Creator from Seveseptim, a funny man, but unfortunately, he died out of stupidity. As for the journey itself—dangerous yet exciting moments arise almost every day while we travel by land, however, describing everything would take too much time, and I am in a hurry now; I will only tell you something that will make you laugh at your unfortunate father: at the slave market there was a daughter of winter, and imagine this—while I was trying to talk to her, the little devil grabbed my hand and placed it on her chest, telling her master that I was groping her. I had to pay to avoid further trouble; isn't that stupid?
Either way, I very much hope that your study of the art of death and fire magic is progressing productively—but then again, what am I talking about? Of course it is, for you treat your hobby with such passion. Or should I say craft? Unfortunately, I never understood magic and have more in common with your brother Mariel, who, although he is not my son, had the same inclinations toward the mastery of killing at sixteen as I did myself. Probably a bad note to end the letter on, but I simply don't know what else to write to you; I will only say that I realize with regret that you probably won't be able (even if you want to) send me a reply, as my location is constantly changing.
Be that as it may, I love you.
“Tiberius, this letter and note were written by Sarael, your roommate. I have a request: if for any reason I do not happen to be aboard the 'Drunken Whale' by the time of departure, please send this letter to the address specified in this note. Whether you wish to read it or maintain the confidentiality of its contents—I don't give a damn, do as you please, just ensure that it reaches where it needs to go. Thanks in advance.”
“Saella, given our relationship as father and daughter and simply as acquaintances, it is quite possible that you will burn this letter without even reading it—that's your business, but I, out of my own selfishness,
felt the urge to write a few words to you, tell you about myself and ask about you.
As many times before, I have entered into a fascinating journey and have already managed to visit many places. In the cold city of Sjyotouyukyur, located in the Kingdom of Rjyorvalia, I joined the crew of Lutiel the Sly—an incredibly interesting kinsman of ours who has not ceased to amaze me since we met. From there, we visited the Halehid city of Sharitokephal, then spent time on a nameless island, and afterwards headed straight for Limisklav in Gysteosia. Just imagine, none of my companions, mercenaries like myself, can endure sea voyages without unpleasant consequences. I think you would only laugh wickedly at them, as you often do, but during this short voyage I have already grown accustomed to them. I don't even know if they are worth mentioning; perhaps I won't name them; in any case, they will be of no significance to you. Among them is a Rjyorvalian; he seems like a reliable and interesting fellow to me, and I think he could become a good companion in my wanderings; that is, of course, if I wanted to take someone with me once again after Medea... You remember, don't you? I told you about her during our last meeting. Of course you remember; you clearly disliked her, considering that I loved her. You know, I have had many women, including your mother Santaella, of course, but I never loved anyone as much as Medea. How many wonderful months and years of life we spent together; even now I remember how I lost my head at the scent of blue medilia when we visited those fields, while she felt nothing; I remember how we enjoyed the Halehid theater... I've never told you how we parted ways. Perhaps the misfortune of your father will only amuse you, but the point is that Medea, like many other representatives of her people, committed suicide and left me alone. Why am I telling you this? I don't know. Perhaps I want to add to your life experience with my stories, or maybe I just want to share—who knows? I don't even know the answer myself. But returning to my current companions: I share a cabin with a curious Madian; he looks like a harmless scholarly man, but anyone who speaks with him a bit longer will realize that he is something more. There is another Madian, a mercenary who shoots a crossbow perfectly; we happened to work together during a very dangerous mission, news of which may even reach our home; I think I wouldn't mind heading out on some other assignment with this man once again. The Letian—a good lad, but seems very naive to me, while I haven't had the chance to cross paths with the Gysteosian. There was also a missionary of the Church of the Creator from Seveseptim, a funny man, but unfortunately, he died out of stupidity. As for the journey itself—dangerous yet exciting moments arise almost every day while we travel by land, however, describing everything would take too much time, and I am in a hurry now; I will only tell you something that will make you laugh at your unfortunate father: at the slave market there was a daughter of winter, and imagine this—while I was trying to talk to her, the little devil grabbed my hand and placed it on her chest, telling her master that I was groping her. I had to pay to avoid further trouble; isn't that stupid?
Either way, I very much hope that your study of the art of death and fire magic is progressing productively—but then again, what am I talking about? Of course it is, for you treat your hobby with such passion. Or should I say craft? Unfortunately, I never understood magic and have more in common with your brother Mariel, who, although he is not my son, had the same inclinations toward the mastery of killing at sixteen as I did myself. Probably a bad note to end the letter on, but I simply don't know what else to write to you; I will only say that I realize with regret that you probably won't be able (even if you want to) send me a reply, as my location is constantly changing.
Be that as it may, I love you.
Sarael”
