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Sighing, she dragged her feet to the nearest tavern and seated herself in an inconspicuous spot. The beer arrived surprisingly fast, and she nodded her approval at the bartender who retreated discreetly.
Let’s try to recap what we already know so far. Searching her pockets, she extracted a faded parchment, scanning the words she must have read at least a dozen times already:
Dear Mother,
If my memory serves me well, it has been some 26 years since our estrangement. This one-sided conversation wears upon me and I wonder if it has the same effect on you. Surely you would agree that it is time for us to move on and not let the mistakes of the errant-minded guide the rest of our lives.
I write with an exceptionally heavy heart tonight. Because, Mother, I think my days are numbered. You may scoff at my suspicions, but I would willingly swear that I have been stalked since a week ago. By whom, I naturally have some ideas… yet without proof, I hesitate to point fingers at this moment. The most critical task I must perform while I am alive is to find Mistral… that lost child of mine.
I can already hear your triumphant laugh, Mother, for was it not you who urged me to keep her to my side, when Eilonwy passed away giving birth to her? Would that I had listened to your words, for now I find that I have much to tell her and no certainty of doing so. And of course, that heirloom – much as I abhore the sight of it – is rightfully hers, and she shall decide how it should be dealt with.
What an uncharacteristically long letter from me, Mother. It might well be my last, for I set off for Athklata at dawn tomorrow. I have news that Mistral was last sighted there, and I intend to reclaim my poor daughter, make up for the trials she has had to undergo in my absence.
If anything untoward happens to me, Mistral as the heir of the Freelight family will naturally inherit my possessions. But be rest assured that I have arranged for an annuity to be paid to your goodself, that you and my niece may live comfortably for the rest of your lives.
Yours respectfully and with best wishes for your health,
Your son
Aragorn F.
What a generous uncle you have. Pursing her lips wryly, she folded the letter and placed it securely back into the pocket. Then, as an afterthought, she took out another parchment, less faded but more precious to her and read the shakily written words:
Be useful… One-Eyed Wolf Tavern, if you can...
Already, she had ascertained from her casual conversations with some of the patrons that a war had broken out in Athklata four years ago because of a wingless elf named Aerie. The Kentucky Fried Avariel restaurant (or K.F.A., in short), which had set out serving her bodily parts, had been attacked by loving followers of the avariel from the Holy Temple of Aerie. The restaurant was subsequently razed to the ground by an extremely powerful but insane character, before being rebuilt into the current One-Eyed Wolf tavern. The owner, an eccentric half-elf named Chani Ravenwood, was dangerously unpredictable with mood swings and one generally kept out of her way if one wanted to preserve one’s safety.
Well, the figure she had observed charging out of the tavern earlier certainly fit the description. Yet…
Why would Grandma have scribbled those last words? It troubled her even now, that a matriarch would have struggled to get these words out in her last dying moments.
Carefully, she kept her prized possession and took another sip of beer.
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