I, Tyvernos, son of Oren, and Herald of all that is Oriflamme have answered to two higher powers for many moons now. What, pray-tell, is the price of my power? I have called you “father” for the span of my years though I’ve never truly known you. I am privy to immeasurable insight only now. We are servants of the same master. The elemental forces of Air demand our worship and we give of ourselves as freely as any. I am more your son, now, than ever before with the skies at my beck’ and call, with the wind at my fingertips, and playing Pawn in a Godly Game of Thrones.
Orts and bits and morsels of your passage are but breadcrumbs to my mundivagant crow’s belly; High Snow sends her warmest regards. I will return home, one day, to convey them to you in-person.
These are strange days. I have witnessed my fair share of miracles and now I am more convinced than ever before that Otto conspires against me; he is possessed of some very strange notions — not the least of which was conferred in confidence with the winds themselves. I beseech Bennu on a near-nightly basis for guidance…for deliverance. She answers only the hound but with the same appalling, eye-opening conclusion: Our steps and missteps are only partially guided by the Gods of Light; they are, in part, also guided by the forces of Darkness. Their involvement, now more blatant than ever, is directly confrontational. The evidence of an alliance is impossible to ignore. We were given directive — a divinely inspired task more noble than any other — and given the freedom to pursue those ends in the name of holy nobility. Anubis, it seems, is not without allies in his efforts to stymie our crusade.
When you receive this I will have left the Pyramid of Avramstown far behind. An earthquake so vast and wide that you probably felt the tremors in our ancestral home has elevated the pyramid and extended the approaching steps like some stairway to heaven. I felt the earth move under my feet. I felt the sky tumbling down. I felt my heart start to trembling. Were I an Earth Warlock the miracle might have been more than merely orgasmic. We were accosted by throngs of onlookers and spectators — arms akimbo — and frothing with febrile, orgiastic frenzy. The horsewoman bade me mount her (the second such occasion) and escape the trampling tangle of limbs. I paraded, as I am wont to do, on her catwalk and displayed Providence and Provenance for all to see. Obliged and benighted in Bennude. Collapsed, spent, I flung myself to the ground, swathed in sheets of creamy white and gold-embossed with divine exhaustion.
I soon graced King Avramson with my presence but not before an Alu Demon presented itself and implicated Charun the Cruel in Anubis’s plans. This demon lord is subversive and we must proceed with caution. The denizens of the abyss play by different rules and will attempt to win at any cost. This is an ominous portent and does not bode well.
A blade appeared from out of nowhere — it isn’t even remotely as powerful as we eventually determined Karma’s lance to be; what a pleasant surprise! An ancient semi-sentient artifact older than the Elf-Dwarf wars hiding in our midst. What luck! I understand she won it in a raffle. Greldarr’s Aunt, the above mentioned High Snow, welcomed us and the King showered us with fine faire and much merriment was had by all. I lost one-hundred gold in a wager placed on a carousing contest. Otto was the only true winner of the competition! Before the day was out we walked away fifteen hundred Wolfen richer and less one magnum of fine fruit of the vine.
A night spent at the inn was replete with an Alu demon incursion where Otto intervened on my behalf, an axe verily teleported into an oncoming attacker, and our friends disappeared before our very eyes. The Demon Inquisition ensues and those of weaker-stomach must leave the room. The dogs seemed nice enough. Perhaps they were merely misunderstood.
What the f*#k?
All my love,
Posted on the 8th of Thoth, in the 67th year of the Empire.