Dear brother Rowtag
It’s been
many years since we last spoke and you probably thought that I was dead, that is
assuming that you ever see this letter anyway. In reality I was imprisoned
after making a deal with the butcher from the village just past the mountain
west of the great river. The deal was fair, but he thought the meat I’d sold
was too old and refused to pay me, despite having inspected and passed it
himself prior to making his offer. Because there were very few options for me,
I was forced to steal the money back and try to escape into the night, unfortunately
I was caught. That must have been three or even four years ago at this point,
it’s a miracle that I even survived for so long. It was by a stroke of luck
that I am even now free, the rest of the town was burned down, though there
were many dead bodies without the marks of fire you’d expect. It was late at
night and I was woken by a rising heat in my cell, then the yelling started and
a slow orange glow filtered through the single barred window of the room. Fearing
for my life I to begin to yell, but was soon knocked out by the sheer amount of
smoke filling my lungs. When I awoke, all was quiet and the door, usually
barred too, was visibly weakened but flame. I was easily able to break it down
after a few solid hits with the single chair my chamber had been furnished with.
After obtaining that freedom, I gathered up some supplies and set out toward
our home, though I can’t be too sure of its direction as it’s been years since I
was even able to walk through the forest, much less navigate without the old
landmarks. While I can’t be sure that and of this will ever reach your eyes,
these letters will likely be more for my own sanity than to tell of my
adventures. If you do see them it will probably be from my own hand in which
case I’ll be able to relate the story in person.
Your sister Algoma
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