Mama, Papa and Lon,
More than two weeks have passed since I left the Welkwood for Enstad. I’d hoped by now I would have returned with good news – that my pledge to the knights of Luna had been accepted and I would now begin my training in earnest. As it was, I never got to make my pledge.
I did meet with Sariel in Enstad together with a friend of hers, Tykoris. We were walking together when first the mist began to swirl around our ankles. Soon it was a choking fog, and stumbling together through it we found ourselves in what we now understand to be Barovia.
It is far away, and I do not know if I shall ever be able to return to Celene.
Mama, I have found good friends. The mists that encircle this world and took me from Oerth also brought many others from worlds I can only dream of. I’ve listened eagerly to the stories of their homes – dry deserts where trees do not grow and great cities with spires. There is an elven grove here in Barovia. It is within a forest that feels as much like home as I could hope for in this land. It sits on a river the locals call ‘Luna’, which felt to me like a sign from Elhenestra that I should stay and make this my home.
Papa, I’ve had to improve my bow skills swiftly. It hasn’t been enough acting as scout and calling out the shots – I’ve had to fight at close quarters and I am proud to say I’ve become quite good at it. Without you here it has been more difficult, but I think I have cracked the secret of how to imbue my arrows with the arcane, as you did. You shared my dream of following you into the Knights of Luna. That will not be possible, I’m afraid, but I do believe that we are doing the right thing.
Lon. Keep practicing. You have a good eye and you’ll soon be a far better archer than I.
I love you.
Uluvathae,
Your daughter, your sister.
Mylandarial.
The small elf would put down her quill and roll the parchment around an arrow, then, dropping a blob of sealing wax to it and slicking the hot wax with her thumb to seal the parchment against the arrow’s shaft. Silently then, she would scale the cliff behind the Vistani’s wagon and turn towards the clearing where the mist hung thick. With trembling fingers she’d nock the arrow into her longbow and draw back the bowstring. With tears starting to well at the corners of her eyes the fingers of her right hand would snap straight – the arrow loosing at once and disappearing into the mist.
