Hastily-scribbled letter

(This note is stashed up in the webs of an out-of-the-way room, awaiting another adventurer on another day. Folded in half, the outside reads…)

If found, please deliver me to Rapak Burnwater, Top Shelf Spirits and Review, Timisova.

(WIthin, the letter begins.)

Dear Pops,

Hey and hello. I hope this letter finds you in good health. How are the girls? Tressa giving you too much trouble? Take it easy, and don’t hit up the chalk tabs too much…the healers say relaxing is better for your gut, and doesn’t leave you straining on the old bucket.

If this letter finds you, and you haven’t heard from me, I’m dead. Yeah, dead. I’m friggin dead. As of this writing, I’m still optimistic about our chances, but I’d be (there are several words attempted and scribbled out, before one is written in using Oliander’s flowing script.) “remiss” if I we died in a hole, and I didn’t take the chance to tell you WE DIED IN A FUCKING HOLE. I died in a hole, dad. Hope that was part of the learning experience you wanted me to get, out here in the world.

As it stands, I fully intend to haunt you. Whoever found this letter prolly had to put me down as a zombie (betcha I was a handful) so when you see me in your dreams, please note the state of rot. I’ll try to stink extra hard for you.

All that aside, I had a few things left to say. One, I always knew you were my real dad. Even as a little kid, I was not stupid…Mom didn’t hit up a bunch of other places, and our people weren’t allowed in as customers, you know? I don’t know why you decided to keep it a “secret”, but it never mattered to me. You were a great father, and I appreciate you stepping up.

Except for this last bit. I’m going to ruin every night of sleep you get for the rest of your life, if this goes south, pops.

Here’s a poem, to express how I feel.

I don’t want to croak
While still picking the spiders
Out of Ollie’s hair

Hastily-scribbled letter

Core Abersade Abersade