Marcellus stepped into the dimly lit tavern, the atmosphere thick with the mingling scents of ale, wood smoke, and the hearty stew bubbling over a hearth.
He took a moment to scan the room, always mindful of his surroundings, before heading to an unoccupied table in a secluded corner. The murmurs of conversation filled the air, but they all became background noise as Marcellus settled into his thoughts.
He signalled for the barmaid, who approached with a weary smile. "What'll it be?"
"Malt, please," he responded, counting out a single copper coin from his purse and placing it on the table.
The barmaid nodded and soon returned with a tankard filled to the brim with frothy malt.
He could smell the earthy grains even before he took a sip. It was simple but satisfying. The stronger spirits on the menu were certainly tempting, but their prices were far too steep for his planned budget.
Taking a small sip from the tankard, Marcellus felt the malt's sweetness course through him, its modest warmth acting as a temporary salve to the morning's tensions. He pushed the drink aside and took from his satchel the freshly acquired writing equipment: parchment, inkwell, and quill.
Unfurling the parchment on the table, he hesitated for just a moment. What he was about to do—committing thoughts to paper—was a far cry from the secret, dreamlike conversations he'd been having with Adin. This was something tangible, a link to reality, and he felt the weight of that as he dipped the quill into the ink.
Carefully, he began to write, his script neat but hurried, as though afraid the words might escape him if not quickly captured.
"Adin,
I hope this letter finds you well. I've found myself in a precarious situation that requires us to accelerate our plans to meet. There's a matter of utmost importance that we need to discuss regarding the ritual we were involved in.
Meet me at the agreed-upon location. I will be there when you so choose hence.
I am stuck in Mythralis please write to me, in case you do not know where that is, it is a small island by Anglia kingdom.
Marcellus"
The ink on the parchment seemed to darken as it dried, each word carrying the weight of the unspoken secrets and anxieties that connected him to Adin.
He then took a small piece of wax, melted it over the flame of a nearby candle, and sealed the letter. With the flick of his wrist, he used a small signet he'd also purchased to press into the wax, creating an improvised but hopefully sufficient seal.
The quill was returned to its inkwell, the parchment was carefully folded and stored in a pocket close to his heart.
Back when he was at Drunkard's Haven the owner had him write all sorts of letters.
He took one final sip of his malt, relishing its simple sweetness as a contrast to the complex web of circumstances he found himself entangled in.
With a nod to the barmaid and a final glance around the room, Marcellus left the tavern.
Navigating the cobblestone streets, Marcellus soon found himself outside a modest but busy establishment, the Courier's Nest, known for its delivery services. A hanging wooden sign depicted a carrier pigeon with a scroll in its beak, and he pushed open the door to enter.
Inside, the place was a beehive of activity: clerks hunched over desks littered with papers, errand boys dashing in and out, and a large coop filled with carrier pigeons occupying one corner of the room. Marcellus approached the counter, and a middle-aged clerk looked up from his ledger.
"Good day, sir. How may I assist you?" The clerk's gaze landed on the folded parchment Marcellus held.
"I wish to send this letter via bird," Marcellus stated, placing the sealed parchment on the counter. "It's urgent and needs to be secure."
The clerk nodded, "Birds are the fastest and most secure means we have. That would be 80 copper coins." Marcellus counted out the coins from his purse and handed them over. But then, a realization struck him.
"I don't have the exact address, but I know the family name," he said cautiously.
"That complicates things," the clerk sighed, "but for an additional 20 copper coins, we can consult our ledger for noble households. You can then select where to send the letter."
Marcellus hesitated for a moment but knew it was essential. He counted another 20 coppers and slid them across the counter. The clerk pulled out a hefty tome and flipped through it before presenting it to Marcellus.
"Here is the list of nobles. Find your family name."
Marcellus' eyes skimmed the list and noticed several names spelled similarly to "Adin." His heart sank; he hadn't anticipated this complexity. There were 13 Adins, Aidens, Aydens, Aodhans, and so on around his age in the kingdom of Anglia.
His finger traced the line of the name spelt as "Adin," it felt right, but what if he was wrong? Four were spelt "Aiden," two as "Ayden," four as "Aodhan," one more as "Ayden," and another as "Aidyn." Any one of them could be the correct person.
Making a decision, he turned to the clerk. "I have to send it to these 13 households. It's crucial."
The clerk raised an eyebrow. "Thirteen? That will cost you a fair bit."
Marcellus took a deep breath. It was expensive but necessary. "Do it. How much will it be?"
The clerk did a quick calculation. "That would be 1,300 coppers in total, including the individual charges and the fee for using the nobles' ledger."
Marcellus counted out the coins, reducing his funds substantially but leaving him with 11,469 coppers. He watched as the clerk made notations and prepared 13 identical parcels, free of charge the letter contents were duplicated.
"Very well, these will be sent out immediately," the clerk said, securing the last of the parchments and signalling for an errand boy to carry them to the coop.
As he left the Courier's Nest, Marcellus couldn't help but feel the gravity of what he'd just done. The letter would scatter like seeds on the wind, and only time would tell which, if any, would take root.