[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Gjbmibi.png[/img]
[color=lightsteelblue]NPC used:[/color] [url=https://roses-and-daggers.fandom.com/wiki/Count_Gustav_Hansen]Count Gustav Hansen from Varian Kingdom[/url][/center]

[i][color=LightSteelBlue]Dear “Gorgeous” Gustav,

Apologies, my friend. It’s been at least a month since I’ve written, and I know how you enjoy these little missives. For me to make a Count as “prestigious” as you wait for such things should surely be a crime. How dare I keep you on the edge of your seat wondering when my next letter will arrive. But maybe a little patience could do you good, G. 

I jest, but I do hope you know that I have wanted to write, and that you have been on my mind quite a few times lately. Especially this last week. You see, things are very different these days, my friend. So much so that I fear you will think me a liar by the end of this letter. But you know me, and I only lie when I’m paid to. Though I am damn good at it, aren't I?

The truth though, is that my life looks nothing like it did last we spoke. For starters, my mother passed away. I know when I was there with you last year I told you I was going home to visit her, but I never did. I ended up taking another contract before I could even leave Stravinsky. A man just outside of Elso was trying to find the people that took his wife. Turned out to be a real shit show. As unlike me as it is, I even had to reach out for a little help on this one. The woman wasn’t just taken, she was one of thirteen that had been grabbed off the streets for some fucked up trafficking operation that ended up having ties to the Ruvani family. You may have heard about it. We saved nine. The others, we just weren’t quick enough. 

I could’ve gone back home then, spent a little time with my mother. She had been writing less often. I could tell she was getting worse. I should have gone, but I didn’t. Gustav, I couldn’t. Another job came my way and I told myself I had to do it. I told myself that [i]no one could get it done like me[/i]. I wrote her a letter saying I would visit soon, that I just needed to clear one more job.

I should have gone home.

That contract had me on the front lines of a trade dispute gone bad between a couple merchant cunts that both pulled together enough sellswords to topple a kingdom. So much blood spilled in the names of those elitist dicks (no offense) that by the end I just wanted to go home, G. 

The more I climbed the ladder, the less the Wolves felt like home to me. They wanted me to lead, but I was already losing my love for it. There’s more to that story, but I’ll save that for another day. I’m rambling enough as it is. 

When that letter came in telling me that she was gone, I didn’t even cry. Not at first. Something just broke. It still is, I think. Doesn’t feel real if I’m being honest. Especially now. Things feel more like a fever dream than they ever have. Turns out in my own way I’m an elitist dick just like you and those merchants. My mother’s revealed the truth about my father. I think I told you the story she had spun me when I was young. Well, she left out a few key details. This, G, this is the part where you’re gonna think I’m lying. 

I’m in Sorian visiting my father. He’s a Count just like you, buddy. You’re officially reading the words of Calbert Damien’s bastard son. Yeah, THE Calbert Damien. I have every confidence that you know that name. I told you, you’re sitting right there swearing to yourself that I must be lying. Part of me, though I don’t know why, wishes I was lying. However, this is my new reality. 

Here I am, moments away from getting dressed for a fucking masquerade. I bet you’re smiling at the thought. I bet you’re picturing how incredible I would look all done up in clothing fit for nobility. You’re probably even drooling at the thought of how good my ass looks in these tailored pants. You’re not wrong, it looks absolutely perfect. 

I miss you G.

Somehow, I feel like things would make more sense if you were here. But more than anything, I wish I could drink a fucking barrel of that mead you had last year. Don’t get me wrong, this Caesonian wine is special, but that mead was the nectar of the gods themselves. Imagine you and I taking the dance floor together. Me in this ever so dramatic wolf mask that the good Count himself had commissioned jussssst for little ol’ me, and you in…whatever pretentious, sexy bullshit you would certainly show up in. We’d undoubtedly be the talk of Sorian. But, alas my friend, you’re in that frozen shitbag Svenborg, and I’m here eating grapes and tasting all the beauty that an actual civilized place has to offer. Guess I’ll just have to find another way to take this place by storm. You know I will...I always do. 

Write me back you beautiful bitch. 

Send mead,
[indent]Cassius “Damien” Vael[/indent][/color][/i]