Dearest Sister
I write you with the most sincerest hope that this letter finds you safe and comfortable; I can't help but picture you reading this from our the old cabin we called home: the one your father built alongside the lake all those years ago. I can't honestly tell if I am pinning this letter as a last will of sorts or simply an excuse to reach out to you in what I feel may be my final days. Believe it or not my father, the one mother only spoke of in hushed curses and psychotic tirades, has recently sent me an official letter acknowledging my claim to the old De La Porte estate I told you of in stories when we were children. As I write this note I sit among a chariot that winds along the Old Road I briefly recall from my childhood; its serpentine path winding me ever closer to the inheritance that is perhaps my last true chance at salvation. But I swear to you sister, as sure as my name is Dismas, something horrible clings to the very air around me-the colorful cobblestones and vibrant trees I remember from my childhood having twisted into something foreign and sinister that seems to follow the very carriage I ride within. I believe I have finally just arrived within BlackBirch as the rider has just stopped his pair of mad horses; therefore I must bid you farewell dear sister.
Sincerely, your forever loving brother, Dismas.
Seemingly satisfied with the letter the man who had spent the better part of half his life robbing and killing the innocent travelers along roads much similiar to the one he traveled upon now dropped the old piece of parchment he wrote upon into an envelope-quickly he sealed the letter in an official manner; a few drops of candle wax from the lantern within his wooden carriage and a press of the signet ring on his finger being all it took to officialy declare to the world that this envelope did indeed belong to Dismas Delaporte.
After sealing the letter he swung open the old carriage door open, eager to both stretch his legs and take in the new Hamlet he would be calling home he was needless to say somewhat dissapointed as his eyes caught the sight that was the pathetic handful of buildings that made up the small settlement of BlackBirch. Looming in the distance high on a hill he could make out what he remembered as his childhood home.
"Hey you!" Dismas snapped in a growl at the half mad driver of the carriage; the wrinkled old man looking rather offended that someone had indeed had the gaul to talk to him. "Take this to the post as soon as you get back to the city. Allright?" The old man opened his toothless mouth to protest angrily but Dismas quickly shoved two gold coins in his hand. "Allright?" he said again, although much more forcefully.
The added grit wasn't needed though; the two shiny pieces of currency being more then enough for the old driver to happily snatch up both the sealed letter and coins. With a silent nod and gumless grin he snapped the reigns, dissapearing from sight-before he left though his voice cackled out into the night "Sure thing paly! Ill deliver your last will for ya!"
For some reason the words echoed within Dismas's mind-quickly he thought he just needed a drink though...just nerves getting on him. Afterall he was always looking over his shoulder for the law-the eerie chill in the air had only made him feel more paranoid then normal. Quickly he double checked for what seemed like the eighth time to make sure both his pistols and dagger were at the ready.
As he heard the wagon tear off out of sight Dismas took in a deep breathe, letting his eyes take in the small settlement once more his hardened gaze finally fell upon the old, somewhat large, stone building that had a small sign hanging out front that read "The Twiglight Tavern."
He didn't waste time and quickly cut his way across the black muck covered street; seriously determined to ease his mind with a stiff glass of cheap ale, even more so though was his desire to simply get indoors. The way the surrounding forest was gazing at him in what felt like a hungry longing made him extremely glad as he crossed through the doorway that lead inside the tavern; even his thuggish face found it hard not to crack a smile at the sudden feeling of warmth and comfort.
His heavy, and now rather dirty, boots scrapped against the smooth wooden floor as he made his way inside; quickly he noticed how there was an abundance of tables and chairs “snuggly” packed within the tavern. Despite the impressively chaotic seating arrangement inside as far as Dismas could see the place looked completely abandoned save for one of the largest men he had ever seen; the giant turban wearing man cleaning a rather dirty looking mug from behind the long black table top that had made up the bar just on the left of Dismas when he had entered.
As he sauntered his way over to the bar he noticed the set of wooden stairs that lead to a second floor, perhaps thats where all the other patrons were he thought? Taking a seat atop one of the safer looking bar stools he gave the bartender a silent nod while doing his best to make himself comfortable-he double checked to make sure his ratty gray scarf was pulled down, for as of late he'd gotten in the bad habit of leaving his “mask” on. Luckily he felt the old tattered cloth wrapped inconspicuously around his neck instead of pulled up over the better part of his face
“Sure could use a drink.”
I write you with the most sincerest hope that this letter finds you safe and comfortable; I can't help but picture you reading this from our the old cabin we called home: the one your father built alongside the lake all those years ago. I can't honestly tell if I am pinning this letter as a last will of sorts or simply an excuse to reach out to you in what I feel may be my final days. Believe it or not my father, the one mother only spoke of in hushed curses and psychotic tirades, has recently sent me an official letter acknowledging my claim to the old De La Porte estate I told you of in stories when we were children. As I write this note I sit among a chariot that winds along the Old Road I briefly recall from my childhood; its serpentine path winding me ever closer to the inheritance that is perhaps my last true chance at salvation. But I swear to you sister, as sure as my name is Dismas, something horrible clings to the very air around me-the colorful cobblestones and vibrant trees I remember from my childhood having twisted into something foreign and sinister that seems to follow the very carriage I ride within. I believe I have finally just arrived within BlackBirch as the rider has just stopped his pair of mad horses; therefore I must bid you farewell dear sister.
Sincerely, your forever loving brother, Dismas.
Seemingly satisfied with the letter the man who had spent the better part of half his life robbing and killing the innocent travelers along roads much similiar to the one he traveled upon now dropped the old piece of parchment he wrote upon into an envelope-quickly he sealed the letter in an official manner; a few drops of candle wax from the lantern within his wooden carriage and a press of the signet ring on his finger being all it took to officialy declare to the world that this envelope did indeed belong to Dismas Delaporte.
After sealing the letter he swung open the old carriage door open, eager to both stretch his legs and take in the new Hamlet he would be calling home he was needless to say somewhat dissapointed as his eyes caught the sight that was the pathetic handful of buildings that made up the small settlement of BlackBirch. Looming in the distance high on a hill he could make out what he remembered as his childhood home.
"Hey you!" Dismas snapped in a growl at the half mad driver of the carriage; the wrinkled old man looking rather offended that someone had indeed had the gaul to talk to him. "Take this to the post as soon as you get back to the city. Allright?" The old man opened his toothless mouth to protest angrily but Dismas quickly shoved two gold coins in his hand. "Allright?" he said again, although much more forcefully.
The added grit wasn't needed though; the two shiny pieces of currency being more then enough for the old driver to happily snatch up both the sealed letter and coins. With a silent nod and gumless grin he snapped the reigns, dissapearing from sight-before he left though his voice cackled out into the night "Sure thing paly! Ill deliver your last will for ya!"
For some reason the words echoed within Dismas's mind-quickly he thought he just needed a drink though...just nerves getting on him. Afterall he was always looking over his shoulder for the law-the eerie chill in the air had only made him feel more paranoid then normal. Quickly he double checked for what seemed like the eighth time to make sure both his pistols and dagger were at the ready.
As he heard the wagon tear off out of sight Dismas took in a deep breathe, letting his eyes take in the small settlement once more his hardened gaze finally fell upon the old, somewhat large, stone building that had a small sign hanging out front that read "The Twiglight Tavern."
He didn't waste time and quickly cut his way across the black muck covered street; seriously determined to ease his mind with a stiff glass of cheap ale, even more so though was his desire to simply get indoors. The way the surrounding forest was gazing at him in what felt like a hungry longing made him extremely glad as he crossed through the doorway that lead inside the tavern; even his thuggish face found it hard not to crack a smile at the sudden feeling of warmth and comfort.
His heavy, and now rather dirty, boots scrapped against the smooth wooden floor as he made his way inside; quickly he noticed how there was an abundance of tables and chairs “snuggly” packed within the tavern. Despite the impressively chaotic seating arrangement inside as far as Dismas could see the place looked completely abandoned save for one of the largest men he had ever seen; the giant turban wearing man cleaning a rather dirty looking mug from behind the long black table top that had made up the bar just on the left of Dismas when he had entered.
As he sauntered his way over to the bar he noticed the set of wooden stairs that lead to a second floor, perhaps thats where all the other patrons were he thought? Taking a seat atop one of the safer looking bar stools he gave the bartender a silent nod while doing his best to make himself comfortable-he double checked to make sure his ratty gray scarf was pulled down, for as of late he'd gotten in the bad habit of leaving his “mask” on. Luckily he felt the old tattered cloth wrapped inconspicuously around his neck instead of pulled up over the better part of his face
“Sure could use a drink.”
