Dear Landylyn MagDelphire,

I hope this letter finds you well and swiftly, as I would hate to leave you without company in your thoughts of inadequacy. I’m still finding myself in glee over my expected triumph over your most brutish technique from our sword mastery exam. I mean, with fingers like cabers, it is no surprise you lack the finesse to wield the blade like a true duelist. Grace, after all, is a Ceveran’s domain. And to venture more into that subject, I do hope your integration with the worm-ticklers is going splendidly; it suits you. I on the other hand have been getting quite satisfied with prospects of asserting headship as I tame the Sea of Triumph, which by providence, suits me!

I understand that the lettered world may be a touch too complicated for your thick cranium to grasp, but write back soon. Or rather– have someone with a deft hand to do it for you because well… caber fingers, remember? I would love to know just how much better I am fairing!

Sincerely (and triumphantly), 

Iplyn Delaford

24th of Alyrnyryx, 1588

Dear Iplyn Delaford,

Hi. I’m writing back because I received your letter. I appreciate you taking the time out of your day to write to me. I did not know you were still thinking of me. Your advice is generous, maybe I can learn a thing or two from you.

I’m over in Nohkovo now to finish the shock trooper instruction with a good bunch of kunehva.  Most of these folk were from the Brestock countryside back home, so they are a very good with their hands already they picked up working with bombs quite quickly. So far no one has lost fingers and its very hot and wet. I have seen many a strange beast out here in the jungle. One what the nohkovoans call “Neeveets.” They are very colorful and have sharp teeth. One was blue. Speaking of blue, I hope your enjoying the triumph. I crossed over it on the way here by sail.

Sincerely,

Landylyn MagDelphire

5th of Ovori, 1588

Dear Landylyn MagDelphire,

From the bottom of my heart, your grammar and handwriting is horrendous. If you are still in practice with those explosives, do my eyes a favor and hold a bomb until the fuse runs out. That letter was an affront to our beautiful language, and as such I’ve made corrections in minium and returned it to you.

As for your silly remark in the first paragraph: I have indeed found you in my thoughts. Not a day has passed where I haven’t relished in the thought of how your flat kunehva face looked the day I defeated you in the sword mastery exam duel. I find it difficult to believe that there’s any defeat more humbling than yours, and I must say, It’s quite merry knowing that you’ve finally understood your place as a brute: Beneath me!

Back here In the more civilized world, I still remain in Calixo. My training went by rather uneventfully, as I have surpassed much expectation. Originally my duty was to be that of an officer of The Marine, but, due to my unsurprising exemplary performance, I’ve been advanced and placed at the helm of a pikeship. I find that the only thing that elates me more than earning this elegant vessel is the even more elegant crew of exclusively Ceveran! The admiralty have made note that being in close proximity to kunehva can cause a change of weather for me, so the ship has been aptly modified for Ceveran usage. I suppose you can’t put a price on superior aptitude can you?

Well, I should be off to my voyages throughout the Triumph. When you’re done wriggling through the mud, try not to slobber on the next letter you write to me.

Sincerely,

Captain Iplyn Delaford

39th of Ovori, 1588

Attached Letter

Dear, Captain Iplyn Delaford

Thank you for writing back the corrections, they were very helpful. And congratulations on the promotion! Your lads will be in good hands, no doubt. However, I did not know that you are allergic to Kunehva? That would explain the sneezing fits around Cloff and Grecks. Is that why you had to wear a mask around them?. Ah, the memories return, folk kept asking if you’d caught the plague, and I’d always joke “which one!?”. Very funny, that. Can’t imagine you cooped up on a boat for months filled with those fuzzy boys. You’d be a sight, ken?

I’ve completed my training and have been assigned to His Majesty’s 17th Storm Brigade “Rendyl”. The lads are in high spirits with Shavvard Delavixi about. A fine man, that one. He kind of looks like you. Folk say that Shavvard hasn’t lost a swordfight, but I’ve had a drink with him, (since I’m a Captain now, mind), and he’s told me “I’ve lost many sword fights so I can win many battles.” Wow. That has stuck with me. Fine man.

Six thousand lot of us will be sent out to join the rest of the boys in the canal in a fortnight. I drew a neeveet. —>

Sincerely,

Captain Landylyn MagDelphire.

40th of Joldyrf, 1588

Dear Captain Landylyn MagDelphire,

You see, Dear, as horrid as your penmanship is, I very much preferred it as respite from hearing your silly, made-up accent. Now you’ve taken to confusing me in writing. How smashing.

I suppose you can say that my pristine biology rejects the fur of the “agricultural” variety. That said, it is not “funny” and it is a topic you shall not bring up again. We may be of the same rank, but you will not trivialize a Ceveran’s decency.

And a polite reminder to know your place and address our Lord Commander of The Region properly next time. Regardless of what fable you wish to spin about some imagined kinship, a simple drink does not warrant you the right to abandon what fleeting social etiquette you may possess! I am pleased however, that even someone of your dull bearing could revel in the presence of the very man most responsible for Qoth’s glory. It would behoove you to treat his word as that of the gods.

As for my own news: I’m pleased to tell you that I’ve been decorated with the Navy’s Lighthouse Medal. Why you may ask? Well, allow me to instill a bit of envy in you. Two leagues off the coast of Gnokk, we encountered capricious waters. During, the boom struck the antlers of one of my marines and knocked him overboard. Of course the dogman tossed a line, but the blockhead chose to doff his breastplate rather than be dragged out of a moist grave. So, I took it upon myself to discard my cover and coat and jump in to save the poor sod! Of course, the dullard practically tried to drown me, but I’m always quicker in a fight as you’ve come to find in our Sword Mastery Exam Duel. Once we were both hauled up, I politely lectured him on proper deck safety and shedded him for his own good. His sheds are held up on the deck as a reminder for everyone else to respect Lurkmote’s wrath. Ultimately though, it was more important that a life was saved, and the admiralty seemed to agree.

Well, enough tales of my gallantry. I find myself quite interested in your wallowing. Do write back soon.

Sincerely,

Captain Iplyn Delaford

P.S. I examined your little “scribble” of this so-called “neeveet”. That thing is hideous.

33rd of Mevelon, 1588

Dear, Captain Iplyn Delaford

I apologize for the mistake of improperly addressing the Lord Commander in my letter. You were right, so yesterday I had another drink with him and gave him a proper apology. He seemed a wee bit confused at first but he was okay with it! Guess the gods can look the other way from time to time.

Ah, you’re a guardian angel to your boys, lassie. I admire that you threw yourself in like that. That is the mark of a true leader and you earned that medal fair and square. And the sheds, haha. He won’t be forgetting that!

We’re in the canal right now, and it has been quite the march. I haven’t seen any Sorya yet, but their long range rockets have been quite a sight. They hit far up to the front lines,  so all we get is a nice wee whistle and pop, with some pretty lights. Though I was told the other night one went astray and landed somewhere in the tree line nearby, though it didn’t wake me. I slept like a drunkard, I was so tired. Those lads on the front lines must be giving the Five Fangs a proper clobbering. No danger to any of my boys so I’m happy, but on the march here, one of the spools of mainspring fell out of the winding cart! We all hit the deck but by Rendyl’s grace it didn’t unspool. We all shared a nervous laugh and thankfully no one was hurt aside from a twisted ankle from one of the Nokovoan allies. I gave him my seat on the crank and we made damn sure the cart’s gate was right sturdy.

I’ve been keeping everyone’s spirits high by singing many songs from back home. The boys seem to like it, even the jumpy ones who’ve been quite some time. The surgeons say they’ve got something called canal fever. I think it might be from bug bites or the climate. Hard to say.

Anyway, we’ll be set to march for the front tomorrow. Stay dry, lass.

Sincerely,

Captain Landylyn MagDelphire

37th of Gyrmud, 1588

Dear Captain Landylyn MagDelphire,

“Lassie?” Are you serious? You will address me as “Captain Iplyn Delaford.” Not this ”LaSsiE” dialect that your smelly barbaric ancestors concocted from loudly slapping some mud in a soggy bog. It’s actually astounding that you would be this disrespectful to one descended from your conquerors. Shame on you.

And now you surrender your seat to those of lower station? How am I not surprised? Since you’re feeling so charitable, peradventure you can trade them your steel-toes in exchange for some grubby sandals to slip and slide in!

Well, back here in the civilized world, patrols have been quite the bore. We’ve been told of dangers of Kualassic infiltrators treading our waters, but I don’t recall a single confirmed sighting of those wet-nosed bastards. Word of mouth says they have their grimy claws up in Gortogen, smuggling explosives for those primitive, pickaxe flappers. I suppose it’s always a possibility, so I will continue to exercise diligence —despite my eagerness for more fulfilling prospects.

Oh, and to speak of fulfillment, my kin has made me quite the proud Delaford today. My handsome baby brother, Ikogard Delaford, has made a grand debut in his first crank race. I normally don’t think much of the circus, but I made sure to provide him with my support. The plays were tacky as usual, but the executions were quite a fine showing. I recall last year the automata took more than a couple messy blows to remove a criminal’s head, but this time the blades cut much cleaner.

Then of course came the main event. Compared to what I remember in my youth, it seems the cranks have gotten dangerously fast. To see my dear Iko out there representing our dynasty brought a tear to my eye; he commanded that crank with such grace and bravado. Almost like how I commanded your fat carcass in our Sword Mastery Exam Duel. He managed to place 4th in the finish. That’s quite the accomplishment and I made sure he knew that. I suppose it’s in our nature to surpass expectations!

Sincerely,

Captain Iplyn Delaford

15th of Centusyk, 1588

Dear Captain Lassie,

Cheers for writing back so soon! I’ve noticed the express seal. That must have cost a snazzy star, ken?

Congratulations are in order for Iko! Fine showing the lad did, maybe if he can keep his limbs on his body, peradventure I could watch him race one day. I’m glad you showed him that support though, you’re a wee bit stern (naval joke) but you do care, lass!

Not sure that I agree with the executions though. I mean, hang a lad and be done with it; the growing pageantry behind mutilating helpless bastards gives me the boak. Maybe that’s just me.

Down here in the Shainuran countryside, I’d had my fill of danger. Together, the 2nd Warband and 17th stand massive, but a massive snail at that. We take extreme care to avoid getting caught breeches down by the Five Fangs. They all have better night sight than us, so we need to have a strong camp established right and early before eventide. With hundreds of cranks this is a slog.

As we press forward, my boys and I have been tasked in supporting the scouts of the 2nd. The scouts ride up in demi-cranks, while we trail behind in a few Vinderhassis, ready to unleash a storm of metal should we hear them bitching about more Fangs. You’d think sitting in these large cranks could be cozy, but try being cooped up with 20 sweaty kunehva lads, and the shot-up, sun-rotted forecastle seems lovely.

Just today, the scouts showed us this footpath of tall brush and cane we were meaning to widen for the cranks. So I thought, perfect, time for the saw-crank. Nae. Saw blade won’t turn. Fucking funny shite rust bucket. It took us the whole day to cut through a hundred odd meters of cane. In full harness, mind you, with the chance that a string-snout can pop out from the brush and blast you in the face at any moment. And lassie, it gets better.

I found myself in a clearing and took a nice hit to my helm from a Sorya sharpshooter. How did I ken it was a Sorya? I couldn’t see the bastard! Ha ha! He must have threaded the shot through a field of tall cane to get me. One scout near me took a blow to the leg and had to be carried back. Didn’t see much but remembered his leg flop loose like a fish. In response, the Vinderhassis returned the wrath of Rendyl, and managed to kill zero Sorya. But we did make short work of the brush! I’m wondering why we didn’t just shoot out a path to begin with.

The Fangs are too yellow to meet us on the battlefield, so they plan to stop us by turning everything into a bloody game of grab-arse. Scouts aren’t happy, but the rest of the brigade’s mostly untouched. Happy to find out that the dent in my helm is not in some poor grunt’s eye hole.

Oh, and as it turns out, wearing sandals down here might seem the right idea. Jungle water sloshing around in your boots for days is very annoying. Feet are gubbed. Anyway, hope things are uneventful on your end, Captain Lassie.

Sincerely,

Captain Landylyn MagDelphire

40th of Centusyk, 1588