Personal and Confidential

[Wendy]

A message arrived at the Broken Dagger. It was given to the tavern's barkeep, plainly sealed in strictest confidence, addressed "Proprietor," with no mark or insignia to indicate who had sent it. The courier would wait at the tavern for the intended's return correspondence.

Myrken Wood
Tuesday morning, April 23rd

Dear Molly O'Neill,

It is with a troubled heart that I pen this informal letter. At the time of our sale, The Broken Dagger was in good standing and, since then, you have witnessed the impeccable work of my staff and my self. It is my prayer that this has been a pleasurable undertaking on your part; however, I must speak with you privately regarding the future of the establishment. I fear this letter may not reach you in time. We should meet just as soon.

Respectfully,
Raegan Darkblayde Cassiel

[jacktim]

The rather lanky man stood next to the bar, facing out the doorway. Many thing s had occurred in the past while, too many to mention, and now he still lay in wait instead of helping the others. The last words of the lady Cassiel echoed in his ears, the orders not to return without an answer. He brushed some of the dirt off of his black overcoat, and leaned against the edge of the counter.

Here he had been a few days, and he was beginning to get rather impatient, and worried. Two days and not even a verbal response from the workers of the tavern. Had the letter been received? Or did they throw it out? Either way the time taken for the response was beginning to take too long for his tastes.

He turned back to the bar looking for one of the employees to help him, "Excuse me? Can you please see if Lady O'Neill has prepared the response?" He called out, perhaps if they were in the back they would hear his deep voice. And still the dark clothed courier stood, His head seemed to linger but a small foot below the lowest rafters. His heavily featured face glancing about the room wondering when the next travesty would strike.

[Hope]

What the messanger will recieve is this: A rather tall, balding man of gruff appearance wearing an apron tied about his waist. The cook was summoned from the kitchen and was even now eyeing the lanky male before him.

"Were wonderin' when someone would both'ah ta come pick i'up."

He was stooping, reaching beneath the bar to pull out a wax sealed letter -the wax embossed with a tree of celtic knotwork. With this delivered he would turn to stew pots and roasting meats unless the errand boy had further need of him.

As for the note --

Raegan Darkblayde Cassiel,

I assure you that the tavern is still in good standings and has been quite lovingly taken care of by my staff and myself. If you care to meet, I am easily found enough at the tavern. As it is, I am unable to travel with the arrival of my first born child but these couple of months past.

Molly O'Neill

[jacktim]

Albeit, his last form of employ was basically the same, delivering "messages" for his employers. Although last time it was with a sword or mace, and wasn't received as politely. And his usual returned responses were "retrieved" articles, removed limbs, a bill for his job, or a "found" person. He was beginning to hope that perhaps this "light work" would be the end of his mercenary days, a nice subtle retirement from the hellacious day-to-day that he was part of.

He made his way back to House Cassiel and knocked at the door, awaiting his current employer's people to come usher the letter away.

[Wendy]

Arrangements were made to pay the attendant for several days of waiting, and the letter was taken to the lady of the house.

Molly O'Neill's reply was given to Raegan; however, she chose to hide it away until she could read it by herself. The sealed letter remained in the drawer of a console table within the foyer until deep in the night.

When the hour for privacy reached summit, Raegan left her bed. She moved calmly, quietly, in order to maintain the essential sound of her husband's dormancy.

Down the stairs, she cautiously stepped, until her feet met the floor of the antechamber. The hall windows were lean and tall, furnishing the small room with a supply of white moonlight.

Raegan found the letter where she'd left it, and pried the wax to release the contents of the message. Tapered fingertips traced the manner of Molly's handwriting before she read it.

Raegan could understand the attitude portrayed by the words in the note. Having known the position in her past, she could relate to the woman's protective stand.

Turning the paper, she looked to be sure there was nothing else written. Clearly, no reply was required. The letter assured Raegan well enough that she could meet with the woman proprietor, at any time, within the tavern itself.

Sated by the communication, Raegan moved from the foyer into the first of parlors. A small fire persisted in the hearth. Raegan placed the letter on its flames and watched until the entire page was crippled by flame and had turned black.

All was quiet. Nothing shifted in the dark. Serene light continued to stream through the front windows of the manor. Within this peaceful circumstance, Raegan moved up the stairs to be in bed again.