The #Broken_Dagger Forum

A small package was delivered to the Meetinghouse, addressed to Rhaena Olwak. Within a wrap of fishmonger's parchment, there were three stacked books: The Basics of Addition and Subtraction, Sparil's Handbook of Mathematical Formulas, and a battered copy of On Mathymatics and Fractions. On the top of all of them, a letter.

Mna. Olwak,

I thought it best to return your books as I will no longer be taking my lessons with you, I do not like being put on display as a fool for your humor.

Might that you shoult find someone else to use them, perhaps Elliot Brown, as it apears he is quite within your good graces.

What the Greatlady did is unforgivible, yes. And I beleave you are not so different than her,

Sincerely,
Glour'eya Wynsee

I find myself quite disappointed in your decision, Gloria.

She'd come back to her room in the Broken Dagger to find it virtually empty; there had been a girl staying there, and the wood still reeked of her curious potion-making and the smoke from the long-burnt agents of chemistry. But the strained ropes of the other bed had been emptied of sheets and bedding-tick; all that remained was the seamstress' belongings, her sack of scrap fabric, and her meager belongings.

And this, a letter delivered to her from Rhaena Olwak.

She read it. She read it again, and a third time. She hammered the tip of her wooden clog over and over into the stocky leg of the bedframe until her toes begged her to stop. It might have been a reasonable courtesy to reply, but she'd no words in her that might merit such etiquette. Instead, the seamstress found the valuable Razasan fabric brought back for a governor's lady's dress, and though she poised the tip of a mirror-shard knife to shred it, rend it to ribbons, she paused--

...who else would have done the right thing and spoken on behalf of such a monster?

Who was she to speak of right things; who was she to give praise for composure?

She gathered her scant belongings and left her bed in the Broken Dagger to be filled by the next patron. There were other places she could sleep -- Cherny's small abode, perhaps, or Darkenhold.

The letter was kept. But she spent her remaining few shillings for the delivery of another package to Rhaena Olwak -- the brilliant fabric that should have long ago become a commissioned dress, but was left still folded, unharmed, and intact.

Tucked inside it, a note:

Find another seamstress.