There came a time, early in the morning, that a lad in the livery of one of the local postal houses would come to the office of the Constables. He had in his hands a small wooden box, a thing that was tied closed with ribbon the colour of freshly spilled blood, the tassels of which were made of thread of gold. The lad half trembled when it came out of his satchel. It wasn't something he wished to carry long, and he hoped that the Governor was in residence so he could hand it over. The sender had said that it was for his hands only.
There was no denying that the small box came from another land, for it was etched with symbols depicting horses running through fields. Footed in silver, the wood was dark mahogany so the feet looked particularly brilliant, with hinges that looked... looked like they were made from mithril! The scrollwork seemed to be painted with gold, so they stood out. All in all, it was a particularly marvelous piece.
Within it, if the Governor would be so inclined to accept, and then open the parcel, was a letter that was once again bound with crimson threading. It was a piece of cream-coloured parchment folded inwards against itself, and sealed with dark green wax. The sigil upon it was the seal of Almark. It was up to the Constable-Governor to open it now. Or send it away. The boy would wait for either option.
