The Font of a Killer

[Shade]

To my favorite madman:

Dearest, darkest demon-elf. Do you miss me? I'm certain you haven't forgotten me. Have you? Now, that would be a shame. Yet with all of your constant entangling in the affairs of those you assume the control of, your expansive mind might perhaps have found room to forget an old friend.

I am ...unlive. And well, even. As always on my ventures, learning new, reforming old. The details aren't important. Besides, would I ever return to you without something new to flaunt? Returning, however, is highly questionable now.

Sad, yes, but I believe my public time is ending. Perhaps I will die in shadow someday. Wouldn't you love to hold the dagger, I imagine. But alas, it would not be you to force me into oblivion, or even into hiding. The world is changing, and I forsee changes in our magical excistences; humanity, the breeding lot of rabbits they have become, have by far outnumbered us. They have become violent, and dangerous. I do not fear my own life, persay, but I grow weary to think of the constant battles to come. Perhaps it is time to end my petty ambitions anyway; I have come to realize over the centuries that sheer brute force does not sway hearts. Fear does not control for long - as we will see, fear will only lead to future destruction. One piece of the game you always controlled that I never possessed was the ability to lead behind closed doors. Dirty and twisted a piece it may be, but you hold the cards of everyone I ever came in contact with of recent years, and for that you should perhaps be commended.

Do not despair, as I have no doubts you will. Any correspondence returned with tear-stained sheafs will be promptly ignored. Who knows, perhaps in the future I will return simply to end your pesky exisentence, you pompous grey-haired rat. Or, perhaps I will return to embrace you (with my arms, not my canines) before my death. The forementioned would be prefereable.

Seek not my face, for you would not find it.

Skyler

[Tyralor]

Skyler;

I rest assured, that the discovery of this will cause you little difficulty. I know little of your whereabouts, but I remain confident, you are wise enough to seek the occassional location such as this to discern if there is a reply awaiting you.

I know your curiousity yet. I assure you, that one such as yourself, striding so forcefully about, and pushing even one such as I, so firmly up against counters, is not the sort of individual that I am inclined to forget so callously, nor easily.

Your time in public has terminated long ago. Scant words at large, bring any recollection of you forth now. You have diminished shadow. Diminished, but not yet entirely forgotten. All of us will live on, in one fashion or another. Nestled deep in the subconscious of those that come after us, if naught else.

Numbers are what matter now. the power of the mob is one of the most powerful tools that any may employ, though it as often turns against its creator, as it turns against those it sought. It is best, sometimes, to be forgotten. To be unknown and in the shadows. This I know. That you have learnt perhaps. I do yet, seek to understand what brought forth this correspondance at all. It seems unlike you.

I have married.

Tyralor McDougal.