Written on the letterhead in the common tongue:
To whoso ever reads this missive:
A broken seal is a broken law. The contents therein are the correspondence of the devout and stalwart order of Tyr’s Hand. Unauthorized interception, study, translation, reproduction, or repetition of the contents of this missive constitutes a breach of security and a breach of lawful code, which constitutes a forfeiture of the infractor’s life. May Tyr’s justice be swift…for your sake.
Written in the cypher of Tyr’s Hand:
Dear General Loekr:
I hope this message finds you well and as high in Tyr’s favor as ever you were.
I realize that it has not been long since my first message to you. Indeed, it is unlikely that that my first message has reached you, let alone my subsequent ones. As such, I am not surprised I’ve not yet heard from you. But I write to you to further plead for haste in the matter of the order of the Waning Moon.
As news of the attack on the Scar has reached my ears, surely it has reached yours. Please add this to the evidence I have already presented for the existence of the Waning Moon. Surely there can no longer be any doubt that our dreaded enemy, Fenrir, is on the rise. I have no reliable information as to the Waning Moon’s true numbers, but their treachery and influence can be felt at every stop in my travels.
I have interrogated a young criminal who has said he was hired by the Shalecrack Clan to make it clear that the dwarves are not associated with the Waning Moon. I believe him. Of course, the hire of such a person for such a task is itself evidence to the contrary, as is the plans I and my companions discovered in Dvergfell for the construction of the Waning Moon’s stronghold.
I will see what other information I can glean from the prisoner once he regains consciousness. As of yet I have not relieved him of his mortal burden. As of yet.
I recommend the full might of Tyr’s Hand acts now General, before our enemy gains a foothold. I cannot stress this enough. As you know, General, I am a soldier, not an intelligence officer, but none can doubt the threat that looms.
I await your orders.
In the meantime, I shall continue to gather information and thwart the efforts of the enemy with my present companions. They are a quizzical lot and their quirks and peeves are equal sources of mirth and annoyance, but they have acquitted themselves well in battle, General, even the worshiper of the negligent Father. Once I have reached the Citadel, I would like to nominate them for civilian commendations. Not that these commendations will mean much to them. Which reminds me. There has been an addition to our party. A kender, if you can believe it. How he has survived so long in his fearless state is beyond me. How do any of them? But damned if he can’t strum a lute.
On an even more personal note, my sleep has been far from restful as of late. I am plagued by short nightmares that are difficult to explain. It’s not so much a vision, but a sensation. A sensation of being crushed and suffocated and burnt. I imagine that this is how my people…my parents felt when the Jotun laid waste to my home when I was a boy. Now, as then, I survive. Tyr willing, I shall continue to do so. but it’s gotten so that I no longer look forward to rest. Luckily I have my duties to keep me active. Sigrún (or Sigorn. The whole party continues to be puzzled as to the true pronunciation of her name) seems to be restless as well. Perhaps she suffers from the same dreams. I’m not on well enough terms with her to confide in her or expect her to confide in me.
By Tyr’s Hand, justice is mine,
Sgt. Klintr Rekrsson