Last Friday I posted a writing prompt to put together a letter from your character either TO someone on the front, or back home to someone that wasn’t there.
Before you read these that I’ve got (which are part of an ongoing letter exchange between Aely and Loreli), you should go read this letter from Ringo Flinthammer to his little boy (and, in a way, to his wife).
Rather than post a new prompt, I thought I’d stick with this one (and let people get a little more time to think about it and write responses). And so – two letters. One from Loreli, who lives pretty much full-time in Stormwind, and a return letter from Aely. These were both written last week, before Aely had a chance to really “get back from” the main push, though now that the Deathbringer has been dealt with and the Verdict is, yet again, pushing onwards and upwards in search of another foothold for an attack, she’s spending less time in camp and more time back in Dalaran again (much to her relief).
The letter is written in a slightly flowing script, it gets sloppy towards the end as if the writer was in a hurry.
I have started this letter five times, at least. It seems no greeting is appropriate for what you all must be enduring up there. While the initial purpose of this letter may seem trifling, if I cannot say ‘thank you’ in person for some time, and it seems I can’t; then perhaps, at least a letter can maybe mean to you, what your kind gesture meant to me. So, thank you.
I can’t help but feel that I should be up there too. Yet, I understand that my part in this war appears to be over and some are required to burn the torch at home. How are you holding up? I’ve spent enough time on the front lines, myself, to know that the rumors we get here in the city are often times an exaggeration of the truth. The problem comes in figuring out which direction they are exaggerated in. I know Arrens knows this, but it seems to help to remind him.
He’s taking your absence as well as could be expected. He misses you, though. He puts a good face on it, but I notice when he thinks no one’s looking.
I shall probably debate over actually sending this for another hour or so, but if you found yourself smiling even once, then it was worth it.
Take care of yourself.
The handwriting in this letter is somewhat archaic, and its writer appears to be having some difficulty with her pen.
There is no one way to fight any war – all of us here wouldn’t and couldn’t be doing what we are without the support of others. And there is no one role that defines fighting – the Lich King would have us fear, and fall into despair. Our ability to overcome that, frequently with the aid of those away from the front, is likely the greatest weapon we can have. Paralyzing fear is an almost certain cause of failure, and there is very little hope to come by.
Little – but there is hope. I have seen acts of bravery, compassion, and of redemption. Saurfang has his son again, and he is no longer held under the sway of the Lich King. And, if we are to believe our own ears, Bolvar Fordragon may yet live – tortured and yet still resisting the depths of death. I dare not think what we may find farther in.
I hope you don’t have too very many exaggerated rumors flying – though I’ll do my best to quell any that you send my way. It’s been some time since I was on the fields as a battle healer, but now it seems I am to do so in two major fronts this year. With any luck, this will go more smoothly than Angra’thar. Still, in this position, I’ve seen or been near to the majority of things that might end up as rumors, and if nothing else, I can ask my fellow officers.
I do miss Arrens quite a lot, and – oddly – don’t find myself shying away from saying it. I had an afternoon’s leave yesterday to Dalaran, and it could not have been more needed. This first push has been brutal, and full of atrocities. Seeing him, speaking with him, knowing that what I have witnessed can stay within these saronite walls does a lot for my resolve, not to mention my ability to press forward. Hope is such a fragile thing, sometimes, but I find it in him.
Letters are always welcome, even if it means struggling with thawing out an inkwell and then accidentally boiling your ink.
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