HLoM: Correspondence

[Isabella]

To my friend Cerise Rondelet,

I wish I could write to you in less haste. I find myself writing to others, and would feel myself an unworthy friend if I did not write you as well. Thierri would no doubt pass on my regards, as I have written to him in some length - indeed, the particulars of his letter are why I count myself short on time! - but I thought I should also write to you, as I had a question for your expertise. I am embarrassed to ask you a favor with such a poorly written missive - I do intend to make amends later, with a more thoughtfully considered account.

Upon my arrival in Hazlan, I was treated to the rare sight of living and breathing hellhounds, straight from a myth, and a man who did claim them as pets! They were thin, wolf-like creatures, with gold-red fur and blazing eyes, and I did indeed see one breathe fire from its mouth. You can imagine my pleasure - yet this was marred somewhat by an adverse reaction they seemed to have. At first I thought it to be toward my feline companion, but upon some rather tense examination, I do believe it to have been toward myself. I cannot imagine what could have caused this specific hostility, as it did not seem as adverse to my other companions. I had thought perhaps it might have been my faith, but one of my companions is an Anchorite, and it did not seem so perturbed by his presence. He did sit close to me, so I cannot say for certain it was not so.

I know you are well-versed in such creatures, and had hoped perhaps you knew of another explanation.

I wish you and those you love health and happiness,
Richard Blackwood

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Hi Rich!

You are lucky! Ever since the Mage’s Coup, all the supernatural here seems to have gone elsewhere. I haven’t spotted anything unnatural since. I haven’t even managed to find one vampire, although Thierri did give me a jar of leeches. I guess all the pale people really are just in makeup? You wonder if the supernatural knows something we don’t, really. I’ve been getting some weird crystal readings, and the paper keeps reporting all sorts of unrest.

Anyway, I am really jealous of you right now. Maybe I’ll find my way over there someday. I’d wanted to work over in Nova Vaasa, but you hear bad things about the Clinic for the Mentally Distressed these days.

Thanks for writing, by the way. I knew you were okay from my geomancy stones, but it’s always good to hear from you. As for your question, it’s kind of a muddy issue. You only really have “hellhounds” on the coasts, in Mordent and in Hazlan. You call them Grims or Black Dogs or Fenhounds over in Mordent. Anyway, the reason it’s muddy is because the stories all get mixed up with those of the Wolfwood, and Harmonian bards start spreading around songs that have werewolves and both East and West Hellhounds all mashed together. Plus, it’s hard to be certain of any particulars when people freak out and run from any evil-looking dog-like thing. But, one thing I’m pretty sure the hellhounds have in common is dominion over the dead. They’re supposed to keep the dead in the Underworld and the living out of it, except when they put the living into it. Usually people who see them have a death in the family or die soon, but if these guys were pets that’s probably not it. Do you think portents of doom are something that can be bred out of an animal?

In Hazlan they’re supposed to be associated with the infernal, but it is pretty odd they wouldn’t react to the Anchorite either. I’d suggest sprinkling your companion with water to make sure he’s not really a simulacrum imposter. If that’s not it, my best guess is that Mordent has a lot of ghosts, and the hounds can “smell” your homeland on you. Or, there’s a ghost following you around. Maybe some of the skulls at St. Madeleine's decided to tag along. You might want to get that checked out.

Hope that helped! By the way, can you do me a favor and write “7508e” on your next letter, just under the address? It’s a sacred code to ward off Tipep, the minor demon lord of lost socks and missing missives. I’d write a number on mine, but I don’t know enough about the ley lines of Hazlan to work out the numerology.

Cerise

PS. If you ever find a stray hellhound I will take it. Mr. Asmodeus needs a playmate. For some reason the cats won’t ever go near him.

I just asked Prof. Petrik about hellhounds and she sniffed and said “HA!” in a really loud voice. I’m not really sure what that means.

[NeoTiamat]

August 4th, 772

Jarenberg
Hazlan

Dear Vasya,

...And so I find myself once more in this primordial abyss, this dark and noisome forest known to the world as the Village of Volkadav, and of course, the estate of Baron Mihailov von Zarovich, to the extent that the world knows of it at all. In other words, my childhood home, to which I have devoted so much time and energy towards escaping.

...I was a thoroughly feral child, I think. My brother Pavel died when I was five, of fever, and Arkady was gone not two years later, attacked and killed by wolves. My mother died not long afterwards, and so I was left alone in this rambling, decrepit estate. Father paid me little heed, and the few servants who stayed on in the Manor were little sure of what to do with me or with him. The peasants say that the house grew haunted, darkened with such tragedy, or that perhaps some black curse of our tainted blood brought this blight down on us. If so, I wonder why I survived...

...I take up my letter writing again after dinner, which was as excruciating an event as memory tells. I fair choked on the dust. Aside from my father, the Manor has but two servants, an elderly cook Maria, and her young niece Anna, who does all things necessary. A single peasant girl, however keen, cannot hope to combat the entropy of this immiserated place. Father asked me a few perfunctory questions about my efforts in Gundarak, and else was silent. Perhaps I should have mentioned my near death at the hands of the Gundarakite killer, to shock him to wakefulness. Though I fear that it would lead only to a further quiet fatalism, and that I could not stand. I would scream, and the Von Zaroviches do not scream...

...It is now the following morning. Ushka, at least, is enjoying herself with the local woods, though I remain worried that she will encounter some badger or wolverine or wolf inclined to help himself to a russet-furred hors d'oeuvre. Spirit of earth and wood she may be, but she is also a fox...

...I must thank you for Gleam's book, at least. It's a singularly curious work, and one that is helping me keep a modicum of sanity in this place. Though in truth, you seem more an expert on his work than he is...

Sincerely,
Lena
Volkadav
Barovia

[DeepShadow of FoS]

September 5th, 772

Lena
Volkadav
Barovia

Dear Lena,

In matters of family homes and disappointing fathers, we seem well matched. I fear my father will never be fully convinced that the madness of my childhood has disappeared. He hears psychosis when I speak of the abstract, and mania when I speak of my interests. When I confine myself to the concrete and uninteresting, he calls it witlessness. I have altogether given up trying to prove myself to him....

...you have been so open about your childhood, I feel I must reciprocate. As you have already ascertained, I have a special familiarity with Gleam's work, and I must warn you, my expertise is anything but academic. I've enclosed some the work of Max Gesplern, a member of the Van Richten Society who specialized in Gleam's bogeymen...

I apologize for such a roundabout introduction to the subject of my personal expertise, but I'm sure you can understand my honesty has not always been recognized. In fact, that's the heart of the problem: I developed a bad reputation as a child. It started when my nanny was struck down by sudden illness in 759, and in my grief I re-imagined her as a playmate. My parents, unused to dealing with a five-year-old's demands, found my stories unappealing and morbid, and punished me for speaking ill of the dead. As I developed a reputation for being bad, I drew the attention of the Scissorman.

I suppose I was one of the lucky ones, if that's even possible. The Scissorman's games normally end in death, but after a week of torture, he left my life and took my tongue. I don't remember much about this period even now--my mind collapsed under the strain. All the evidence pointed to self-mutilation, and my horrified parents shut me away in the house, in preparation for quietly sending me to an asylum. They were on the verge of shipping me away in the middle of the night, when to everyone’s astonishment, my nanny reappeared.

It was not the same woman; her hair was darker, her eyes were lighter, her skin had a faint purple tinge, and most importantly, she had my summoner's mark over her heart. She was my masterpiece, my first and greatest summoning. She convinced my parents that I needed more than mere institutionalization, and after a whirlwind tour of the greatest alienists of the Core, I came here to Hazlan, where my tongue was healed and my talents were recognized. Here my mind was finally healed by time, and my soul was reborn on the slopes of the Jarenberg. I changed her into a lynx, but she retains her name, memory and personality. She's still my magnum opus, but she prefers to say that we created each other.

I was going to write about other things, but I find they have fled my mind. I have never told anyone as much about my childhood as I have now told you. I fear that if I don't send this letter now, I will lose my courage and replace it with something trite and trivial. Write back to tell me I'm a fool, if you must, but please write me. I must know that you know my story, and then we can talk of better things again.

Sincerely,

Vasya
Jarenberg
Hazlan

[DeepShadow of FoS]

March 26th, 775 BC

Sophia Boritskya
Joint Account Holder
Account B74764

Beloved Sister,

If you are reading this letter, it means that you've accepted the invitation of Gyrkin of Silvermark, in Bergovitsa, to review your role as joint account holder. This letter was left attached to the account with instructions to deliver only to you; future letters will likewise be delivered to Gyrkin to hold in trust until you arrive to accept them. This will ensure our privacy. I know you have an even more secure means of communication, but as you know, my ring makes that a dicey prospect at best.

I was glad to hear you are still well employed at the Horznick Estate. It sounds like they are kind and compassionate employers--a rare enough thing anywhere! But then, I might expect the middle class might remember what it was like in poverty, and find it in themselves to be sympathetic. The aristocracy can feel pangs of sensitivity, but I fear they are incapable of genuine sympathy, as you have learned all too recently. But let's accept where you are at the moment, and concentrate on improving things. I wasn't able to put much money in your account, but the type of account is what's important--it's insured through BTC, so it's transferable between countries where the Boritsi do business. There are several opportunities for employment on this side of the border, when you tire of your employer's magnanimity.

I'm sorry for the deception we have to play on the Horznick family, but now that your employer has taken an interest in the demise of Leila Pomaar, we can at least keep this short. There are four things they will have to gather before you can end the nightmares and conclude the "haunting" with some kind of happy ending:

--Have them figure out whether there was a real epidemic in the community when Leila died. My parents speak of it, but I don't recall anyone else who died that year.
--The hospice where she was treated keeps records I cannot access. Find out her actual symptoms, and whether they were consistent with the disease they were supposed to be treating.
--The service where Leila was recruited had several other girls her age who were her confidantes, including a woman named Mika who was her best friend. I need their contact information.
--You will need them to get a piece of her corpse. If after you have ferreted out the other clues, they want to exhume the body and test for poison, allow them to do so, but retain a small piece, even a lock of hair you can send to me. I must confirm some of this information for myself.

Naturally, you will need to keep your story vague until you acquire the details you need. Don't be biased by my suspicions: until you find evidence of foul play, don't speak of it. Just say that she doesn't rest easy. Even after evidence is found, don't commit to anything you don't have to.

Naturally, you will have to keep this letter safe. Only read it in the Silvermark building, then return it to their care. If you suspect others will gain access to it, you must burn it immediately. Getting you your place in the family will not be easy, but I believe it can be done, and justice be done at the same time for Leila Pomaar. Once we have enough evidence, we will confront father for his crimes, and demand restitution. Until then, take care of little Gunnar, and tell him uncle Vaya loves him.

Your Loving Brother,
V

[NeoTiamat]

October 12th, 772

Jarenberg
Hazlan

Dear Vasya,

I received your letter, which made for some morbid late-night readings in the manor-house, were the howling wind and ice insufficient. I expect to be stuck here until spring, now that the first snows are falling. I will make this simple. I do not think you a fool, or mad, or anything else.

There is a tendency, certainly in Dementlieu and the rest of the West, and I imagine in Hazlan as well, to treat magic as though it were one of the scientific arts. To a great extent I agree with this. In so doing, we derive laws and principles, we gain knowledge, we advance ourselves. But while the scholars and researchers of my alma mater do much to render magic bloodless and cold, I am a Von Zarovich, and I know there are still curses and dark things waiting in the corners of our world, whistling and whispering in the shadows.

Perhaps I am a superstitious girl, but I have seen the distant lights on Mt. Baratok, and I have seen the cards of the Vistani foretell accidents both dark and bright. I have heard the wolves howl on the darkest nights, and I have heard human voices raised up to join them. Many in my country will not go abroad after dark, and though I am a modern woman, educated in the shining lights of Dementlieu, I bar and shutter my window when the wind sweeps down from the Balinoks. I believe you.

One day, I think, I will meet you. I am only some thirty or so miles from the Hazlani border and Vestrdyrr, and Jarenberg is not so very much more distant. This will not happen for a time though. Currently we are snowed in, and were it not for the trained birds I bought in Immol you would have no messages of me till the spring. And when that occurs, I will be off to Kartakass.

An old friend of mine that shares your name was in just before the first snowfall. Lord Vasili von Holtz, a friend of the family, and the man who let me travel to Dementlieu. He is in his forties or so, I think, and both erudite and pleasing to the feminine eye, but more relevantly he is a servant of the Count. There is need for a diplomat in Skald to handle some matter of agreement over livestock, and so I shall be there in the coming summer...

Sincerely,
Lena
Volkadav
Barovia

[Isabella]

To my friend Mme. Celeste Viardot,

Your errand was quite an interesting one, as the Hazlani do not have cuffs, or often in the case of the Mulani, sleeves. Nonetheless, I encountered a jeweler who — once the concept of the commission had been explained to him — was willing to alter a pair of rings to a newfound purpose. I have enclosed them with this letter, and hope they will reach you safely. With luck the gold settings will suffer no ill from the trip, and I believe the turquoise will go splendidly with your husband’s rather striking eyes.

I am pleased to hear the dress pleases you - I am more pleased still to hear it reached you without delay. It had weighed greatly upon my mind that something might happen to it, for having travelled the same path it would travel, I have gained a great appreciation for the distance. I greatly hope this letter will likewise find the same good fortune, and that your husband will be as pleased with my taste in fashion as you have been.

Upon the subject of correspondence, you have both my understanding and sympathies. Ezra knows the road has proved a poor place for proper letters - when it comes to the subject of children, I can only think your challenge to be ten-fold to mine. I remember what trouble I was to parents, tutors, and governess when I was younger, even with four doting sisters to try and reign me in! Your two seem to me much better mannered than I ever was, but your fortitude in this endeavor is remarkable. Yet it occurs to me I might offer more than my admiration to your efforts. I have, upon the road, returned some small tidbits and souvenirs to my young nieces, which Alice reports has helped to cheer them when they are restless, at least for a time. I know not what interests your young ones hold, but should I happen upon something that might delight them, I shall endeavor to send it back to you.

My fondest wishes to you and Thierri,
Richard Blackwood

[NeoTiamat]

June 21, 774

Dear Vasili,

I arrived this morning in Vestrdyrr and have made contact with my Jarenberg and Isfahani ‘handlers’, of whom I will write more later. I have already procured a present for you, which I am sending back in the care of Ms. Jacqueline Montarri – one Mulani cultist. You’ll find him a little slimy around the edges but perfectly serviceable otherwise.

Pursuant to my instructions, I’ve examined the Helholt and the senior members of House Thott. The key members are:

• Søren Thott, a louche rake of a man, but one who cares deeply for his House. Cousin of the Landsherr, had been in line for the position till Yarek’s birth.
• Landsyf Helja yf-Fangtor Thott, an initiate of the White Academy, currently with child to the Landsherr, and likely the most level-headed of the Thotts.
• Landsherr Yarek Thott, a youth elevated to his position far before he was ready for it, who wishes to do well but is overwhelmed with the dignities and responsibilities of his House.

Exceeding my instructions somewhat, I have also secured the Thotts for the Jarenberg-Isfahani cause. Events unfolded rather swiftly. Yarek Thott, in his youth, was lured into a peculiar Mulani heresy known as the Slaves of Iblis – a cult emphasizing debauchery and hedonism. Unfortunately for him, the Iron Inquisition had picked up the cult’s trail, and was closing in with full force.

Søren Thott secured my aid by promising House Thott’s alliance in exchange for preserving his House’s good name. The initial plan was to send Yarek into Barovia, putting him out of the Inquisition’s reach, but events fell out differently. While certain of my Jarenberg companions delayed the Inquisition, I, Søren, and some others destroyed the cult and extracted Yarek. The leader of the cult was slain by Yarek’s hand, and other members of the cult are being hunted down as I write. Both Søren and Yarek, who is greatly shamed by his brief flirtation with damnation (the Slaves are not a harmless cult), swore that they would not forget Barovia’s aid. The Inquisition has been led to believe that a lesser cult, the Penitents of Yutow, was involved in the Helholt, though I do not know how long this deception will last.

Gratitude being well-known for its long life, I have secured one bit of insurance of which the Thotts are not aware of. His name is Horst Veddraksen, and he is a Mulani, I believe a wizard, and a senior cultist of the Slaves of Iblis, one of the few to know Yarek’s real identity in the cult. With his cult smashed, the Inquisition on his heels, and the Thotts having marked him as one of the few people who must be killed for their House’s name, it was simple enough to persuade him of Barovia’s hospitality. He is making his way to Barovia in Montarri’s company at this present moment.

Veddraksen should be collected as soon as he crosses the border, and sequestered away. If the Thotts prove recalcitrant, he may be used as leverage to re-secure their allegiance, and if they prove loyal, he may serve as a present to them at some latter date. As a Slave of Iblis, he is a thoroughly noxious individual, though I did offer an element of mercy in exchange for his naming names of other Slaves – I recommend this offer be maintained. I also recommend that Montarri be suitably recompensed for her troubles, as she has proven useful in the past and may be so again in the future.

Weather is lovely, and a Barovian team won the boat race to celebrate Midsummer here – I conveyed to them my regards from the Count. There were some Vistani here, including an aged raunie calling herself Madam Eva. The fireworks were also quite grand, aside from the intervention of an undead shadow, on which more in tomorrow’s report. Ushka is enjoying herself, though is confused by the smell of the local hellhounds.

Sincerely,
Elena

[Nathan of the FoS]

Universality White Obedience, Year of the Alzabo
Soraya Warrowdine to Anja yf-Karrssen Kovacs

Dearest Anja,

You will never guess who I spent the solstice festivities with! NO NEVER, so I must say at once it was CATTIA YF-FALSSEN JARENBERG, who I must say seems to have profited from her time in the East, as she did not once venture to pick her teeth with one of those things, you know the daggers with the inside-out blades that the Jarenberg take such pride in (even the WOMEN, some of them, which is surely contrary to the NATURAL ORDER, but I digress.)

She told me the most bone-chilling thing, my dear, positively gruesome--that her husband has returned from the grave and HAUNTS HER!!! and I can attest that there may be something in it, because when I spoke to her in Vestrdyrr (she was with the most outrageous people, a Barovia Countess Von Zarovich who was positively furry and wore her fox like a cape and a sort of half-idiot Borcan who lives underground six months of the year or something, or should, you have never seen such PALLOR and his grin! was not nice, tho Renhalt seems to treat him like an equal or close to it, I suppose his family is notable in Borca? but I digress AGAIN) as I was saying, when I spoke to her I felt something. Not a presence, exactly, but a CHILL. EVERY TIME SHE SPOKE OF HIM.

AND. What is more! The idiot Borcan said, without contradiction (!!!) that she had said she feared that poor Ranulf BLAMED HER for what had happened! Have you heard the like! Why, my dear, it was positively a confession, the poor creature must be wracked with guilt about SOMETHING, and still waters run deep, who could possibly imagine a JARENBERG suffering pangs of CONSCIENCE over anything less than MURDER! OF HER NEW-WEDDED HUSBAND.

But I know you won't breath a word of such things, after all it is only my bones and the word of an imbecile that attest to it.

I got you the cinnamon you wanted, four pounds of the best...