A note is returned; a red-eyed raven scrabbles at an evening window, sawing out a cacophony in announcement as it drops a silver tube of no orcish make clattering to the ground. The silver is dented and scorched, but recognizable as Noldorin in origin. Its task done, the sooty bird retreats.
“My Dear Lefthander;
I am returning this capsule that we liberated from one of Aegnor’s envoys, who unfortunately no longer able to give it to you in person. Originally, it contained a request for aid and troops from your allies in Ladros— but as they no longer require your assistance, I will make use of this convenient device instead.
Your fortress is redoubtable indeed. Truly, you have the soul of an architect. Better you should have built your cities in Aman, where they would endure longer, and receive higher praise for their artistry than the soldiers bound to die in this cleverly wrought fortress of yours will ever give it.
In this you may be certain: I -shall- enjoy the view for as long as I can, before every stone and timber are razed to the ground, and your blood waters the foundations. My memory will be longer lived than either fortress or architect— that immortality is my gift to you.
-In Perpetuity,
Thû “
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