Letters from the Frozen Sea

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Letters from the Frozen Sea Empty Letters from the Frozen Sea

Post by Rinoi on Sat Nov 15, 2014 2:35 am

Letters from the Frozen Sea OSy4AeZ

A series of letters written by Rinoi whilst she was sailing aboard the
trade brigantine Viridis, bound for the Frozen Seas around Northrend.

Tarlin Hawthorne

The Veridis
at sea
Monday, 12th October

Dear Tarlin,

As promised I write to you. A rare moment of respite has granted me to sit by candlelight, my eyes barely open. Forgive me if I sound confused or if my writing is hard to make out. My hand is about as gracious as an elekk right now. With the lightweight crew aboard the Veridis everyone has to more than carry their weight. Despite being the sailing master, the crew is tight-knit and not very concerned with hierarchy. On a ship this small, I suppose there is little room for it either. The captain eats with the crew, with whom he has served for years. Indeed, I know some of them as well, and I am happy to say I fit in. As sailing master, however, I cannot just stand back and bark commands. I haul my weight on the ropes like any other. Just today I had to dive below the waterline to examine the hull after concerns that we passed too near a reef. Fortunately no permanent damage was done- just some scrapes. Even so many years after the Cataclysm, the finer details of obscure seas are as big a mystery as any.

I miss you, Tarlin. The snoring of sailors, the sway of the wave and the salt air that permeates everything is not unknown to me- but it's not the same as it was. I fear you made me soft. Longing for the comfort of my worgen pillow, not a cold, bare hammock. Leaving still stings. By the Light, the simple life here still has some appeal to be sure. Like returning to your hometown, if it were made of wood and canvas and hardly the size of a single house. But I wonder how long I can keep running back to this home. I still need to think. About me, about the future and what I saw and found in the Caverns of time. Perhaps about us.

But it is unfair of me to leash you. As much as we joked, you are not a dog and I am not a queen. Tell me how life has been. Did your wounds recover? How is Stumpy? Is he still trying to redecorate the walls of the Pig by running into them? Do you go to visit Henry now and then? I hope he'll not try to swim back to me. And how is the Band? Any new adventures in sight?

I do not know when this letter reaches you. The first port we will likely reach is a trading post off the southern coast of the Borean Tundra called Ome'pe. We call it the 'Whale Rock' due to a geyser atop its singular hill. Mostly Tuskarr live there. Kind people, but hard to understand a word they manage to grunt past their tusks. I do not know their diligence regarding correspondence, but I hope this reaches you in safety.

Much love,


Tamil Rodericson

The Veridis
at sea
Monday, 12th October

Dear Tamil,

You must be surprised to see a letter bearing my name. I have been a dreadful friend to you and I aim to make amends. Or at least explain. It is a shame it has taken this long and so much distance to make me write it.

I recently left aboard Veridis, a charming, tiny brigantine. Its captain, an old serviceman and merchant took me on as sailing master. We are undercrewed, so work is hard and I scarcely have had a moment of rest. As I write this, huddled in a blanket by the candlelight sleep presses on me demandingly. But I will persevere. I miss my friends. But I haven't yet explained why I left. It was an attack of conscience and the press of destiny. I wasn't sure where to take my life, the Band, Tarlin- or whether my father has been right about me. He has always judged my choices harshly- yet I cannot help but wonder if he is right. I sought refuge in the only place I knew; the sea. Like a floating home. The salt air, creaking wood and the tumbling waves are as known to me as any house I lived in ever was.

I left word to the Band and discussed it with Tarlin- but foolishly I forgot to tell you. As I said, I am a poor friend. And it is here, now, close to Northrend on a trading mission to an obscure rock in the sea called One'pe (we call it Whale's Rock due to its geyser) that I find the time to write.

It is selfish of me to write this letter. A plea to clear my conscience. Out in the cold and with infinite work in managing the craft, my tired mind in scarce free moments wanders to the things I cared about most from my life in Stormwind. It's enlightening to see what those things are. I've been such a fool to ignore you. I had not seen you in a long while, but when my mind wandered, I remembered you. In many ways you reminded me of my own time in the army, and I've always seen great potential in you. And I found in you a good-hearted soldier and person whom I should have endeavoured to befriend more.

You have every right to ignore this letter from an estranged friend, but when, and if this letter reaches you (I don't know when we next make landfall- or how diligent the Tuskarr are when it comes to forwarding correspondance)… Tell me about you. Just anything, about your life, or your favourite recipe. What makes Tamil tick. And how are the Shields? How is the commander? How are you -and- the commander? A cold, tired soul off the coast of Northrend longs to hear from you.

Yours faithfully,

Rinoi Du'nai

Arenfel Serentyne

Original, 12th of October

The Veridis
at sea
Monday, 12th October

Dear Arenfel,

It surprises me I am writing this letter. You command infinite respect and arcane power, and I debated on addressing you as Archmage Serentyne. However, you've been most kind to me and I trust you will take my informality as respect. No doubt you have countless, world-defining issues to debate. Or you are reviving the trend of wearing boldly coloured slackpants. I hope hearing from me is not a nuisance, but a kind distraction. After all, receiving a letter is always a thrill, and I hope this holds true even for a century old archmage.

Light- I do ramble. My day has been a busy one, and I am writing this with a hand as numb as an elekk and weights trying to pull my eyelids down. I sail aboard the Veridis towards One'pe, a Tuskarr trading post off the coast of Northrend. The weather is abysmal, and due to the harsh wind we strayed to close to a reef. Despite my rank as sailing master, I was ordered to check below the water line to see if the hull had been pierced. Fortunately it wasn't so- but a swim in the arctic waters is never pleasant. So let that explain my rambling and poor hand, however sad an excuse it is for a sailor.

Although I endeavour to keep my swordmanship up- and especially seeking to master the magical traits of Nautus, it's hard to find any spare time. The boat is undercrewed by far, and there is noone to spar with either. Not proper sparring. I regret that I never once implored you to train with me. Perhaps one day, when I return. In the mean time, I discovered that Nautus seems to respond differently to this cold climate. Or perhaps to my changed mood. The sword is icecold to the touch. There are no rushing waves when it moves-  but sooner the crackling of ice. It still responds to what little command I have of it, summoning waves or bubbles. I have attempted to use it to summon ice-spikes too now. Like my counterpart did, in the Caverns.

The Caverns of Time. I must admit it shook me deeply. Seeing myself and seeing you, so dreadfully different- yet similar. A world where Tarlin died- and nearly did again by the hands of myself. Time is a powerful thing. Amongst the ruins of the dead time-drake I found a copy of my shield. It was different. Different markings, different names engraved upon it. Attached to it hung a pouch carrying two rings. Wedding rings. Gold and iron- although the iron had rusted terribly.I digress, my question is. How likely are these alternate timelines?

I will not shell you with too many more questions. But out here, in the cold sea, isolated yet with scarcely any privacy my mind wanders to wishes and regrets. I hope this letter reaches you in safety and that you can find the time to reply. Tell me of life, tell me how the Wandering Wizard fares. A word from friends is gold here.

Yours faithfully,

Rinoi Du'nai.

Reply, 17th of October

Dear Rinoi,

I thank you for dispensing with the honourifics. In my profession you often come across the sycophantic, and the false, the power I command brings with it a host of flies in human form; trying to parastically feed off of all that I have achieved. To be called by my name, which is so often forgotten amidst the frantic calls of "Archmage", is warming to say the least.

Nautus is an oddity among the weapons I have forged. It was the first to be born after my shameful period of indolence, and it was blank; any and all alterations birthed from its slippery silver blade will be a result of your own mental metamorphasis.

You asked about the timelines... I am sorry that I cannot offer you much solace regarding this, and that any sacharrine lies are likely to make the truth much harder, should you hear it, but they are all possible. It is, though by a hairline, possible that the future we saw was our own.

Time is fluent. Ever changing. There are alternate lines where I am most likely deceased after living out a normal humans life as a knight, or perhaps I still live ten thousand years from now as an archdemon; there are lines where I am female; you are a male; Tarlin is no worgen but a human professor of astral magic; and there are timelines where we have never met.

The danger of chronomancy is that it provides false hope to the depressed. It offers a silver lining. We are told that there are other timelines where our lives have been beautiful, and pleasurable, but they are not ours. Those alternate worlds have their own versions of ourselves, who are intrinsicly linked to them, and I believe firmly that we cannot take our place. We should attempt to amend our own world for those around us.

Another communication will follow shortly, but as I was late in writing this up, I felt like I should send it ahead to you by messenger swan. Do not worry, it is conjured. It does not feel the cold.

Arenfel Serentyne

Tocha Du'nai

The Veridis
at sea
20 October

Dear father,

This is a letter I have written and rewritten many times. The purser Mr. Poinscrible even went as far to warn me of my use of the paper stock. That is a worry you at least never presented me with. Despite our differences, and my rejectment of your attempts at reconcilliation  - material pettiness was never a concern. I digress. Father, you no doubt know it already, but I sail aboard the brigantine Veridis. Resupplying and trading with Tuskarr whalers in the Frozen Sea. These seas are treacherous and cold. The mists and icebergs make it an exhausting task to sail- but all goes well. It has given me the time to reconsider life. And I realise you have been the centerpoint of it, for better or worse. I have both hated and loved you, father. Indeed. I loved you, when I was a small girl. Your little lobster, you called me. I looked forward to every moment you came to shore. Reading me battle reports by the candlelight, with voices. However damned inappropriate that might have been. But seeing you, and hearing your voice perhaps once every six months was not enough. Bear with me as I field my accusations;

You were hardly there for me. I learned more about you from the caretakers you gave me, than from real interaction with you. Whenever I made any friend, you 'took care' of them, leaving me without any connections. You sent spies to look after me. You sent goons to beat up my lovers. Insulted my friends and allies to their- and to my face. All because you want to protect your 'little lobster' from the world. You cannot be surprised that I am insulted, father. This lobster can pinch for herself. I can fight and defend myself. I can make friends and judge them myself. I am strong and fierce, fighting on frontline after frontline. I am your daughter, damn it. I don't need to be coddled and spied on.

But I cannot deny you have had cause to worry. If I am honest with myself... There have been dangers; Doubt. Fear. I am full of them as I stumble through life. I lack the conviction to set firm goals. I float to and fro, fighting for any cause because I cannot choose my own. With duty as my backbone I pushed forward in the army and navy. But outside, without rigorous structure- I am nothing. I cannot lead like you can, I can only follow. Lost whenever I find myself at a crossroads.

Have you never felt like this? I know you fought for the Alliance, and for the Steamwheedle Cartel. But you have never said what made you switch allegiance. You have never spoken about yourself in any honesty. Am I alone with these fears or have you faced them too? Please tell me for once, and do not hide behind servants or excuses of work. Find the time to write me. What must I do to be at peace with myself? To rise above the waves and cut out my own path? And... Please, please. Tell me about mother.

You were scarcely there for me when I was small. Father- Be there for me now.

Yours truly,



The Veridis
at sea
21 October

Dear Shapur,

It has been a while since we’ve spoken. It is the first time I’ve written to you. It was sudden of me to leave with nothing but a note, but I shall endeavour to explain myself. First off, I want you to know that I have nothing but admiration for your craft. Your boundless optimism and wisdom, your ancient ways and trust in the Light. Indeed, I recommended your spiritual service to the Band and all those that came to me with their problems. I did not try to turn people away asking for my help, but because I was sure that you would be a far more suitable solver of such qualms of the mind.

We spoke about my own worries too, but only a scarce few times. I am not proud to admit that it was only under influence I felt capable to share these issues. To require that destructive lubricant of forthrightness is never a good sign. I mean, as much as I respect you and believe you are good at heart, you, having been in the service of my father have often served as a mouthpiece for him. I believed a word to you was a word to him, and I would not grant him the admittance of my weaknesses. Not to that overbearing oaf, the mighty admiral, who belittles his daughter so. Perhaps that has changed, but I will elaborate later. I have held your connection to my father over your head since the moment you joined the Band, despite being allegedly free from his service at that point. And I cannot believe that a man of your steadfast wisdom and centuries of life would devotedly bind himself to a human in the few years you have been on Azeroth. However charismatic he might be.

Which begs the question, how come you did so in the first place? What brought you aboard his ship? A trade vessel for the Steamwheedle Cartel can hardly be the most ideal place for a servant of the Light, can it? I have done you a disservice in only seeing you as Shapur of Tocha. You are your own man, you are the Light’s man. And you deserve my trust.

Out here in the cold, I have had nothing but work and time to think. As this barrage of words attests, I have spent that time to think on my connections with people. And I found that, chief amongst them still stands my father, who has had such an influence on me. I dare speak to you openly now, because I have finally decided to write my father. Speaking honestly about my worries to him, and admitting my flaws. My fears that he might have been right about me, that I do need his protection. Not so much physically; I can fight for myself, but mentally. To be frank, as I believe I confided with you drunkenly one night, I often fear I have no purpose. That my father’s success shadows over me every step I take. I am paralysed for choices. In the army, or the navy - even the Band, I could fall in line with the others. Fight for the Alliance, for duty, honour, comrades, love. If I were more devote I would fight for the Light too. But I feel like an intruder. I care about these things, but I do not care -enough-. By the Saints, what is wrong with me? Why can I not find the conviction to choose my goals and be glad to fight for them.

These things have kept me up for months, and have forced me away. I was unsure in the Band, and I started asking myself if my love for Tarlin was genuine. He was about the only pillar I had left, and as my doubts started nibbling at that- what else was there left for me to do but run? So there it is, my mind bared. With having written my father about this directly, I feel much more comfortable in writing to you. Perhaps, if I am finally honest we can put my bitter behaviour towards you behind us.

Forgive me for leaning on you so strongly, yet offering little in return. This rush of words comes from nothing but my respect for your ability and kindness, and so I turn to you for advice. I have written father, asking for his too. What must I do to become at peace with myself. To find my goals in life and pursue them? How can I know if my love for people is genuine when all I do is think on the path not taken?

I hope this reaches you in good health. Post service in the freezings mists around the Roof of the World is rather lackluster, so I hope this is not lost to the seas.

Yours truly,

Rinoi Du’nai

Letters from the Frozen Sea ONKU8Pv


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