Finally completing the missive, Stark reviews what he has written one last time, the crimson quill grit in his razor sharp beak:
******************************************************
High Flame Atandella and Lord Elbryan:
Per your request, I am reporting some of the things which the righteous forces of Lord Fire may strive to bring to the cold and troubled peoples of Polaris.
- aquaduct waters from the Dark Lake through the proposed Temple of Kossuth, thereby heating the liquid to steam and piping it into the businesses and homes as an ambiant heat source.
- import various endangered species from the realms into the Polaris Forest to create a wildlife sanctuary for the beasts.
- prepare tax incentives for the merchants of the city to import and sell more exotic and desired goods.
- encourage the guilds to better prepare their pupils for the wilds of the realms through practice and training
- balance the patrols of the uncaring Shimmering Guardsmen of Polaris with more populace friendly guard to police the wandering bands of thugs and street tuffs.
- temper the clergy to put the wandering spirits of the Polaris graveyard to final rest, fire the current gravekeeper for hitting the spice wine too often and not doing his job.
- increase the housing for the poor and downtrodden
Istishian activity has been limited in this area at this time.
Signed by my hand, your loyal Servant... STARK
******************************************************
Nodding in affirmation, Stark invokes a prayer to Lord Flame and watches in rapture as the message is consumed in a blazing ball of fire... magically transported to his lady and liege.
FLAMEs in Polaris (part 1)
Billowing clouds of chilled breath spill from the dark recesses of a fur trimmed cloak as a lithe figure rushes through the ice covered streets of Polaris. Bird tracks betray his lineage in the snowy pathways as he hurries onward. His cold-palsied talons shakily pick the locks of a nondescript iron-bound door and throwing it aside, release a hissing stream of heat into the darkness of the alley before hastily retreating inside the back of the establishment.
Stark relishes in the warm steam exuded by the public saunas, allowing it to wash away the lingering remnants of Polaris' unforgiving icy tendrils from his bones. The last vestiges of frosty snowflakes melt away from his crimson feathers as he makes his way down a dark escarpment to a back room.
An audible sigh of relief escapes Stark's beak as he enters the impromptu altar room of Lord Fire. Soothing flames lick at the surrounding walls without consuming them, while the crackling fires whisper with Kossuth's warming promises.
Stark seats himself at a rickety desk, plucks a feather from his arm and sets the quill in a vial of oiled ink. From a flame embossed scroll tube, he withdraws a length of warm parchment made of salamander skin and prepares it to receive his report.
His quill scratches hastily upon the pebbled parchment, the penned runes set in barely recognizable script... likely little more than chicken scratch to the uneducated observer.
Stark relishes in the warm steam exuded by the public saunas, allowing it to wash away the lingering remnants of Polaris' unforgiving icy tendrils from his bones. The last vestiges of frosty snowflakes melt away from his crimson feathers as he makes his way down a dark escarpment to a back room.
An audible sigh of relief escapes Stark's beak as he enters the impromptu altar room of Lord Fire. Soothing flames lick at the surrounding walls without consuming them, while the crackling fires whisper with Kossuth's warming promises.
Stark seats himself at a rickety desk, plucks a feather from his arm and sets the quill in a vial of oiled ink. From a flame embossed scroll tube, he withdraws a length of warm parchment made of salamander skin and prepares it to receive his report.
His quill scratches hastily upon the pebbled parchment, the penned runes set in barely recognizable script... likely little more than chicken scratch to the uneducated observer.
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