[A simple notice is printed out in neat, legible Skodje, posted on a few boards around Oldtown and Crookback.] Hello! My name is Ymir. I have no clue where a majority of you Velheim are hiding, but I'm looking for friends. Feel free to write or just try finding me, I'm almost always either in Arenacourt or the Velheim district. [In very bad chicken-scratch handwriting, Common below.] Demigods can apply too.
[!] A blood-tinged missive returns within the evening, etched in pure bastardization of the Common tongue. [!] ——————❇—————— - Ymir Have you ever counted the number of stairs in your home from top to bottom? Would you like to? ——————❇—————— - Sincerely yours, Qalhata Dzekh'aar
A letter would be sent privately to Ymir, located with a flock of couriers. Further inspection would reveal the Keen Seal, odd to see a well written response as a reply to a mere notice searching for friends, or perhaps not? FROM THE DESK OF HIS GRACE, THE GRAND OBERST OF THE IVORY COMPANY, ALARIC KEEN, THE DUKE OF GOTTLIEBERBERG Ymir of the Velheim, Albeit the common knowledge of an average denizen, there comes a respite afore one is able to realize a lack of camaraderie in community, a lack of acquiescence in the sense of one being able to bond with another of similar standing. One settles for those known as 'demigods' because he or she carries an insecurity; he or she is of the understanding that the demons preponderate those of mundane identity, that the crimson skinned are, all the while, ubiquitously existent. Do not be coerced by the changing tides. You will sink.
