****just before noon, a stumbling and bumbling young elf appears trailing from the bushes of the forrest, his chest heaving with the heat of fear and apprehension****
***upon actually finding one of the den's many fool doors he gingerly places a handwritten letter of sheepskin upon it's oak centerpiece and quietly limbers off into the wood***
Upon reading the letter, the blood gracing the top left corner of the letter might seem strange, but..considering who it's coming from and how it's for, nothing can ever be too strange.
Sir Auldron,
"I believe I have something of yours, he is....to say the least...one of your lap dogs of war.
He won't speak, as to even tell me his name....and it would seem the only time he opens his mouth is to spit at my guards, and frankly I'm tired of it....
So good sir, I'd be much obliged if you would come and pick up this foreign trash and take him from my lands...
Why would I ask for you to come and get him yourself???
Simply put..
Everyone dreams of meeting a legend..