A Letter

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A Letter

#1 Post by Scruffles » Thu Nov 27, 2014 9:08 pm

Walter was pretty inebriated by the time of writing this letter...

I received the letter this morning and I cannot say it was what I was expecting to read. I had been afforded several days leave from the Front, and most of it was spent in the company of my family, and throughout the hub-bub of my time off, I never recalled to check my mail – upon throwing away several advertisements for Veil decorations, I opened a small note informing me that ‘Jerome Walker has passed away.’ There was no return address listed on the letter, and no inclination of who even sent it, merely that he was dead.

How did it happen? Where was his body? Was this a lie? No-one quite knew, there was no proof, perhaps it was merely a lie concocted by those who thought ill of the man… I sat before my desk and pondered over the situation quite vigorously; glasses of brandy broke like chipped ice in my throat, and with each gulp my mind drew ever darker. Questions turned merely to resignation, and in my morbidity, I merely accepted that quite possibly, my best friend had passed away, and I was not there with him. Perhaps he was alone… I had not seen Etaine in months, but to be fair, I have not seen Jerome in months, either. He would have had one of his pets with him, nay; they were more than that. Jerome formed a bond with his companions, and I am more than sure at least one of them was with him to the bitter end, for better or for worse. They shared his courage.

From when first I met Jerome, I always admired him for that easy confidence he had in himself and in others, even if a situation looked inherently bleak. There was no arrogance in that man, merely enough goodwill and optimism to see us all through some particularly trying times – on many occasions I would have counted myself a curse if not to have Jerome at my side. Perhaps merely it was the result of copious amounts of alcohol, but I decided that at precisely ten past three that morning that I would host a funeral for my dear friend; a ridiculous idea in itself, of course, how could anyone else share in the event if they did not know? Regardless, I spent the next couple of hours garbing myself in my leathers, and soon I set off for Stormwind. After much pandering, I took a portal and travelled north to Northrend.

Northrend was a place of strong memory to us all. It was to the north that we often looked when our fortunes seemed to brighten or bleacken, and for two areas in particular: Sholozar Basin and the Storm Peaks. To Sholozar, in the days of the Circle, Jerome often took us on trips to admire both the scenery and the wildlife of that tropical gem amidst a jaw of winter. On our first journey, in particular, before I garnered more appreciation for the intricacies of each individual life form, I was reckless. In my recklessness, I felled several innocent creatures, and as I should expect of a close friend, Jerome scolded me, and taught me value. He was a man that appreciated nature, never abused it, and so the bond he shared with his animals was one true to companionship more-so that what I have seen in many other would-be explorers. By the Moon, he could explore.

The cold bit my cheeks and grazed my eyes as I stepped from the portal. Snow softened the soles of my boots, and across the mountains drifted wisps of snow bitter as steel. Shanura never liked me coming here, and I understand why, now, after so many years. Last I travelled here, I was not alone… Months ago. Before that, I often came here with Jerome when the occasion permitted me, and ever was I glad of his assistance. He saved my life on numerous occasions… Not just in the Peaks, but throughout my life. He took a bullet for me in a tomb, he pulled me from a ledge I would have otherwise would have plummeted off of… He steeled my heart against a darkness that would have otherwise consumed the remaining shreds of my soul. Most of these situations would have easily been avoided if not for my own blatant stupidity, yet still he stood by me and still he saved me. He was a gift to everyone, and his boldness in the face of hardship is how I chose to honour him.

I managed to secure a guide through one of the frozen fiords to the north, up a waterfall and between two arching cliffways. I found not someone well-trained enough to take me to the top of the highest peak Jerome and I climbed, but this would suffice, and soon I was left alone with nought but the blaring dark and the Long Cold. Last year, I recalled, we stood together against odds seemingly impossible, and I fell. Most thought me dead, for who could survive such a plummet? But Jerome still believed, and so he looked and then found me. He never gave up, and nor shall I, so this notion, this idea of a ‘funeral’… It will not be so final. I chipped away at the ice of the mountainside, and to him I leave but a single bottle of whiskey, nothing less, nothing more. Goodbye, my old friend, tonight you shall dance with stars and moonfire. I walked back alone under a blanket of aurora.

It was not the end.
"Damn shame," - Tychus Findlay, Notorious Outlaw.


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