Dearest mother,

as I learned from my youth in our household, you have always been fascinated by the forms of expression that constitute ‘art’ in cities and cultures far away from our own. To give you a better impression of the macabre and frankly crass moods that are evoked in the scummy taverns of Stragosa, I enclose a transcript of a most… unsuitable song performed in the recent past. Despite its allusions, please rest assured that the bards were investigated by the Inquisition and found to be devoid of any heresy. It was meant to be a comedic tinge. I found it disturbing and alarming, and clearly the Prosecutor present at that time felt the same way, for he immediately produced a ball of fire in his palm, stalking towards the bard. Now that, and I cannot emphasize this highly enough, was highly amusing.

Without much further ado, here is a transcript of this humorous song. At the end of the letter, I shall also enclose a more sombre sonnet that I composed myself after the departure of a certain lady. I feared for her death at the time, but even moreso feared for her undead return.

==

(Gothic Paradise)

As I ride through Stragosa where I Master the Coin,
I take a look at Borso’s pouch, and realize that he’s purloined,

The city’s resources and labour and time,
Which to my mind surely is an Imperial crime,

But that’s just typical for a Hestrali like him,
Who despite their fashion, wine and music are just a bit dim.

At 2:30 in the morning I’m diggin’ graves,
Charming maidens, fighting zombies, and dissin’ knaves,

I’ve been charmin’ and fighting so long that,
Even fire mages think that my mind is gone.

I’m a noble of the land, I’m into Benalian faith,
And one day I’ll find and marry my perfect soul mate,

But if I finish farming, reaping and building this iron mine,
Then tonight we’re gonna party like it’s Lion Age 599.

We been spending most our lives
Living in a Gothic paradise,
Farmed canvas more than thrice,
Living in a Gothic paradise,
Burned some heretics, it was nice,
Living in a Gothic paradise.

A local scum boy tried to steal my pouch last week,
I just smiled at him and my knight stabbed him in the cheek,

I ain’t never punched a Njord even if he deserved it,
A Gothic noble striking smelly fur bois? That’s unheard of.

I never wear white, no — I always wear black,
And all the lonely ladies agree that my knight is a snacc

If you do come to Stragosa you’ll likely turn up dead,
Because monsters will find you, even asleep in your bed.

Got here last year but feels like most our lives,
Living in a Gothic Paradise
Turns out corsets are full of knives,
Living in a Gothic Paradise.
Been Tarrantist once or twice,
Living in a Gothic Paradise.

==

(A Sonnet to Spectres)

Last isthmus I gave you my chart
the very next day
you sank to your grave
This year
a ghost ship appears
you turned into something spectral

==

EvV, Lion Age 604