Navarre Island - Benedict's Letter to Despina

Navarre Island - Benedict's Letter to Despina

I had an assignment today to write different fictional pieces of writing that would fit into my campaign world.  I wrote a letter from Benedict to his unborn daughter, Despina.

A father’s love letter

To my unborn son or daughter,

You might think me strange, but there is an old Argonian Hist belief, that if you want to send a letter to the dead you set it aflame.  That the smoke and ash will make itself to the deceased you are reaching for, and they will know.

I want you to know that I did and do love you.

I am not a writer, and the quill a foreign thing to me.  You must be patient with your father’s words.  The sword is my domain, not words.

Your mother and I have made mistakes.

We are not perfect people.  Your mother was hard working though, she was a Nord woman and not afraid to get her hands into the mix.  She was a wonder in the laboratory, a workhorse when it came to her ale and mead.  She did not show her love very much, except when it came to making drink, cooking, and caring.

She loved cats.  You should know that.

She had long blonde hair, and amber colored eyes.  She would’ve loved you.

I am not Nord, but an Imperial.  I am the son of a mercenary named Ilor, from a place called Cyrodiil.  I did not want children.  (inkblot)

But then I was told that you had come along.  That might be a strange thing to say, but I began to love the idea of you.  I was ready to hang up my shield and sword, and stop adventuring.  Is that such a strange thing?  I have slept beneath the sky with other adventurers, with other men and women of the sword, who call all of tamriel our houses.

And I was ready to give that up for you.  The more I thought about you.  The more I imagined you, a little girl or boy, teaching you to wield a sword, to cook, to brew, to sail and to shoot.  Teaching you about the world that I saw.  The places I had been, the people I had met.  I couldn’t wait to share it with you.

That’s why that moment happened. (tearstain)

I was prepared for you, and then you were gone.

Is that a strange thing?  You never were, never had a chance, and that’s what drove me so crazy.

I regret it.  I do.  (tearstain)

But I don’t regret you.  I want you to know that.

I hope this helps to make it right.

I’m coming for you soon.  I whittled this small bird carving for you, painted it in ink.  It’s a raven, they say ravens carry memories to children, on black wings at dawn.

I’m coming.

Benedict