My Lady Amatheia—Forgive this unusual proceeding and the boldness of being addressed by a stranger; but I have none to recommend me to your notice, and endure the singular misfortune of being as-yet unknown to you.
Whispers of your name echo through the province in which I have recently found myself. There is much that is still unfamiliar to me about this place and its people, but their mood seems to me quite plain: when they speak of our neighbours to the North, of Crowspire and its Lady, they do so with great apprehension. Men see enemies wherever they may look, particularly so when they see a thing that is different from themselves.
I would dare say they know little of your nature; of that I may know more, having inherited some of it in myself. My progenitor was as you are—though, like you, I know her only through tales passed down to me by others. It was a rare thing in my country, and shrouded in fear and superstition, and it appears the same is true here.
I write to you in hope of putting aside further speculation and dispelling ignorance. Would you grant me the pleasure of your acquaintanceship and so aid me in this endeavour? I feel certain that through a better understanding of one another we should find some agreeable benefit to our sharing of borders. Let us not be enemies, as my countrymen would hastily wish, without first entertaining that we may be allies; and let us not be strangers, as we would be if not for these few lines.
Eagerly awaiting your reply, I am
your hopeful servant,
Tristan Voclain
