Like many port towns, Tarn’s Rest has a rudimentary postal service which is run out of a small wooden building that sits upon the docks. A solitary worker accepts letters and packages that arrive by ship for the denizens of the town, while also taking up very same items from the townsfolk to pass onto the next sailing ship. A small fee is often supplied by the sender, part of which is for the worker, and part of which is to assure safe passage of one’s mail.

In this case, the postal worker for Tarn’s Rest is a Dragonfolk. With bronze-colored scales and reptilian features, like an elongated snout, clawed appendages, and even a stout tail, the Draconic heritage is plain to the eye. Yet, unlike their distant kin, Dragonfolk are bipedal and humanoid, fitting in with the other sentient races across the various continents.

This particular one, by name of Lucius, hails from the mainland of Kattelox, where he has worked for years in various ports doing this very same job. It is a job he takes seriously, as he has seen the delight that good news brings to those needing a boost in morale, just as he has seen the dire understanding that bad news brings.

Lucius is not a man prone to whimsy. He respects his work and those who task him with it.

So, it is that, upon this day, the morning of the 14th of Shellan, in the 17th year of the 4th Era, when the front door of Lucius’ shack jingles to alert him that someone has arrived, he is less than amused when he looks up to see the door closing–and yet, there is nobody to see.

“Children,” he says with a hint of disdain before turning his attention back to the manifest he’s working on for the next shipment of mail to go out.

“I am not a ‘children,’” comes a monotonous voice from the other side of his desk.

Lucius freezes and slowly glances up from his paperwork, only to see nothing and no one standing opposite the desk of him.

“I serve neither ghosts nor the illusory-inclined,” Lucius states, emphasizing his words in order to convey his growing frustration.

“I respect that,” the voice says.

“Which one are you?” He asks, eyes narrowing.

Much to his surprise, a pair of small, green hands grip the other side of the desk and the top half of a Goblin’s head peeks over the edge at him.

“Neither,” she says, her large eyes unblinking as they stare at him, into him.

“Oh!” Lucius says in genuine surprise. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware we had any of your kind in this town.”

“I’ve only been here a few weeks,” she remarks.

“I have heard of some newcomers that helped find the young Lord Southgate for Miss Bernadette. Is it true that he’s a vampire?” Lucius asks, his tone quickly shifting to one of curiosity at the prospect of a juicy bit of gossip.

“You should ask him,” she says, still unblinking.

“Ah, yes,” Lucius mutters. “My apologies, I’m Lucius, the postal officer for Tarn’s Rest. How may I help you, miss…?”

“I like that. ‘Postal Officer’ is a lot better than ‘Mail Carrier,’” she remarks.

“I–I thought so,” Lucius says with a shaky smile.

“I’m Dahlia,” she finally says. “Does a ‘Postal Officer’ also make sure letters get shipped out?”

“Why yes, they do. I do, that is,” Lucius answers.

“Okay,” Dahlia says, partially to herself, as she drops down from the edge of the desk.

Now that Lucius knows to listen for them, he can hear the patter of her feet as she walks toward the front door.

“Wait!” He calls out, standing in order to actually see Dahlia. “Are you not going to send your letter?”

“I haven’t written it yet,” she answers, turning back to look at him.

“Whyever did you come to ask me if I would ship it out? Just having a mail–post office should have told you that your letter could be sent,” Lucius says, brow furrowed.

“I like to write letters to my parents,” Dahlia explains. “Some towns I’ve visited had ‘Post Offices’ that wouldn’t take them because they thought it was a trick.”

“‘A trick?’” Lucius echoes, though he already knows what she means.

“There are still a lot of people that think that Goblins can’t read. Let alone write,” she says.

It is as he expected, though her words, combined with her unwavering gaze, make the knowledge sting all the worse. Despite the fact that the myriad races of Vale mingle in its larger cities and most lands are a healthy mix of all different forms, some stereotypes remain.

Always, the hurtful ones remain.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lucius says, feeling ashamed for his initial ignorance and frustration. “I will happily see to it that your letter to your parents is sent off properly, Miss Dahlia.”

The little Goblin stares him up and down slowly, before finally nodding. She says, “Thanks. When is the next shipment going out?”

“In the morning, but we send batches a few times a week, usually,” Lucius says.

“I’ll bring it in the morning. Please wait for me,” Dahlia asks, though her tone of voice and gaze often makes requests seem like commands.

Lucius does not see it this way, however. He gives her a curt nod before saying, “I’ll wait for it as long as I can.”

Without another word, Dahlia leaves. Lucius sits back down in his chair, making a mental note to check from now on for those who enter the shop that are perhaps not so vertically-inclined.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Mom and Dad,

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How are you? Is that an odd thing to ask in a letter? It’s not like you can respond right away. I’ve seen people write lots of letters and they almost always start it by asking how the person reading it is.

Now that I think about it, I’ve written plenty of letters. I always start with “How are you?”

It hasn’t made you respond.

I finally made it to the Heart of Vale, though. If you send a letter for me to Tarn’s Rest, it might actually make it to me.

I miss you both.

Things are not what I expected, here on the Heart. This land is wrong; you can feel it as soon as you step on the shore.

There’s a stillness to this place.

At first, I thought it was just because of there not being much life here. The plants don’t grow–the trees here are petrified and are older than my magic can tell. Older than the First Era, at the least. No moss, no brush, no vines, nothing. There are no animals either: No birds, no pollinators, no game animals.

That all is strange enough. But the stillness goes deeper than that.

There is no death on this land. The fallen do not rot, they do not decay. I thought it was magical at first, but I do not think so anymore. This land does not radiate magic, because magic is drawn from the essence of life, and of death.

It is cold, sterile.

Something beyond magic keeps life at bay. And because there is no life, there is no death, and thus there is nothing here that feeds on death. No fungi, no insects. Nothing tills the soil or sows the seeds, nothing helps to break down the dead and complete the cycle of life and death.

It is unsettling. I hate it.

I would have come home already because there is obviously nothing here for us to gather, but I wish to know more about this land, this purgatory in the middle of the world. Perhaps if I can find the secret that keeps life and death away I can use it somehow. That way this trip won’t be a wash.

That way I can fix everything.

But there is more than just that keeping me here. I’ve made a promise to take part in an expedition to the center of the island, which will help me figure out its secrets. But that’s not all, really. There are people who seem to want me to stay, who like having me around.

They are my friends.

At least, they say they are.

I have never had a friend, besides you two. I am not very good at it, I do not think; I do not know how to be a friend and I am still understanding how to recognize what they do that counts as “friendly.”

From what I can tell, being a friend is to be honest. To care. To be loyal.

I did not think I was bad at these things. They are just new to me.

There are five of them. My friends.

Kaz is a large Orc who believes strongly in the Gods. She is sometimes rude, but I believe her to be honest and loyal. This makes her a good friend.

Wren is a Dwarf who also knows magic. They are nice but easily distracted by money. They are sometimes rude but smile as they are, which is confusing.

Cashew is a Halfling. He is small, like myself, and is even more rude than Wren. But I think it is so that he can pretend that he does not care, when he does very much.

Demy is a Human, even larger than Kaz. He smells bad and seems sad often. I think that he is cursed somehow. But he is my friend which means that I want to help him.

Addy is an Elf and my favorite friend. She is happy and likes to talk but does not make me talk about sad things. She is very smart and also very stupid and this makes me smile.

My friends also have joined the expedition to find out the secrets of this land. I want to help them as much as I want to learn the Heart’s secrets. The fact that I get to do both is a very good thing, I think.

There are others.

We found a man named Andrew in a very big house nearby. He is a vampire and he seems nice, but we have not spoken much. He has given us money and many thanks, so he is not an enemy, at least.

Then there is a human named Felix, who is running the expedition. He says that he is the brother of the King of Kattelox, which seems to be true. He is not so much nice as he is polite. I think that he cares more about finding out the truth than about me or my friends, which I am not sure I like.

Friend Addy seems to respect him, though. I do not think I would be a good friend if I spoke ill of her friend. Especially without more of a reason to do so.

I will write another letter when we return from our expedition. We are supposed to leave in a few weeks when the snow thaws.

I want to write more. I want to speak to you directly. But I must finish my letter tonight so that I can send it in the morning. Friend Addy mentioned that at some point, she and the others might come visit our farm and meet the two of you.

I would like this.

I will talk to you in my next letter. Hopefully I will have answers.

I love you both.

Signed,

Dahlia

~~~~~~~~~~

“Look, we’re ready to shove off. Whoever it is can send it in the next batch, we gotta go.”

Lucius glances up at the gruff sailor, a stouter-than-average Elf, who stands with their arms crossed on the other side of the desk. They have been waiting here for over half an hour to gather the mailbag from him, but he has put off giving it to them for a few reasons.

For one, the ship is heading out earlier than usual.

For two, Lucius has–or had, rather–a few things left to address. This took only a few minutes.

For three, he said that he would wait on the little Goblin.

“I’m almost through,” Lucius explains, once again.

“You haven’t written anything for the past ten minutes,” the sailor says, frowning.

Lucius sighs loudly, the air forcing its way out of his reptilian nostrils in a show of irritation. Calmly, he says, “I already told you, I’m waiting on someone. They needed to send their mail out today.”

“Sure, sure, but it’s not fair to hold up an entire ship for one person,” they begin to argue, when the door to the small office opens, causing the specifically-placed bell just above the door to ring from the impact.

Dahlia steps into the building, holding her letter. She glances at the sailor, then at Lucius.

“You’re just in time,” Lucius says before the Elf can make any comments. He steps around the desk, holding out the open bag of mail to receive Dahlia’s letter.

Carefully, she places it inside and watches as Lucius pulls the drawstring closed; he then hands the sack off to the Elf.

“Thanks,” they grumble as they exit, rushing back to the docked ship.

Dahlia turns her attention to Lucius, staring up at him with her large eyes. “You waited for me,” she says simply.

“I told you I would,” Lucius says with a smile.

She stays silent for a moment, thinking, before she says, “Thank you. We are now friends, yes?”

Lucius starts a little, caught off guard by the question. Yet, he can’t help but find this interaction charming. “I would be honored if you thought of me as a friend. I am Lucius,” he says, holding out his hand.

Dahlia stares at it before sticking out her own hand, much smaller and considerably less scaled than his, letting him shake. Addy explained this ritual to her the other night, that it is a form of respectful greeting in Kattelox.

“I am Dahlia,” she says.

“Are you expecting a return letter?” Lucius asks.

Dahlia shakes her head.

“Well, you should write more letters. That way you can come tell me stories about what you and the others have been doing,” Lucius says, chuckling.

“Why?” Dahlia asks.

“Well, because that’s what friends do. Share stories with each other,” he explains.

Dahlia nods a little, thinking about when she eats dinner with the others.

“This is true. Friends also share dinner. You should come to the inn and eat dinner with us so we can share stories,” Dahlia says.

“I’d like that,” Lucius says. “I’ll be sure to bring some interesting stories of my own.”

“I will have to write another letter. I did not mention you in that one,” Dahlia muses as she turns and walks out of the door, causing the bell to jingle once more.

Lucius watches her go, amused.

I can surely splurge on dinner at the inn occasionally, he thinks as he returns to his desk, one friend richer.