Marian had developed something of a routine over the years. The infrequent stretches of time when her companions were visiting always threw a happy distraction into her plans, but she'd found that the initial sting of loneliness after their departure was lessened by sticking to her schedule. There were books to organize, floors to wash, dishes to put away, rooms to clean, armor and weapons to polish, a garden to tend, floors to rewash, coffers to count, supplies to buy in town... By the time Marian finished her chores - a process that took well over a week - she would have collected her emotions enough that she could come to terms with having to spend the next month or two by herself. Then, she could resume her magical studies in peace.

It was a couple days into this schedule - far enough along that she'd done most of what needed to be done, but not yet far enough along that she was inventing chores to distract herself - when the mail arrived.

Once a week, the fat old mail owl braved the climb from Bluebell Fields to Cobblestone Keep, carrying a great satchel full of letters that had come in from distant corners of Sidhegaard. Over the years, greeting the old bird and sorting through the mail had become another one of Marian's chores. Legally speaking, she wasn't supposed to read through her companions' mail, but any guilt she'd felt in so doing was long since faded. Now she coveted the hours she could spend reading and re-reading correspondence from her cohort's many admirers. Cooped up as she was tending the castle, she could at least feel a sense of closeness with her allies by reading the testimonials of the many people they helped save.

Reading the letters helped Marian put her position in perspective. Her friends were keeping the world safe. From the many stories she read, it was obvious that the fantastic feats they accomplished were far more than she could do herself. But she still served a purpose to the party by keeping the castle clean and her companions' affairs in order. If they were distracted trying to clean their weapons or find their armor, they wouldn't be very effective heroes. She was still helping to save the world, even if she didn't get any letters for her efforts.

The bulk of the messages this week were from admirers. Marian separated these letters into different piles as she read them. There were piles for each individual companion as well as one for letters addressed to the full company. The young mage noted that many of the letters mentioned Wendy and Nathaniel. Either these letters were recounting old events from when the two still traveled with the group, or her boss had met up with the newlyweds for a recent mission. She'd have to ask Gordon when her team returned. For now, she put these letters in their own pile.

There were more mundane letters, too. Each hero, besides their boss, had family or friends in some remote village or city. Marian learned most of these names and tried not to read these letters too often. It stung to see Gordon receive more letters from his students than she received from her parents. She knew her parents still loved her in their own way, but she couldn't stand the constant questions of when she was going to stop with her "hero" fantasy and go back to school.

Then came the job offers. Marian's company was now legendary in their exploits, and so the list of common folk clamoring for their aid was never-ending. Going through these letters was another way in which Marian could feel useful for her group. The potential quests brought to her group's attention through client correspondence were as varied as the stars in the sky. Some letters spoke of monsters raiding cities, some mentioned bandits making off with legendary treasures, some requested aid in ridding villages of hexes. But there were also trivial requests: sometimes farmers would ask for the Wyvern Hunter to help around their fields, or merchants might make promotional offers. It was up to Marian to go through all these jobs and determine which ones were worth the Wyvern Hunter's time and which ones were better handled by local workers or celebrities.

This time around, Marian noticed that many of the letters cited similar problems: strange, scary monsters crawling out of nowhere and terrorizing towns and villages. She would've thought little of it - monsters were far from rare in Sidhegaard - save for the sheer number of sightings. She was reminded of the mission her companions had mentioned several days ago.

"I wonder if there's a new Dark Lord...?" Marian mused. She'd had little to do with the fight in which her boss had struck down Rexmagus, the last would-be Dark Lord, but she remembered that it had been precipitated by something like this. Monster incursions, mass panic, letters coming in, the Wyvern Hunter globe-trotting with everyone besides her...

Marian shrugged. "Boss will take care of it," she decided. She put all these letters in a special pile. She'd go over them with the Wyvern Hunter once he was back.

The most interesting letter in the set was one that sat towards the bottom of the stack. The stationary was of good quality, pure white save for lines dyed a faint red. Besides an obvious tear patterned with semicircles at the top of the page, it bore none of the impurities typical of parchment. While the calligraphy was crude and even error-prone, the writer's mastery of the pen as a tool was unmistakable - there were no ink-blotches or boldened strokes from clumsy use of the quill. For that matter, the ink itself was a strange blue color. The young witch had heard of wizards and mages who had transcribed their spells in magic multicolored ink, but she couldn't detect any magical quality here. Only the most eccentric of writers would bother to dye their writing ink blue, Marian mused.

The letter started as such:

Dear Wyvern Hunter & Friends,

I'm writing about something very important. Theres a great danger coming that threatens the entire world. I can't explain what is happening in writing. Its too complicated.

This part of the letter wasn't unique. Most people asking for the Wyvern Hunter's aid tended to start with big, bombastic openings like this. It was a common belief that the graver the writer's job pitch, the more likely they'd win over the Wyvern Hunter. If anything, this letter was understated compared to the usual fare. The insistence of having to meet in person to explain the mission was also something Marian had seen before. Usually, the job requester was trying to get their foot in the door on a job request they knew was trivial.

You may remember me from the market place the other day. I was the one who approached you at the apple stall. The woman with you thought I looked strange.

"Good ol' Sandra," Marian muttered.

Theres a reason why I look the way I do. This has to do with my request. I can't explain it in writing. Its very important that we meet again in person to discuss this.

I know how busy you are but you need to trust me. There is something wrong with the Em the world. Think carefuly about whats going on around you. Any strange events lately might be related to this danger.

Marian raised an eyebrow at this, then cast a glance at the stack of "monster incursion" letters she'd set to the side. Only now did she realize how much taller it was than every other stack of letters on the desk.

I'll be in the market place in Bluebell Fields for a few more days. As soon as you can, please come visit me. Bring as many friends as you can. Please.

Sincerely,

Tracey

"No last name?" Marian mused. "Strange. 'Tracey' is a pretty common name. How's the boss supposed to know who this is?"

Thinking about it, she supposed that it was possible the letter's writer was a child. The Wyvern Hunter received many hopeful and friendly letters from children, the youngest among them sometimes assuming familiarity with the world-renowned warrior. Marian never knew how her boss was supposed to know this Bartholomew from that Bartholomew or to tell the difference between two Myrnas. Such was the mind of children.

Even so, the writer had a sense of self-awareness rare for a child...

After staring at the letter for a few more moments, Marian set it down to the side, unfolded. She picked up and started opening the next message, resuming her task of sorting through the remaining mail. Every now and again, though, she found her focus drifting back towards that open letter.

---

"So."

Marian was standing in her bedroom - immaculate, even before she had straightened it the other day - looking at herself in the tall mirror next to her bed. For the first time in several days, she was dressed in something other than a nightgown or other loungewear. Not that her current outfit was particularly noteworthy - she'd just thrown her black travelling cloak over a drab green dress. The cloak hung loosely over her, but she could only wish the dress still did the same.

"You're really doing this, aren't you?" Marian asked her reflection. She had a habit of talking to herself when she was alone. When her thoughts got muddled, she found it easier to hash through them as a conversation with herself. The mirror was a familiar prop for these dialogues.

"It's fine, it's fine," Marian said on her reflection's behalf. "I'm just going into town for a few errands. Need to swing by the marketplace. Nothing unusual about that." She put on an innocent face as her voice trailed off.

After a few seconds, her expression slipped. "Right. You keep telling yourself that, girlie." She prodded the floor with her wool socks.

Marian closed her eyes and slid her fingers under the big conical hat on her head. She always felt bad for the poor hat when she wore it. It had looked so bright and green when she bought it, but now its color had faded to a dull brown. Most of the support inside had deteriorated over the years, making the hat list to one side.

The hat tip bounced around as she began to massage her scalp. "I shouldn't do this. I should not do this. The boss doesn't want me on the field. If he did, he would've brought me along on the mission. I should just leave this be until he and the others get back."

Marian opened her eyes. The face she saw in the mirror was thoughtful. "This can't wait, though. Tracey said he'd only be around town for a couple days."

She realized that she had no idea if Tracey was a boy or a girl. "'He'? 'She'? ...whatever. 'They'."

"Then why not send a letter back?" Marian leveled an accusatory finger at her reflection. "That's something you could easily do from here."

The pointing hand in the reflection rocked back a few times as she thought. "The mail owl just came this morning. It'll be a week before he comes back. There's a good chance Tracey will have left by then. Heck, for all I know, they could even be gone now."

Marian pulled her arm down and stood up straight. "All the more reason not to go," she told her reflection. "You'd probably just be wasting your time going there."

The mirror caught the slump of her shoulders. "It'd at least be something to do. Better than staying cooped up here all day."

Marian couldn't argue with herself there.

"Okay, so what do you tell the boss? 'Hey, so, just so you know, even though you don't want me on the active team, I totally started a quest for you while you were gone, hope you don't mind.'"

"I mean." The witch watched her mirror image stroke its chin. "He knows I go through his mail, anyway. He expects me to organize all the job requests we get and prioritize them for him. That means he's okay with me looking into the jobs themselves. That's all I'm really doing, looking into the job. I'll even hold off on making a decision until he gets back."

Marian cast a dubious look at herself.

"...even if I wanted to," she reasoned, her reflection's arms resting to the side, "I'm not actually strong enough to go on a quest. I know that. There's no chance I'll make that mistake again."

Marian stared at the mirror, then turned away. "Right."

The witch strode away from the mirror. She worked her way to the castle's entrance, making only a couple stops along the way. The first was to put on her stupid glasses, which she'd kept on the nightstand so she wouldn't have to look at them in the mirror. Then came the boots, waiting in the hall where they wouldn't muss the rug. After that, Marian swung by the pantry, where she retrieved a couple dried pears. The sound of her own chewing filled her ears as she made her way to the foyer, where her old travel satchel hung on a hook. Briefly taking a pear in her teeth, she flung the satchel over her shoulders, leaving it to rest on the opposite hip from her tome. With everything she needed for the road, she arrived at the keep's big wooden doors.

Her enthusiasm for her trip vanished at seeing those oak doors. Her latest bite of pear slithered down her throat like a lead weight and took her stomach along for the ride.

"I should not be doing this," she repeated. "Boss could be back any second. What would he say if he came back while I was gone? How much trouble would I be in?"

Marian took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Popping into town. Nothing strange about that. Popping into town. Nothing strange about that..."

She continued this mantra as she pushed the doors and stepped into the courtyard.