A Letter from David Waters for his landlord, Mrs. Abigail Burnswyck, two days before his departure from Salvar.
My dearest Mrs. Burnswyk,
For many years I have been in your keep at the small cottage in Northstar, Salvar. Those long years deserve far more notice than this letter and the bare knowledge of a week's time, but I am afraid that I must go. While you will find the rent for the rest of this month and the next sitting upon the bedroom dresser, I feel as if that is not the lot of what I owe you. In fact, many has been the night where you have come to offer a hot soup or pastries to my grieving and often hungry stomach, and your husband so graciously helped me to pack up Lydia's things to donate to the women in town, and you have asked of my work and of the equipment that sits in the drawing room. I have been very neglectful in my duties as a storyteller. In this goodbye to you and your generous family, I feel I must amend that.
In my youth, I wanted to be an artist. I believe the day I decided that was when I met my dear Lydia. You see, we were childhood sweethearts. She grew up not far from me, and our parents were both self-educating people. Even in the small farming community in which they were born and raised, they found time between the hard work of keeping anything growing in this desolate wasteland to visit Knife's Edge, and the great library that can be found there. When Lydia and I were old enough to be trusted not to be a destructive force in the library, we were taken along. The car ride was strange. I was perhaps seven years old at the time, just coming out of a period where I thought girls to be rather weak and thus useless as playmates. Yet, I could not deny that this creature of only a year my younger was quite fetching.
Within the great halls, she found herself a picture book. In it, were drawn the most lifelike images of flowers from exotic Raiaera. The land of the elves was displayed in graphite and ink before us, but still somehow managed to convey the beauty in all the monotone. Every time we went back, she would look at that same book over and over. I knew that if I wanted to impress her, I would need to draw beautiful things myself. The library opened up a world of study. Berkharn from Radasanth, the portrait of Denebriel from right here in Salvar as done by Pirernio. The great masters of art had their finest works copied in the books, expounded upon by critics and scholars. Even the most ordinary still life paintings that were hung around the house became focuses of my very soul. I begged my father for coal and paper, to learn to write so I could read the biographies of these men of artistic genius.
Learning to read brought me more knowledge than just of the lives of the men I admired. In the library, perusing something to read while Lydia studied the flower drawings and mother and father were reading books published out of the Schools of Magic in Raiaera, I came across something wonderful. I don't know why I picked out this particular book, after all it was far removed from anything that had interested me before. However, I found in my hands
Newest Trinkets from Alerar. They were more pamphlets than books, all collected together as they came in, and as I wandered away from the shelf, opening my sheaf of paper and perusing diagrams and theories, something caught my eye.
The Camera Obscura.
Of course, at this time the camera obscura was far more primitive than the mechanism you've seen in my home. This was merely a box with a system of mirrors and paper that would transfer and project a small image of what you were looking at onto the paper so that you could trace it. The end result was a perfect drawing, proportional and detailed, of your subject. Of course it all depended on the right light, and quite a bit of assembly and patience, but I saw it as my chance. Fate had moved my hand to take this, Destiny pulling me down the road to Lydia's heart. By now I was fourteen, and quite interested in seeing my budding artist's skills win her heart. After all, for seven years she had had mine.
Using the diagram, I built my own camera obscura, and instead of looking for biographies when we visited the library, I obsessively studied Alerian mechanics. The images I drew with it weren't as perfect as I had imagined when I first set out to build one, and my artistic ability was not yet such that I could draw Lydia the perfect, beautiful flowers that she so admired in art. My own research, coupled with what I was learning from Alerian inventors who were publishing their works, I began to make improvements. Ten years went by.
My parents were firm believers in arranged marriage, even among the poor. So were Lydia's. After such a long friendship, perhaps it only made sense that we were to be married. I could not have been happier, knowing that I would get to spend my life with this frail, beautiful thing. The day before our wedding, Lydia wrote me a letter. Despite how awful her spelling was, for she wasn't much to pay attention to her lessons, choosing to daydream instead, I managed to read it. She admitted that she'd been pleased with the arrangement as well, and had grown to love me dearly over the years. Things could not have been more perfect. And on our wedding night, I gave her a wedding gift that I had been working on, in a way, since the moment I met her. A perfect picture of a spring lily.
All went well until the pregnancies. Each time, we lost the babies. When William was finally born, the midwife told us that it had been too hard on Lydia. Between all the miscarriages and the final rough labor, another pregnancy would kill her. That was fine with us. We had our baby, and we moved from our parents home, here, to rent this house from you.
It was by no history in our last home that the misfortune came to befall us. Instead, it was my fault, through dealings here. You see, when we moved here, I had heard about a new form of camera coming from Alerar. This one didn't just project the image to be traced. It put it down on paper more detailed than any artist could be. And it stayed. It was easy to try and ignore. After all, the articles did involve talk about alchemy, the science of the wizards. It seemed, though, the longer I woke up every day to look at the picture I'd once drawn for my wife, the more I could spot little mistakes, or see just how unrealistic it really was. I wanted to give her the image of a real lily. I wanted something better to show that after all the years that were going by, I still felt passionately about her. We were in our thirties now, our baby was walking. I made the mechanical improvements and changes that would be needed to my old camera obscura box. I imported yellow glass from Fallien. I began perusing catalogues from alchemists, talking to a local orcish merchant.
The orc was a bit of a problem. The special salts I needed were expensive enough, but the vermilion reduction that came in iron jars - called mercury among the alchemists - cost an arm and a leg. I thought the orc was being genteel when we worked out a payment plan. I had my chemicals, and the equipment. The first picture I'd taken was of my wife and child. The plate is still in the dresser, should you like to see it. With the years it's faded here, darkened there. To take it with me would only spell it's faster demise, I fear. One day I shall probably be back for it, so please do not throw it out.
As you know, Mrs. Burnswyck, I have never missed my rent for you. Food was kept on the table for my family, and I worked hard to try and keep it like that and pay the orcs what I owed them. We dealt with them for years, and I thought I knew them. I underestimated their cruelty. I missed one payment, and they struck as if they had been in battle with me. I came home to find my wife and child dead, my house torn asunder. My camera was broken. The perpetrators had taken their business elsewhere, and no justice was ever brought about. I know you, personally, have seen my grief. I apologize if it has been any burden. You will find that I have repaired the house to the best of my ability. I've also repaired most of my camera.
It was perhaps the knowledge that I could not remain here, drowning in sadness, that brought me to this decision. While not elderly, I am old, and I have not led the adventurer's life. This could very well be my last year upon this world, but I would like to spend it doing something for Lydia. I think she would like it if I were to publish a book of pictures of the beautiful things I've seen around the world. She might even just want me to have seen the beautiful things in the first place. All I know is my beautiful, gentle wife would not have wanted me to stay like this, surrounded by ghosts I could not chase down.
And know I know I've taken too much of your time, my dear friend. I do hope your next tenants treat you well, and perhaps one day I shall see you again. Give my love to your husband and children.
David Waters
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