Rykonis Sw'Vaye

Stranger in Qeynos Esteemed members of the Council,

My plea to you is repeated and I can only pray that you do not disregard these words as nothing more than a humble bartender's cry. The increase of our fair city's troubles are even more apparent since my last letter to you, and I have yet to see any actions on your behalf, or upon the side of any who would hold the authority to do such. I beg to you, our leaders, to whom our loyalty and trust have been pledged. Our cries must be heard.

Beyond my own words, I have seen the steady increase of these vile, unsavory thieves and bullies within our streets and our proud establishments, but it seems that the trouble has expanded beyond our city walls and has begun to over flow into the humble hills outside our fair city. As I write to you now, one such merchant, a trader from the City of Freeport to our West, slumbers wearily within one of the tavern's suites. Upon the bruised and battered face of this gentleman you will see the signs of truth within my testament and warnings of the coming waves of corruption to our city, and to our kingdom. I will enclose my own words of this man's encounter while traveling through our once safe plains in the event that you do not hear it from him before he returns to Freeport.

This man, a jeweler and a rather young individual to the ways of trade had carried a shipment of polished, but yet uncut stones from the mines within the Butcherblock Mountains. His caravan small in size and holding only two hired individuals to protect against any encounters that might cross their path, he made his way safely through the haunted wood of Kithicor and found no troubles with the Orc infested territories of High Pass Hold. But it was upon entering the Hills of Qeynos that did he find himself faced with troubles that would perhaps ruin this young man's career. His description to me of the incident was brief and I do not blame his difficulty in describing those who attacked him as such chaos would leave any unsuspecting man nearly blinded to the sights before him.

The two escorts were quickly murdered by the attacker and the merchant himself badly beaten into unconsciousness. During the brief moments that he was able to catch sight of his attackers, the gentleman claimed that he caught sight of the famed Red Sashes of Donovan upon their waists. A brouche he also described, one which bore an uncanny resemblance to those worn by the sect governed by Rykonis Sw`Vaye, a rather recent exile from our own city only a brief year past.

Unfortunately, my tale of the growing disturbances does not end there. Tyllman Lushfeld, a rather eccentric young bard who has frequented my establishment for many a year now, has also met the gruesome hand of these brutes. Tender at heart, the young lad has grown quite fond of a certain woman who has returned to my tavern nightly, her face is undisputedly recognized by these old eyes but