To William Haulfest

[Diegovog]

It's a gray late evening. The air is chill and carries a cozy smell of onion from those most fortunate houses near the slum. A robed figure wanders through the alleys looking for something, stopping in front of each door as he examines them. The clanking of armor beneath hints its not a regular denizen, but it doesn't matter, it's all quiet and not a soul anywhere near to bother.

Gauntled fingers trail a door. It's a very simple house, would barely fit one person living inside. But solid... Well built. Decent protection against the a cold draft. There is light behind the door and... Smells like someone is cooking. A rich scent of garlic and leek filling his nose.
A left ear gently touches the door. There is a sound of slow stirring of a pot so the man freezes and holds his breath, or perhaps breathing was hard... Night was coming fast with promises of being bitingly cold.
The figure shivers... Takes a simple note and then attaches it to the door.
He stood there for what seemed like an hour, sometimes glancing at the note, but mostly staring at the shadow slowly moving in the gap of light beneath the door.

Without a word the man takes an exaggerated deep and long bow to the door before turning away and disappearing back into the city...

The note reads:

"To William Haulfest; Loyal Father, Priest, Tutor, Mentor, Leader and Beloved friend,

You might not remember me on the very first day I walked into the Temple... I was a curious younger version of myself without a single drop of confidence. I gingerly walked into your Halls and was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by the warmest smile I've ever seen...
I introduced myself and, before I realized, you were kindly telling me of Cordor. I was quickly drawn into the tales of an older Cordor, one of wooden walls, streets of mud and a Nomad that looked more like a tent.
Then you spoke of Duty, Obedience and Loyalty, tales of Tormite Knights and Priests. Only taking breaks when someone would approach you to purchase healing supplies or ask for directions themselves. You sparked my love for the Triad and encouraged me even knowing I serve the Great Watcher.
The spark became a fire, and in turn into a roaring blaze of faith and purpose.

Thank you Haulfest... You were like a father to me... You taught me what you had best and became a guiding light to all of us.

When the day comes of your last breath from this peaceful and humble life, I know your soul will float, light as a feather... High into Mount Celestia... And be greeted by the greatest who have lived among titans of spirit...

Your friend, a speck of dust in your long life story,
Eric Lugger."

[Ambigue]

Somewhere, far away, a tired, aging figure makes his quiet way to the local shrine to the Triad. He has not forgotten his vows and, even in retirement, and he has taken it upon himself to keep the little shrine clean.

Today, his contemplative duties are interrupted by the abrupt appearance of a hin dropping down from some invisible hole in the sky.

"Got a message for you, sir or madam. It reads as such: 'Hullo, Haulfest, lad. I am glad to hear you've finally retired to your well-earned rest. I know our ejection from the temple was rather sudden, but you should be glad to know that I have secured a portion of your your abandoned belongings from the new occupants. Expect a delivery of several thousand unopened boxes. Hopefully, you've got enough room for them all. Yours in the Light (but not in the dark, you cheeky devil), Artemisia.'

With that, the hin vanishes into space, hurrying to his next destination via whatever esoteric messagespace they travel through. Or perhaps it was just one? Haulfest never paid the messengers much mind, but, in retrospect, they did all look pretty much the same.

The old man stares at the space the hin occupied for some time before quickly hobbling back to his house.

As he opens the front door, he mutters to himself: "I never should have left my forwarding address."