As I sit to type this letter my hands still quake from the excitement of battle, for I have just completed a most dangerous quest in which I slew a pack of foul rats in the basement of commoner Drarayne Thelas. Thelas is a dark elf (or Dunmer, in her native tongue) and it is my hope that the completion of this quest will soften the cold reception I have received in Balmora, if even the smallest bit. Otherwise all I will have to show for my peril is a few pounds of rat meat, which has no effect on Wood Elves whatsoever and for which I can find no other use, not even the proverbial relief of fatigue. Neverthelater, life goes on. “Such,” Nalcarya of White Haven would say, “is the life of a Witchhunter.”
Indeed much has happened in the land of Vvardenfell since last Christmas (a holiday which is not, might I add, celebrated anywhere in Morrowind), but I am reminded that many of this letter’s recipients spend no part of their lives in that realm and that still more maintain that my expanded existence as Drookox is... not worthy of the time it requires. Being that as it is, not the case, I am yet amusedly reminded of the lesson recorded in The Homilies of Blessed Almalexia, which Sotha Sil learned from the scribs while casting stones in the egg mines, namely that “The idle amusements of one may be the solemn tortures of another.” Therefore, as I am sure your interests lie more in the adventures of my non-virtual family, and as I am by this time well enough recovered from my skirmish with the rats, I will do as best I can at my current level to impart to you some knowledge as to the happenings of my wife and child.ren
Megan is still happy at her job at the hospital, which isn’t as a nurse but still involves answering phones and provides free childcare. As there are no children in Morrowind I am not proficient in the care of children and we’re all very happy about the free childcare. Megan also still likes to do different things outside like walk and drive around to places. Sometimes she leaves for days at a time for something about her dad, and by the time she gets back she hardly recognizes my avatar and is too busy feeding the kids at all hours of the day to fully appreciate my upgraded stats. The new Daedric weapons I can conjure mid-battle amaze even myself and have made quite a stir in the forums that are still active (for some reason, whenever a sequel to a game comes out, that’s all anyone wants to talk about even if it isn’t as good as the first, or the third in this case).
Most of you already know about the newest addition to our family, little Justin Eärendil, who was born on July 25 (a date I will always remember because I had to miss Max Brooks at Comic-Con 08). Justin is like his brother Denethor was at that age (who, I remind you, was named after the canonical character of the books, NOT the abomination in Peter Jackson’s three-part crapogy) in that he basically sits around and always needs stuff when Megan is at her parents’ house. Sometimes he can be a real handful (I’m constantly having to save), but what I lack in willpower and agility I more than make up for in endurance. Denethor is usually quiet and enjoys his ant farm.
Now, as my time allotted for writing this letter is coming to a close (as once more the thirst for adventure spurs me on to greater things), I would like to leave you with an excerpt from Saryoni’s Sermons as collected in the Hierograph by Archcanon Tholer Saryoni, words I find particularly applicable at Christmas time. From The Grace of Humility, “Thank you for your humility, Lord Vivec [read: Jesus]. I shall neither strut nor preen in vanity, but shall know and give thanks for my place in the greater world.” Amen.