House Marshall - Rumors and Roleplay

[Genuinely Spurious]

The study in the Nash estate was quiet save for the soft crackle of a lantern and the faint scratching of quill on parchment. Declan sat at the desk once used by his father, its polished oak worn smooth beneath his gauntleted hands. His armor stood on its rack by the window, silent testimony to the life beyond these walls. Tonight, though, he was not a knight of the road, nor a son of House Nash, but a man reaching across the miles to a brother he had not spoken with in too long.

He dipped his quill once more into the inkwell, steadying himself with a breath. Then he began:

To Alexander Marshall, Lord and Brother,

It has been far too long since I last set quill to parchment to write you, and I feel the weight of that silence keenly. A year is an eternity when measured in battles, oaths, and the laughter of comrades. Forgive me for the absence, for it was not neglect of our bond but the demands of duty here in Waterdeep that stilled my hand.

My father, Lord Robert Nash, has passed into the keeping of the gods. His decline was sudden, and it fell to me to return home, to steady our house, to guide Henry in his training, and to keep my younger sisters in good cheer. It has been a season of sorrow, but also of purpose. In caring for my family, I find myself living the very lessons you once drilled into me: “A knight is not made for battlefields alone, but for every place where strength is needed.”

I will not lie to you, brother — I miss the Gate, and I miss you most of all. I miss the fire in your voice when you rallied men, the weight of your hand on my shoulder when doubt threatened to take me. More than mentor and lord, you have been my brother, bound not by blood but by oath and trust.

I hear whispers of unrest on the Coast, of gnolls pressing from the Reaching Wood and darker forces stirring where winter should not be. My heart burns to ride beside you again, to set our shoulders to the same task. Yet my place, for now, is here — teaching Henry, easing my mother’s burden, and showing Emily and Sophia what it means to bear our name with honor.

Know this, Alexander: though distance keeps me, my oath to you remains. When the time comes and you call, I will answer. Until that day, I will keep faith, I will keep my sword arm ready, and I will pray each night for your safety and for the strength of the men who ride with you.

May Torm guard your steps, may Tyr weigh your actions true, and may Ilmater bear your sorrows.

Ever your brother,
Declan Nash

Declan read the words twice, once as a knight, once as a friend, and felt them ring true both times. He sealed the letter with red wax bearing the Nash sigil and pressed it to cool. Holding it a moment longer than needed, he whispered, “Soon, brother. Soon.” Then he placed it in the courier’s satchel, trusting that the words would bridge the silence of a year.