*Scrawled in haphazard common, the lettering and word usage both betraying the writer's lack of much "formal" education.*
To the Mister Crokodial,
I speek with your Nancy man who walks the Lower. He speek of the young girlie Nancy what stood against a grater man, and brought the fear to his coward heart. I want to speek with you, as he say to do. Lower is mine now, home far away. Upper full of twig elfs and mush skull halfs and sissy leaders with no stones. We speek, for writing is not fair to real clever mind of this woman!
You call Dasah, I come. We speek!
*The writer's frustration seems to reveal itself in the several viscious holes left in the parchment, along with a few shreds of quill feather still clinging to said holes.*
ooc- I am in GMT -5, I believe, and work in late afternoons during the week. Weekends and early morning my time are best, or leave a PM. Thanks!