Shadow,

Stop it. I'm not kidding. Your foolishness is becoming quite annoying when I have much more important things to deal with! If I were your father, I'd give you 40 lashes with a switch and make you eat the bitterest roots that I could find (nettleleaf, in the shire in which I was born) to still your nonsensical tongue. I've tried to understand and help you as best I could, but you've hit a new low that only you can pull yourself out of.

Your 'psychological problems' are no excuse for causing so much harm and threatening to murder a fellow sentient being. You think the world hates you because of the laundry list of unpleasant moments you carry around on your sleeve? If you go ahead with this meaningless campaign of violence, you'll be absolutely right, and it will be entirely your fault. Kill one person and I'll see to it personally that you're stoned within the day. Everyone suffers from time to time. Buck up and get over it, or go back to the orphanage.

Don't even consider telling me I don't understand. I've lost dear friends and family before - to Ledskir, to drow, and a single unfortunate soul to an illithid. What happened to you? Your father died? If he knew his daughter was a homicidal madwoman he would be as ashamed of you as I am. Grow up.

Cease bringing immense shame and dishonor to our people. You've set back the cause of halfling kind an immense amount, only just behind the rampages of Plop and the widespread use of the word 'hin'.

Stop.

Best regards,

Pvt. Mieredo Talanger

The letter sits and gathers dst as no one with that name ever comes to pick it up. One day, it happens to fall off the counter, and through a series of unfortunate events, finds its way outside. A gentle breeze carries it down the chasm into lower, where a rat eats it, smelling the food from the last stand and mistaking it for such. Somewhere else, The halfling named Shade is enjoying a nice rothe pie, carefree and ignorant of the unfortunate fate of the poor letter.

Mieredo rechecks the Watch reports and, much to his surprise, realizes that he addressed it to the wrong person. Cursing his bad luck, he resends the letter at once with the proper name.

Shade never somes to pick the letter up. The letter sits and gathers dust, forgotten.

Elsewhere, Shade has finished her rather delicious rothe pie, and much to the confusion of any onlookers, has begun a rather heated arguement with what seems to be the plate she was eating pie off of. After quite some time, with a final cry of rage, she flings the plate into an alley wall. She then walks off, muttering about killing things and burns.