The letter is stained and crudely-written, though the wordsmanship is not actually uncouth. It bears no greeting, and simply starts from the body of the message. On the outside, Arthalan's name is scribbled hastily, to indicate the recipient of the message.
Pitchforks are, like scythes, livelihoods of peasants turned into crude war tools for the poor and the downtrodden. Though its use is similar in its kernel to the harpoon's, I must stress that one is the product of necessity, while the other is an art.
Tridents, in like manner, are brutish, thugish weapons, that require three points to perform the work a true harpoonist needs but one to execute.
Of these weapons, there is nothing I will teach. The harpoon, though originally devised for a similar purpose as the pitch fork's, a tool for the livelihood of many, evolved, by its nature, to a weapon that embodies the very spirit of the fight. Its true raison d'etre is to hurt, not to kill; to maim, not to finish. It is cruel, and brutal and heedless of mercy or pain. The pitchfork and the trident would poke holes in the skin and the flesh, so that their target may bleed out. A harpoon grapples the flesh of the prey, and can only be removed through the appropriate combination of skill and strength. When this is done, it usually removes with it a substantial portion of the prey's guts, which is conducive, as you should understand, to a gruesome and many times slow, contemplative death.
I will only take you as a pupil if you express a desire to reach a level of comprehension not only of the weapon itself, but of the philosophy and outlook I have outlined briefly in this missive. If you still wish to carry on, send a reply, that we may meet. Be advised - there will be no quarter, not even for a pupil, and the fate that would await a failed craftsman in the art of wounding is dire as death itself.
- Jan Raüs