Letter - Arthur Morgan to Kopaka Mata

Arthur Morgan

Pass Into Myth
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[An envelope arrives in the mail, slightly wilted from damp and with blatant dusty fingerprints impressed upon the paper. Faded and crumpled, it is brittle to the touch; a testament to the careless treatment of countless hands. Upon opening it, scraps of flower cuttings spill out and onto the ground. A few rare orchid trimmings harvested from the floating isles of Opealon, it seems.

The letter itself is written on a piece of parchment in soft graphite, recognizable as being torn from Arthur's journal. The hand-writing is a sinuous trail of print letters, forcibly pressed upon the paper for ease of reading and meandering across the page; a departure from the cowpoke's usual cursive scrawl. There are hints of scratched out words and new phrases replacing them, as if the writer was struggling to capture the full depth of his emotions.

There is a second page tucked inside the envelope behind the first, depicting a strange celestial vista. An illustration of Inverxe, presumably viewed from space, with the edge of the gas giant Ioun barely visible in the background. In scratchy pencil lines, Arthur has drawn a barren wasteland, scarred by thermal vents and volcanic formations jutting out of its craters, a faint misting of atmospheric ash swirling in the air and a scattering of diamond-shaped stars pocked throughout.

There is an arrow pointing to one nasty crater in particular, indicating a 'Gnawbone Camp.']


Dear Kopaka- Toa of Ice,

Being in space is something else, beyond anything I could ever have imagined. No sun up or sun down, just an endless, cold, blacker than black night.

But I suppose my lot in life is bound to be full of many new and unusual experiences... Not to mention strange. Though I can't help but resent this affliction of aimlessness that clips my wings and keeps me forever wandering. It brings me some comfort to remember that you too have embarked into the unknown, selfish as it might be for me to presume. With any hope, you'll find more peace in your travels than I have thus far.

Our crew's journey to Inverxe's surface is nearing its end, and while it might be some time before we meet again, I look forward to our reunion. Someplace called Gnawbone Camp is where we're due to visit next, Althaus tells me. He said to dress warm.

Can't imagine any place colder than space, but I suppose you wouldn't need to worry about it none. Take care and safe travels.

Your friend,
Arthur Morgan
 
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