Bloody Games

Dearest Mother.
 
I write from a beautiful crescent inlet like the vacation Kays we read about called Flamingo Kay. And mother, does it ever live up to its name. The fauna of this place primps and preens in the brightest of color and you would be astounded. Your paint pallet would be cartoonish in its vibrancy if you were here. Perhaps I shall write a tune or jig about the place as we pass through.
 
The populace has even more character. Much as the bar-goers of the Swallow would play throwing darts against the target on the wall, I saw two men play against each other in a similar game with daggers. The first man was drunk with eagerness and confidence, but the second baited him into a sense of relaxation before winning a pinpoint shot at the end. It was a shot in the arm to see such interesting local tradition play out. I will have much to regale you with next time I return home, even if I sadly do not know when that will be.
 
I return to the Vixen now as new fans have lifted me off my feet in a swarm during my last performance, but stay warm in the comfort I am never in danger of being caught in the rough and tumble. The ITC personally saw to security at our last performance. I hear the captain has even invited my entourage and I for dinner in honor of the good works we've been doing. I shall tell you how it goes at my earliest convivence.
 
Give grandfather my best. I have tried true dwarven ale now and it does not hold up to grandfather's own meads and ciders, but it is delicious.
 
Best,
Ashley