May the gods smile on you and me sis. Now I'm asking you to read this careful, for what I got to say's important.
Soon as you set hands on this writing, gallop off to that fence Kramer what's based in Maribor. Tell him we've got some first-class gear and witcher sword diagrams to sell. Aye, I can see you now, scratching your head, or more likely your arse, and asking, "Did I hear that right?" You sure did - 'twas my luck to come to care for a witcher what got one foot in the grave and t'other hovering right above. I was sat there looking at the poor man suffer in agony, and thought to meself, "He don't need this kit and these papers where he's going, while for us, that's the fixings we need to get us started in the world of business, if we sell them for the right price, that is." Aye, I hear you fretting, so stop. I didn't take everything, in fact, nobody'll even realize ought of his shite's missing.
Sad, though, ain't it - this witcher's a good man. First he helped the baronet solve the riddle of that lighthouse what was sending ships into the rocks, then he killed that dragon ate all the peasants. Problem is, a dragon's no easy pickings, and our valiant hero got quite the licking taking it out. He's done for, that's certain, so soon as they bury him in the tomb on Crookback Hills, I'll head straight to your place. Come to think of it, I'm curious how they'll put him in that crypt at all, for word is a vampeer's made it his lair.
P.S. I also lifted a few flasks off the witcher, but since they're like not to survive the journey, reckon I'll sample them myself, see how witcher hooch goes down - maybe we'll make a business out of that, too!
Your brother-in-law, A. Balstick
