Dear K.R.,
Don't remind me. I know. You will get bored, and then we'll finally return. And we'll all be launched back onto the stage.
Effortless as it is to perform like this, I too am becoming rather bored. But then again, who wouldn't? As would any representative like me, I am sick and tired of the laws of secrecy that are continuously enforced to the point of oppression. And when they go too far, they go way, way too far. Was it just chance that I met Soal -- his canonical name, to be exact -- in all but forty of your chapters until now, but hardly in the Third Plane?
The Third Plane, in that sort of way, has always brought me fortune; more, in fact, than our own. However, it only can go so far. The First Plane of Reality, as you repeatedly claim, is a conflicted, disorganized mess. And you can't remind me that I'm living in worse, either. Because I know. Just like earlier. As malnourished and mistrusting of him as I am, you continue to differentiate Ivel from Kurst in inhospitable ways. Ivel is more like a typical lunatic, who derives policy from vengeance and not from devotion.
So you should figure out a compromise. A compromise that the First and Second Planes so desperately need, that the Sulukridgers could ruin everything. Yes, you know exactly what I speak of: the Reacsoa Hand, the blessed pen with its Waisedip inkwells, "protected" in the devious West Waise Temple. You are incapable of fooling me with such an illusion, as you write of our universe with this Hand, yet it remains only when necessary on its perch in the Temple, but I nevertheless digress.
The Hand is our only sensible method of obtaining Sulukrita's defeat, although this comes with obvious issues. When the Kyson Scepter (kind of) failed, the Master Bringer naively expected me to unleash their Sulukridger tendencies, only for them to arrive in Ivel's Crusade, and mistakenly call me a "mad cultist" among other jokes. The Reacsoa Hand was all I had in mind for them -- no mystical powers, no wide-scale plot holes, and no Sulord to contact (again, only kind of). And this is all while they dwindle in Hendera learning about the Great Five, Soal's kidnapped sister and Nathaurus while I continue to forage for entertainment and livelihood in a thousand-acre world increasingly dominated by Ivel's "I-was-a-Sulukridger-once" ravings and a sky blushing more every day. (Well, I thought the whole Soal and Irene thing was funny.)
What I insist on is now more prevalent than ever. Being the Ambassador, I may hold a particular place in your head, unless you are currently reading letters from lower-Plane residents like old Synthor in place of mine, in which case, I may hold a particular place in your (digital?) mailbox instead. If the Reacsoa Hand, a helping hand -- even if only for a moment -- is in the wrong hands, you are the only one who will be caught red-handed.
Please don't be so quick to arouse respecting my 'hand' puns; --MOTH
YOU ARE READING
The Sketch Rift: The Eternal Crusade
Fantasy{Book Two in the Sketch Rift Trilogy} Samuel Lawrence, or Soal, is revolted by the mere premise of returning to the bleak metropolis of Hendera. But these hopes are laid to rest when sentinels of the enigmatic Charles Hemingway draw his reentr...
