Strange is thankfully spared the rest of his reaction being headline news, thanks to Cedric barrelling through even more conspicuously, rendered even more off-kilter by the apparently inimitable Benevenuta Thevenet. He watches the templar go, amused at another’s misfortune, before hauling his suspicious gaze back to Vanya — the man sounds dry, dry as a desert, I might have mentioned, and it isn’t quite like Isaac pulling his leg, but still irritatingly adjacent.

“I am so consistently at such a distinct disadvantage,” he says, long-suffering, but he slips the package into an oversized pouch at his belt. Normally meant for carrying herbs and medical supplies, but it’ll do as a mailbag for now. A mailbag for personal correspondence. Cool. Let’s hope it doesn’t get set on fire.

“Regardless: happy to help, Lady Thevenet. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays this courier from the swift completion of his appointed rounds, etc.”

What a curious slogan. It does sound like something you might see carved over an arch in the Grand Necropolis.