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| {{Quelle
| | #WEITERLEITUNG [[Oblivion:Brief an Zuhause]] |
| |Spiel = The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
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| |Originaltitel =
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| |Buchtitel = Letter Home
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| |Untertitel =
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| |Autor =
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| |Wert = 10
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| |Gewicht = 1.00
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| |Oblivion = Letter Home
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| |Inhalt =
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| Courier's NoticeConveyance via:
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| Narsis
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| Balfalls
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| Vivec
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| Suran
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| Personal CorrespondenceOrigin withheld
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| I miss you more with each passing night. My only comfort is knowing that the
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| wages I'm earning now will ensure our comfort when I return. I couldn't
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| believe the pay this lunatic was offering, and I doubt we would have followed
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| him all the way to Cyrodiil otherwise. The fool thinks he'll overthrow the
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| Empire, Vaermina take him! I figure we'll end up deserting soon, just as
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| soon as we've gotten as much pay as we can without actually following this
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| addled madman into battle.
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| We've hardly crossed the border, but already I can tell you: Cyrodiil is an
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| awful place. We have nothing but iron to work with. There's no art to iron
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| armor. I tried using the bones of beasts killed in the local forest, but
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| they are brittle and won't bear the force of the hammer.
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| Even with decent materials, this would be a dull post. We must be a mile
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| underground and a league from civilization. I don't envy the courier who
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| carries this letter! I pass the time in conversation with the other
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| apprentice. We always seem to have a good laugh at the expense of the
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| Forgemaster; in private, of course.
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| I can't wait to see your family home in Suran. I've never actually been to
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| Vvardenfell; I've heard much of it's charm. I'm pleased and suprised to hear
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| that you've begun saving for our own home already. You say you're
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| working for somebody named Desele? The pay must be very good, but when I
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| return you won't need to keep it up. You never mentioned, by the way, what
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| sort of work you're doing.
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| I'm still not sure how this crazy wizard is paying wages for us and his army
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| of mercenaries and laborers. We don't use half the ore mined here for
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| smithing, so I figure he must sell the surplus iron, but I see no evidence of
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| it, nor do I think it would produce such a fortune. I think he's Telvanni,
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| perhaps folk in the area near you have heard if he's from wealthy stock?
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| I fear I must conclude, my love; the forgemaster is demanding another parcel
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| of iron-shod boots. How many more pairs could we possibly need?
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| }}
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