Just as you bade me, I have spared neither effort nor cost. - A godly person works diligently on each of the seven days. - I sent out sharp ears - and - Rastullah be praised ! - I succeeded in obtaining more clues about the great journey of the red-haired men from the North. My friend, you will surely quickly appreciate how sound the decision was to entrust this difficult task and your money to me.
Although the latter was somewhat scantily calculated, I was able to accomplish quite a bit - if not everything that could have been possible, if you had been a bit more generous with the resources...
Know, o my brother - it was at the time of the Dark Ruler in the south raised his hideous skull and stretched out his cold claws toward the beautiful lands of Novadis, the pearls of the continent - the beardless sultan with the white face still ruled your land. It was in the year 249 of the Lord Rastullah.
It took place in Fasar - that malicious and yet seductive whore - ancient and yet rejuvenated again and again, like a goblin and yet glittering - in the Balash at the headwaters of the Gadang. Today you can still marvel at the evidence of the events that I now wish to tell you about, o my brother. I was there myself and saw everything with my own eyes - as Rastullah is my witness.
Fasar is a maze, raucous, intoxicating and as debauched as Rasha - strangers are prohibited in some quarters. There is a section inhabited by the industrious True Believers, to be sure, but the rest of the city is a cesspool of vice - there are outlandish walled enclaves with exiled Marascenes, mostly beggars, pick pockets, false prophets and assasins, or a quarter with Bornlandian tradesmen, the goblins' squalid, lice-infested mud huts and patched tents and their incredibly foul-smelling tanneries. Ferkina Dungeon. The AlAnfanians' windowless stone houses. And ... even a quarter for orcs, who hire themselves out as fighters for spectacle, mercenaries or unskilled workers at the quarries, a quarter no one whose mind has not been clouded by Rastullah would dare to enter.
And then there are the towers of the illustrious gentry, inaccessible, for they never set foot on the ground - they only consort with one another, strolling from tower to tower on bridges high above the city.
Yet on that memorable morning in the year 249 of the Lord Rastullah, Our August Malik Bey - Ruler of the True Believers in Fasar, personally took himself to a market far below in the dark alleys to see what kind of demonic gorge it was that had opened up there overnight. For that was what had caused such a commotion in the city: An immense crater had opened up in the middle of the the Peddlars' Market during the night. This black chasm, which had spewed dirt, rubble, foundation rock that was now strewn far into the surrounding alleys, was about 60 paces in diameter and many, many paces deep. The cause could not be seen - but because there were dead orcs everywhere around this huge hole, the inhabitants soon gave it a name: The Fasar Orc Hole.
Now this hole can still be viewed today and has become famous far beyond the city walls in the meantime - but it would not be worthwhile spending your valuable ducats on collecting foolish fairytales surrounding the event.
But by Rastullah's beard, and sealed with the greatest seal of truthfulness and discretion, I can announce this valuable discovery: The Fasar Orc Hole is the work of those strange red-haired Northlanders and their companions. I am sure that further research will lead us the the City of the Elves, whose traces Phileasson Ben Foggwolf was following at the time, and the treasures that we will share are incalculable !
O beloved brother of my spirit, my expenses to this point have been substantial, so please forgive your unworthy servant if I close now.
My ink and parchment supplies are dwindling, and I must press you for a fresh supply of jingling coin before I can continue my report. A crucial informant is pushing me for payment and I'm afraid that the information he has will leave with him and be gone, forever. Therefore please send me ducats immediately, because my children also require nourishment - the long search for information on your behalf have caused me to neglect my craft. It hurts to see the sweet little angels crying, I gladly forgo some meals only to see them happy and sated..
Your devoted servant
Achmed Ben Drachmet
PS: I'm sending this letter with a mounted soldier whose journey is taking him north - but be careful - this Nasreddin will demand prompt payment for the transport violently, if necessary, because it is an expense I cannot pay in advance.