:::Terrance sits, tending to his rapier, and mending his clothing, humming quietly. He finidshes his maintenance, and places his things away, drawing forth an Inkwell, sand, lapdesk, quill, and parchment:::
Well, I should write a missive I suppose...
:::Begins scribing a missive to pass to the Independent Kindred of the city, should he be able to find them:::
((OOC: see IC missive on list))