My lord Stark, I hope that this letter reaches you delivered by my own hand, but in the event of my passing I have arranged for it to be carried to you. As you have likely heard from my father I have chosen to accompany the leader of the southmost Dawi settlement on a campaign. I believe this course of action, though with some risk, will best allow me to fulfill the task of understanding these dawi people.
What I have learned, Lord Stark... By the sacred woods, lord Stark, what I have learned.
We must never make war with the people under the mountain. I know their recent actions have given you pause and you weigh in your mind the place the Dawi are to hold in the North. I implore you, do not make war on them.
I have seen what the Dawi of the Mountain consider war. It is insanity. They wield weapons and armor of quality like valyrian steel in units. There is not one of their warriors who is not laden down with layers of chain and metal plate.
But it goes beyond that. The Dawi are insane. They wield weapons that explode into fire and toss men through the air AS MELEE WEAPONS.
They lack great numbers as we could raise from the levies in times of war, but I don't think that matters. I have seen their fortifications. The Dawi have chosen their hold well. No army that relies on numbers can hope to oppose them in the valleys and caves that they make their home.
But, my lord, all is not lost. There is hope.
Among the throng of the dawi is someone of a third race, elgi in the dawi language, elf. He is a nice fellow, if a bit aloof in the way so common to lords south of the gap. Still, he is sane in a way that the dawi are clearly not.
But he has magic. Not the mummery of wise women and charlatans, but real magic. Winds he calls them. I know not if they are really wind as he seems to summon them even in these dank depths without issue, but the magic at least is real. I have seen him cast spells, summoning shapes of metal, healing injuries, and enchanting.
And he is not alone. There are more elves. I do not know if word of this has reached you before this missive, it likely has, but the elves intend to settle in Whiteharbor. They are too few to make their own city, and so intend to settle in our lands.
My lord, there is a madness that has befallen us. It's not just these dawi. The whole world is shifting like sand blowing across the shore. These tunnels could not have existed, should not exist, and yet they do. These walls must be thousands of years old, and yet it isn't possible that none had found them before in the mountains.
My lord Stark, we must grasp every advantage we can if we hope to survive these times. I implore you to take every opportunity for advantage in these times. Treat with the elves and tie them to us, so that we may take advantage of their magic. Work with the dawi so that we may employ their tools and technology.
For I fear that without those advantages we shall be swept away like sand before a storm.
And a storm is coming, my lord. I can feel it. It itches at the back of my mind.
Like drums in the deep.