My Lord Alcuin,
Please excuse this blackened paper and pen for they are all I could salvage. You see devastation struck St. Cuthbert’s this past hour: now, its nothing but ash. Most brothers were slaughtered and those who weren’t, I fear, have been taken as slaves. The few of us who remain seek your counsel and I implore you to send it as soon as possible as we fear they may return.
I am now certain that the pink and green dragons last night were omens. They had danced in fire as we watched in perplexity. That night, I fell asleep, after praying for deliverance, and awoke to see a real dragon coming toward God’s land.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only brother to see this for Brother Michael rain in from the fields claiming that he too saw a dragon. I finished my prayer and ran to the shore, believing God would protect me.
However, it was clear that God had too many people to protect. The dragon had landed and its people rushed forward in attack. Most ignored me and headed straight for the monastery, but one stayed back and cut off my finger, taking the ring with it. I then heard cries of terror and metal clashing but was too cowardly to help.
Several minutes later, Lindisfarne was aflame and the men, who I had mistakenly taken as pilgrims, rushed back to their beast with our younger brothers and treasures. Even the Gospels are gone.
Your advice would be much appreciated at this worrying time.
Brother Simon.