Mial gets a lot of mail. It starts out as a lot of mail and builds up to huge drifts of mail, as word spreads; if he doesn't stay on top of it, it may spill out the windows and start appearing in the soup while dinner is fixed and embed itself in the carpet under the sheer pressure of all the other mail.
People want their relatives back. It is mostly dragons who want this, but not exclusively. A number of vampires wish to know if the pontiff has been informed of all this or do they have to write him themselves. (Apparently they're concerned about the possibility of the pontiff being buried in mail but obviously have no such regard for Mial.) Dragons want to know how the possibility of future shrens has been addressed.
Some pixies in Gibryel have written to him about their political problems, unclear on the nature of the miracles available. Someone wants him to "fix Ryganaav". Finnah's egg father has written a rather sentimental letter imploring Mial to intercede with Finnah on the grounds that "it seems this would really take a miracle".
Someone wants him to eradicate south flu. Someone wants him to eradicate their son-in-law. Someone wants him to eradicate dust bunnies. Someone wants him to eradicate Sand Dusk Chanters. Someone wants him to eradicate an obscure parasitic illness of the tropics, and in case he isn't willing to do that, there are several pages of lurid explanation of the parasite's mechanism and anecdotes about people who didn't make it to adequately trained lights immediately. Someone wants him to eradicate nutritional yeast.
A lot of people want miracle teleportation powers. A number of people are concerned that conventional warding might not hold against miracle teleportation powers and want to know what he's going to do about that isn't he an Esmaarlan.
A substantial fraction of the world's dragon population seems to think that their variously heartfelt, scolding, or bewildered correspondence will be what convinces That Which Means To Eternally Plague Us With Shrenhood to do so less Eternally, perhaps this coming Saanen or something, he could have a little party, everyone could celebrate the final disappearance of that nasty family-destroying agonizing disease? Who would want to be a disease? The stunt has certainly gained attention but surely he has enough attention now?
He has a lot of attention now. Letters in assorted envelope colors with little flags on them pop into existence over the coffee table, hit the pile, and slide to the floor.
The next three are all from concerned dragons. He starts a box labeled 'Shren Alyemi', and says aloud, "At this rate I'm going to have to draft a form letter that's nothing but 'dear Name of Correspondent:' and then the word 'shrennaki' taking up the entire rest of the page."
"I quote: Do you know how upset my nephews were when I told them that finally all the shrens were gone, only to have to reverse myself on this the next morning? I hope you're ashamed of yourself, not just for being a shren, but also for being a despicable degenerate."
The 'shren alyemi' box gets divided into two parts, one labeled 'shrennaki', the other 'something less rude'. He files that particular letter on the shrennaki side.
The next letter is a reporter who wants an interview. He's surprised he had to dig this far to get one; he starts a new box for them immediately. He'll come back to those after he's made some decisions about how to handle the Health Issues and Resurrection Requests boxes.
Dragons concerned about future shrens get a box separate from the ones who are concerned about this particular shren; concern for future shrens is pretty reasonable, even if some of them could stand to be politer about it.
People who want some magic powers of their very own get a box - miracle teleportation is just the most common request, by no means the only. He can look through the interesting ones before the next third-siahr design meeting in case he wants to suggest incorporating any particularly clever notions. People who are concerned about the interaction of miracle teleportation with standard wards get a 'Ramifications of Miracles' box.
He really shouldn't read the Letters To Shren Alyemi past the point where he can reliably identify them, but he keeps doing it anyway.
This one says I hope you aren't planning to breed. The fact that you've seduced legitimate dragons into associating with you by promising fancy magic unrelated to your core abhorrence is quite bad enough but if any decent person heard that you were risking contaminating children - of any species, let alone dragon children who'd have to live dawn to dusk with the knowledge that they were close to and could not possibly escape your 'miraculous' self - then they'd take it up with the social authorities, but I suspect this would just wind up with the social authorities being likewise entranced by the shiny presents you can conjure up, because you clearly consider yourself to be beyond all decency, all social order, and all reason.
He drafts the form letter on the spot. He's no calligrapher, but he has miracles to help him translate his vision onto the page; the three syllables of shrennaki are laid out in beautiful fluid lines, set into a proper Reform Draconic word-oval, with an elaborate border in case they didn't draw enough attention by themselves. He attaches this template to the relevant side of the Shren Alyemi box, files the letter angrily, and moves on.
"Some fucking lizard hopes I never have children because I'd shren at them," he summarizes.
By comparison, the next Concerned Vampire Letter is a breath of fresh air. As is the letter after it, which gets an all-new box for Misc. Interesting Problems To Solve With Miracles: "Hah, someone wants me to rid the world of dust bunnies."
The pile has shrunk noticeably since he started. He continues industriously on. Concerned vampire re: pontiff. Concerned dragon re: shren eggs. Concerned citizen re: miracle teleportation. Concerned parent re: offspring's forbidden spouse, eradication thereof. Another bloody Letter To bloody Shren Alyemi why does he keep being tempted to read these things.
This one wants to make sure that he knows that no one expects him to remain a shren. He does not have to do it to make his voice heard or to demonstrate to now-miracled dragons that he is in their corner or to look like a martyr when he writes his memoirs. He can just stop. Any time. Are the miracle workers making him do this for weird offworlder reasons? He shouldn't have to go through this anymore.
Resurrection request, resurrection request, request for miracle teleportation, concerned dragon, concerned vampire, concerned vampire, health issues (another obscure disease he's never heard of), resurrection request, resurrection request, resurrection request, health issues and resurrection request (someone lost a younger brother to an injury that would have been easily treatable with lightcraft if only the younger brother had not himself been a light). After some consideration, he re-files that one under Misc. Interesting Problems, because he bets Lazarus will have something to say about how to fix the problems of lights.
"I'm really going to have to figure out a way to handle all these resurrections en masse," he says. "And then I'm going to have to figure out a sensible and convenient way to transport people to and from the mass resurrection events with their recovered friends and relatives. Not everyone's going to be able to arrange their own transportation."
"I have an entire sub-box for people who are specifically concerned about what widespread miracle teleportation will do to standard warding paradigms. I could deliberately design the mass version of miracle teleportation to be politely answerable to wards, I guess, I don't actually know offhand if the version I've been giving out will obey them or not. Might depend on the specifics of the ward."
"Yeah. I'm going to consult Lazarus and that garnet guy about it. When I'm done sorting my mail." He eyes the remaining pile and grabs another letter.
This one, he discoveres, is actually literally addressed to shren alyemi. He snorts and holds it up for Finnah to see.
And then there are no more letters in the pile. "Have I missed any?" he wonders, looking around.