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To whom it may concern,

It is my understanding that the record-keeping of some of your members, those who sit upon our War Council, have neglected to impart the scope of the war and our efforts in it. I would like to think that this is due to my own focus on how such information should be protected jealously lest it reach the wrong ears or fall into the wrong hands. To that end, I send this summary of our efforts thus far. Details deemed too sensitive for writing have been removed, but I suspect you all have ways and means of learning more should you seek it. If not, then you are welcome to seek me, and I will use what time I have to answer you.

The War Council at present consists of, in particular order:

Zain al-Saiba, Logistics
Naelin Karstwen, Scouting
Bashir Khatara, Diplomacy
Aurelio d'Lyon, Champion
Mirielle Rosseau, Commander
Zol Nur, Magical Consultation and Divination
Sister Selsi, Support
Narwen Alendiel, Research and Culture

They, in turn, have chosen seconds who they can trust to sit on the Council when they cannot, to take up their duties should they fall in battle or be otherwise unable to see them through. As well as a cabinet, to aid them in their efforts.

In the south, things have been relatively quiet, which was strange. Before the battle of the Boundary, the orcs were reported to be rather disorganized, dispersed throughout the region and busy harrying the southern homesteads. We now know that Got Valdhazr has seemingly been a refuge to the militiamen on the run from Iakmes' forces. It is likely that the siege engines and war beasts that have been reported are harrying the Dwarven stronghold, their sworn foe. Breaking the siege will not be easy, but saving our allies must be a priority if we are to gain an upper hand over the orcs. All other pockets have resistance to Iakmes seem to have been fallen. Ash on the wind.

Most recently, an intelligence-gathering mission led by Scouting, with the assistance of the Astronomers of the Mount and the Sibylline Sisterhood journeyed into the ashen wastes to investigate what has been called the 'Goreheart'; the remains of the meteor called down on Red Hill. What provoked this operation was a suspicion that the orcs might be making use of it as a source for blood magick following the display we witnessed in Iakmes' fortress a month and a half ago. It was thought that the ritualistic blood-letting of hundreds of orcs as well as a dragon might be empowering the meteor somehow. That does not seem to be the case.

Scouting's report, in brief:

...There are no Orcs or Sibilant present near the impact site itself. Whatever control they have derived over it seems superficial, and unlikely they have any control in directing the storms. As such the chance they can effectively use it against us as a weapon in the upcoming war is rather small. The region instead is patrolled by the infected, bloody carcasses of Banda Rossan and Fourth Legion Janissaries. Rounding up flesh and life to be fed to the growing tumour of flesh.

There is a massive flesh shaped dome present where the meteor struck. Rather than a crater, fragmented or not, we found an opposite structure. It seems to be alive. And the things we fought, mere strands of hair of the same being...Arteries ran through it like mighty roots. Each time it pulsated with a beat of a heartbeat, we saw within it the structure of a tree. The same arteries ran through the sand itself, digging deep beneath the earth.

To approach this dome is to contract the blood plague. To take any definitive action against it may well be a suicide mission. Indeed, there was one casualty upon the group's return from the South, and it is only by the grace of the Mother that there were not more. I have no doubt that this vile monstrosity will be a problem eventually, but at the moment, it is a secondary concern compared to the orcs.

On the eastern front, very near to the Lover's Gap, the vanguard of Iakmes has sat immobile for some weeks now. I led an operation to destroy a bridge that has done much to prevent them from bringing to bear the war machines and siege engines they could use to harry the Well, and that is part of the delay, but we now suspect that the thousands of orcs gathered there await the arrival of one of Iakmes' generals. In the meantime, the orcs have taken to constructing a fortress in the middle of some abandoned ruins nearby, while the Fourth Legion maintains an uneasy forward camp against their number. These ruins have also been scouted out, and action will be taken to seize this fortress and establish our own foothold, if we can. It will not be easy, and I expect it will not be done without sustaining some losses.

Finally, on the matter of Kha'esh and the role their Great Serdar will ultimately play in relations to my own remains to be seen. At the conclusion of Kardesler we spoke briefly and made plans to meet to discuss the war at large. When I know more, so shall you. 

Lt. R. Colmes
Warmaster

[This message is delivered via Janissary on camelback-- not at great haste, but with great care to avoid the legions of orc between themselves and their destination]

Duck of the Boundary Men,

My name is Rennik Colmes, Warmaster of Ephia's Well and Lieutenant of the Fourth Legion in service to Al-Komayyad Sorazin Bey and his Benevolence Osman VI. You are familiar with Sergeant Samton Ashworth, who recently led a group of Ephians to offer you relief and support from the orc that besieged you, at great cost. I have been told you were awaiting word from me, and so I hope this brings you some cheer in the face of a mutual foe.

The Epicrasis may hold against the onslaught of ash, but the orc are another matter. How fare your supplies, your men? It is my intention to send a force of mercenaries south to reinforce your position, should it be needed. They are known as the Sukaitza Company, originally hailing from the Sea of Pearls. I will provide further updates when they are en route to you.

I also ask a favor of you. Our diplomats have not heard from Kha'esh in some time, and it is of paramount importance that we speak with the Emir, that we reach some measure of common ground against a common enemy, Iakmes. If you have any contacts that you can reach out to in service to this end, we would be grateful for it.

Endure. It will not be forever.

Lt. R. Colmes
Warmaster

Honored Legates, members of the War Council,

My bellows last night provided the most concise explanation of the situation, but to summarize briefly-- Legion scout have been working to divert and distract the movements of the orc in the south in the past week or so. Intelligence reached me that an opportunity to reduce the number of orc pouring into this region had arrived, and so I was tasked with finding a team of individuals to sabotage a particular bridge some fifteen miles south of the Lover's Gap. These individuals were:

Mark Miller
Zuli the Shadow
Meadow Millwright of the Sagebrush
Pang of the Sagebrush

with myself acting as field leader. We infiltrated a camp of roughly a thousand orc at nightfall, coinciding with the changing of the guard. Unproven, Cohorts, Smiths and Legates were witnessed in merry-making, training or keeping a watch upon the main bridge, which was wide enough to accommodate their war machines, entirely barricaded off. We made use of a smaller, secondary bridge to deliver explosives to both ends of the bridge. We lingered long enough to see the bridge tumble into the crevasse before fleeing for our lives, as the camp roared to life. Pursuit was fierce, but broke off by the time we reached the gates of the Citadel.

Early reports are promising. It will take weeks for the orcs to repair this bridge, and that provides us with enough time to prepare a welcome for them.

We can expect to see an increased number of orc patrolling the Lover's Gap for the next few days, searching for the ones responsible. Heads to claim, to lay before their Legates that may alleviate their failures. Travellers in that area will need to take caution.

As a final note-- the nature of this operation and the specific talents required made discretion necessary. A single slip, a wrong step, a trap tripped, and some or all of us would have paid with our lives. The operation came together in roughly three days time. If you were not informed prior, do not take it as an insult. Take it as a sign of how little time there was to spare.

Lt. R. Colmes
Warmaster

Honored Legates,

A written report summarizing the events of the Battle of the Boundary, as provided by Sergeant Samton Ashworth.

A strike force was selected to aid the mercenary group called the Boundary Men, by escorting two geomancers of the Sixth Legion to construct the wards needed to shield the fort from the ashstorms. This group was to protect the geomancers from harm from the orc in the region before returning to the well by ashsail. They consisted of:

Akna Ymir
Cosine Mevura
Isaac Naught
Athelia Thale
Aurelio d'Lyon
Nasir Darwashi
Atreya Lightdew
Samton Ashworth
Morganna Skatterhawk
Baako Mahmoud
Ottavio Banducci
Gedwyr Karstcleft

Upon their arrival at the fort, they met with the Boundaery Men, who they provided with water and succor. A perimeter was established by the Janissaries of the Fourth Legion, using barricades requisitioned from our supply. Aurelio, Cosine, Samton and Atreya met with the second-in-command turned acting leader of the mercenaries; a man named Duck. He was reportedly surprised to see them, as many of his men had not heard of Ephia's Well. While the mages rested, Samton directed the group to their positions, discussed tactics, and the geomancers started their work.

The orc poured into the area in waves, each stronger than the last. Akna fell early on, trying to save Athelia. Slowly, the group was pushed back. The retreat was sounded, but by then, the lines were mobbed with orc in every direction. Escape had been cut off. Cosine, Atreya and Baako fell in battle-- against their champions, their war-priests, their void-callers. Against an enormous champion empowered by foul magicks. I am told it was a very near thing.

The arrival of the storm spelled the end for the orc. This champion sounded a retreat as the winds picked up, but by then, our forces had denied him his escape. He fell to our steel, and the geomancers completed their assignment. The group spoke with Duck, who will be awaiting word, before returning to Ephia's Well.

There is likely more to this report, that I imagine the seat of Magical Consultation to dig into regarding their tactics. For the purposes of this report, however, it will serve.

R. Colmes
Warmaster

Balladeer,

We've had the misfortune of just missing each other for the last day or so, which makes doing this by letter an unfortunate necessity. I've a single role left to fill on our War Council-- that of 'Champion'. Given the Balladeers' vote of confidence in you, and your oath to see Iakmes dead to avenge your fallen comrades, I believe this position to be an apt fit. The duties of this particular role are best discussed in person, on the condition that you're willing to accept the position.

As it is quite likely our Council will meet tomorrow, your prompt answer would be appreciated.

R. Colmes
Warmaster

Balladeer Caddick,

My men tell me that you're interested in building a bridge between the Rose and the Fourth Legion. There's no small amount of bad blood or ill feeling here, and while the main perpetrators may no longer be with us, the victims are. Nonetheless, they're willing to clear the air if the feeling is reciprocated.

Lt. R. Colmes

[Delivered via runner to Legate Akna Ymir and Gausim al-Marain]

Legates,

During one of the first assemblies I attended, then-Legate Guivarch proposed a position before the crowd-- Speaker for the Voiceless, a role that would be held by a Voiceless who would bring the concerns and issues of the Voiceless forward. He nominated myself for this position, but for one reason or another, it never went further than that. I would like to revisit the idea, because I believe it to be a good one, even if more in theory than in practice. The fact of the matter is that there is a great many more Voiceless than Voiced, and it is unlikely that ratio will ever change. They're practically a Fourth Accord signatory. The Voiceless need to be heard, and when they're not, chaos follows. Crime, violence, ill will directed here and there.

I'm sure you would like the opportunity to address that; even redirect that.

In the spirit of that, and in the spirit of open communication, I'd like you to be the first to know that we of the Creep will be establishing our own little embassy in the basement  of the Almshouse at the Tablet. Kula lives in places that stand as the threshold between the Wyld and the Civilized. Once this embassy is open, it will serve as a place for the Voiced and Voiceless alike to meet with those who would Speak for the Creep, and share their concerns, comments and issues in the hopes of finding achievable solutions. Of course, this would not exclude either of you and I do hope to see you there one day.

We are men and women of faith under the Wheel, and the thought that we might find some common ground despite our past difficulties gives me hope.

Jerrod Felch
Speaker for Kula

[These postings are removed.]

["What is barren shall again be made whole.What is parched shall be watered.What is fallow shall be bounteous.So shall the city be return'd to the earth."]

[Disseminated throughout the Creep, Hasheema's Hope and the Gutters]

My name is Jerrod Felch, once Speaker for Kula. Now I speak for the Creep.

There is no freedom to be found by working within the confines of a corrupt system. There is no hope of prosperity or growth when the fields have been sowed with salt. There is no chance of meaningful change when the hulking weight of Baz'eel hangs heavy over our heads, oppressive and stifling.

To that end, the Creep offers you shelter and succor among the like-minded-- those who oppose, resist and defy the Sultanate and its tools among the Accord signatories. They will cry 'citizenship through service!' They will offer you gold and baubles in exchange for signing your freedoms away. They will tempt you with the illusion that you might better yourself if only you paint inside their lines. Do not listen to them.

"What is barren shall again be made whole.
What is parched shall be watered.
What is fallow shall be bounteous.
So shall the city be return'd to the earth."

Those who enter the Creep with violence in their hearts, those who have profited off of the pain of the common man, the criminal, the exile, the maligned, the unfortunate, the mad, those transformed by pain and misery...will find no welcome here and suffer the consequences of their actions. The Janissary, the bounty hunter, the politician driven by false promise and false witness, the murderers of the Banda Rossa whose bloody handiwork remains within these Gutters shall find no welcome here.

And to those of like mind, who reject the promise of Ephia's Well and would provide what they can for those who suffer beneath the Plaza-- seek out the Red League. They will bleed for the right to drink. Will you?

[A letter delivered by courier, a rambling thing marred with ink blotches and metaphorical venom in equal measure]

Eugene Molotch. That's how it started.

Wait, no, that's inaccurate. The problem started with compromise. Compromise is death, I've said in my sermons, and I was right about that one, right to the root. But I'm as mortal as anyone else, not immune to making a compromise, and I could drive myself mad trying to walk down every branch, evaluating every choice, trying to work out where the error could have been avoided...it was a compromise. Perhaps you're familiar with them yourself. After all, you work alongside Meteor Mae everyday, and she's responsible for blighting the Disc with blood plague. You should cast her out.

Like I should have cast Molotch out. But...

I didn't.

I didn't. I convinced myself that if I didn't allow him to do what he does best in my presence, then that would somehow make it alright. He is-- or was-- a necromancer, but being picky in the Creep is the difference between starving and living to your next meal. I should have starved. Would've been better. But we allowed the worm inside. Hospitality, aye? Bed and breakfast and all the things a guest is allowed by their host. We let him in until we didn't.

Imizael, he named as his killer, and she never denied it. I didn't witness the act, didn't do the deed (should have, would have, could have. Another branch into infinity, pointless to pursue.) I didn't ask after it until the deathless motherless bastard starting speaking through Freddie like water through a sieve, and made his conditions known. A curse on us-- all of us. A life half-lived, destiny denied, dreams blighted, never a moment of peace, always that heartbeat in our ears...or Imizael could die, and all of it would end. His curse. His foul presence, in the corner of your eye...

The group was...shaken. In my mind, it was an easy choice. I knew Imizael as much as she was willing to let me, and Molotch was a loathsome, foul creature. No contest. I would bear the curse, for good or ill, for as long as I had left. Keep them close. They were my people, I was theirs. That's how it was supposed to be.

I'm too stubborn for my own good. Another branch...

Only Freddie was vulnerable. Was never sure why. More susceptible by the nature of his blood magicks to the curse, or Molotch might have hated him more than the rest of us, but he made an attempt on her life. Imizael's. No death, not then. Sorted things out. Peace, uneasy peace.

And then, Lucia...



There is a blessing, or a curse, known to those who proscribe to the Wheel. It is a curse of living undeath, that slows the heart, hollows the flesh, cools the blood. Lucia was cursed in such a way because she drank something she shouldn't have. To fend off the boots and the Banda and always another foe. It hadn't had this effect before, but it did now. And there was nothing I could do to reverse it, not without killing her. And she was my people, and I was hers. So we went deeper. Asked for aid-- and we were told that the only way out was through, that there was no cure. Lucia was still Lucia. But she was also no longer alive. A thing of undeath.

And here was another branch, because Imizael asked me if I had lost sight of my goals. Did my obligation to speak for these people-- Craven, Orentid, poorfolk, madmen, all of them-- end when there seemed no easy solution in sight? No. I believed it then and I believe it now, because Lucia is no longer that ghoulish thing. No. But Imizael had a difference of opinion.

One week to find a cure. Only the miserable wretch had her own change of heart, because we didn't get much further than the gutters before she decided that our paths needed to diverge. Violently. I should have died. Freddie did die, struck down by her hand. But I didn't, and Lucia arrived and

She died. By our hand. Molotch couldn't be happier, of course. Ascended to whatever comes after in a golden beam of light, gone from this world forever. While those of us who were left behind sunk deeper into the muck and mire and shit of compromise--

And it's my fault. And your fault. And this world, this Well's fault.

Listen, listen-- remember this, aye? Read this closely. A wiser man than I told me that fear is what pretends to protect us from loss. And when the end beckons, when we move past the threshold of fear, what remains before us? What final truth, what last transformation before that culmination, that passion? I don't know yet, but I know I fear nothing anymore. I am ready for what comes next.

There's more to the story, of course. Long as I'm still breathing, there will always be more. But I get the feeling that you're not interested in that. You wanted to hear about Imizael, and so I've told you. Her curse is that of betrayal, and it is one that has been lifted. She killed Freddie, killed Molotch, and did her very best to kill me. She failed-- but I am not the victor. I have failed as well. And the only reason I don't open my wrists is because

I mentioned being stubborn. Dying now would make all this death and blood meaningless. I have lived my life in service to Kula, and now She turns Her eye from me, and still I say that there must be some meaning in it.

Jerrod Felch

[Delivered to the League of Gold by runner]

Legate,

We should have a talk about common friends and foes-- sooner the better.

Jerrod of Kula

[These postings appear in the Creep and throughout the Dry Gutters]

Buying smoldering ash. 100 dinari a bag

Ask after Jerrod Felch, of Kula

[A letter is delivered to the League of Gold by runner]

We've got a conversation to finish. Make a bellows when you're available.

JF

[A letter delivered by runner, who promptly pops down a grate once delivered]

Dear Boot,

Thought you might want to know. There are some unfamiliar faces in the Creep, and last night they returned with some goods in tow, stinking of oil and grease. Haven't seen what they've got in stock, but I know they are looking for a buyer, and they're not too picky about who. Could be that Cassella never gave up the smuggling business, and the attack was just an opportunity to move some goods into different hands.

Or something like that. Isn't investigation supposed to be your job?

[Attached is a flyer:]



JF

Izdur Saenus,

Didn't have the time to say this earlier, but it's worth informing you that the recent 'Grand Mufti' announcement made by the Legates was a decision reached by an impromptu meeting of priests of the Wheel. Nearly all Spokes were represented, save for Izdu and Gellema. Amelie was insistent that we send word to you before finalizing the decision-- in Radislav Ludovich's favor-- but the rest of those gathered demanded action sooner than later.

While you were outvoted, this is still information you ought to know. As Grand Mufti, Ludovich's duties will be to prosecute charges of heresy among our faith as well as oppose Modini influence and encroachment within our Well. You can send any further questions his way.

Jerrod of Kula

Leon,

Thought you'd like to know, and with all the ruckus and cross-talk last night, the opportunity passed me by. We spoke briefly on the matter of Cassella on the day before your sermon. You signed his petition, and spoke of the debt incurred, of the faith you placed in him-- that you would have his ear. When the time came for a candidate to be chosen, and he and Akna revealed the number of signatures on their petition, Cassella held the lead by a single name. I'd like to think that it was yours, though that may be a bit unfair. But allow me this unfairness, yes?

Cassella submit his petition, and Akna submit to him. Rather than chase signatures, she chose to become his Prelate. And now we have a Modini in the seat, one who has raised Warad upon the Stele. I suspect he is much like the rich merchant in your parable-- a believer in trade and profit rather than the Wanderer. But I could be wrong.

Tell me-- has he made time for you since the election has ended? Do you feel heard? Does your faith yet hold?

JF

[A simple letter delivered by runner]

I'm entering my name in the Voiced lottery giveaway thing. The one you're handling (again, for how large of a donation to Guivarch's campaign? To pull a name from a hat?

Perfect use for your talents.

Jerrod Felch
Speaker for Kula

[Dedicated to Zaire, Speaker of Kula"It is our calling, our duty and our birthright to leave this world better than we found it. Some days that requires sowing seeds and tending to the flock. Some days that requires slaying an orc or ten.One hand gives. One hand takes."]

[Within the Creep, left with a bookseller in a secluded nook, is a collection of prose, rambling or otherwise, inspirational pieces, musings and other literature penned by Jerrod Felch. The individual pieces may still be found beyond the Well or below it. This particular tome is far from perfect condition-- coffee stains, earmarked pages and smeared ink establish a certain 'character' that may perhaps add to its appeal for some.]

Dedicated to Zaire, Speaker of Kula

"It is our calling, our duty and our birthright to leave this world better than we found it. Some days that requires sowing seeds and tending to the flock. Some days that requires slaying an orc or ten.

One hand gives. One hand takes."

[Left within the Dwarven dwelling in the Tablet]

Hail,

My name is Jerrod Felch, and I am a Speaker of Kula. My travels often take me along similar roads as the Khan Chraub of Nusrum, and it's my understanding that you've allowed him use of the campgrounds established at Kulkund, to better bring war to the orc and deep-kin there. I would see an altar to Kula raised there, but first I would ask to hear more of Her from the perspective of your people-- should one be willing to instruct me in that.

I can be found easily enough within the Creep, or you can send word to me over the bellows.

Sing the song they wish to silence.

Jerrod of Kula

[Left in the Creep]

Greetings,

Got some goods you might be interested in purchasing if you're looking to expand. I'll try to find you next time you're about.

Jerrod of Kula