[Letter to Leo Tzimiskes.]

[Whyleth]

Dearest Leo,

I have spoken to your sister about what we had discussed earlier that day.
After hearing your words, I believe it is as I experienced my first sacrament, fear. The first sip of the Drink is filled with bliss when it then meets a dread of reality as you lose it.

From seeing your sister well up, I do not think it was her intent to put you in such a place, she only wishes to help in what way she can, to show a path forward. It is clear to me you both care deeply for each other, I hope the next time you both speak, you can reconcile in some manner and move forward together once more.

In this, I wish you luck, make amends with your sister, family is a sacred thing.

Regards,
Niranye Auvreathil

P.S. I still stand by my offer. If you ever wish to find yourself a place among the Balladeers, I will see to it you have a home adjacent to your sister.

[Hierophant]

Dear Niranye,

Dear Magistrate Niranye,

Words cannot describe my gratitude for acting a buffer between the delicacy of family fallout. We can all misjudge and jump to the ends of cliffs before we see the story for what it is.

Zoe described what she had to endure beneath the city, and if the Sibylline Sisterhood is what grants her some merciful reprieve from memories she cannot kill from her mind, then I will find joy.

Though her path quite different than your ask of myself. The Sisters were not present when these streets ran red with blood, nor were you, of course. But your superiors were, and their steel shed the blood of those my father called friend, brother, sister, Queen.

You may feel nothing when the word Orentid comes into subject, and perhaps your superiors never speak of it either. But I am not expecting such a warm welcome from them.

This is, of course, my own assumptions. I was young, around six and ten years when your Cinquefoil Rose alongside the Fourth Legion stormed the gates of Ephia's Well, after the Red Band had opened our gates. They broke a contract, and it led to the slaughter of many- a slaughter they then took part in.

My father perished serving under General Ar-Parus. I found myself an orphan at the Waiting Wheel, forever thinking myself cursed by the gods ere long. Went to drinking, to smoking, to cynical poetry and anything that would humor my emptiness.

But I will tell you this, my friend. I do trust you, and yet I hold a great suspicion and hesitation for your banner. I must inform you that this is by no means a choice, either. I'm scarred by the sight of that Rose. Nightmares in my sleep only drowned out by a deep cup of wine. I will not sortie with the Balladeers among you who ensign themselves to the White Lie, but I would be pleased to meet with you and Balladeer d'Lyon. By now, reading this, you should realize why a Cinquefoil Rose cloak over my shoulders gives me pause.

Yours truly,
Leo Tzimiskes