Dear Friend [DM]

[Hierophant]

Addressed to an estate in Baz'eel only disclosed to the courier delivering this quaint letter. Upon the envelope, 'T.L' is penned.

Dear Friend,

I half expected you to still be in Ephia's Well when I ordered my usual cup of coffee at the Sultan's Head. It seems that all those I kept company with thought differently of you, and now to day I have come to realize that there is not one person in this city who is not seeped in venom or angst, weary of defeat. Indeed, suspicion pervades every corner of this city, each one harboring whispers of grand conspiracies against each other.

In contemplation of our peculiar estrangement, I find myself reflecting upon the tenor of your words, so elegantly transcribed in the missive you so graciously penned for me and no one else, steeped in an air of ominous foreboding. Pray tell, has your sojourn concluded, or does this epistle chance upon you in some distant locale, if it finds you at all? Such inquiries, it seems, must await another moment.

In recent days, clarity has dawned upon me with startling lucidity. Basit, once a familiar face, has vanished into the ether, or perchance absconded to the realms of Kha'esh alongside the Prince of Qadira. Whispers reach my ears of a man with whom I exchanged words mere hours prior, now fallen victim to Namahedu's madness. Paranoia whispers its insidious secrets into my ear, though I strive to dismiss its murmurs as naught but folly. Surely, Basit yet breathes, engaged in some clandestine pursuit unbeknownst to us.

The Lilies flock for leadership and my beliefs have seemed to impress. But impressions only go so far, and in the coming weeks it will be action that mirrors that impression which shall decide my fate in the battlefield of Ephian politick. I am still deathly far from a Voice since the war-tax on citizenship was raised, but I am perhaps seeking restitution as a native son of Ephia's Well. Some ancient clause of blood, but then would I be able to call myself a democrat?

Mae Stern, in her candid assessment, labeled me a partisan, a designation that weighs heavily upon my conscience. Though I strive to articulate the depths of my distress, the eyes of others have become a constant presence, their gaze an ever-present specter haunting my every move. This pervasive paranoia, however unsettling, compels a stark honesty from within me; for in the shadow of scrutiny, even the slightest falsehood betrays the essence of my being. Thus, I resolve to remain steadfast in my convictions, resolute in my refusal to succumb to deceit, however tempting its allure may prove.

Until the fates decree our paths to cross once more,

Yours truly,
Dimitris Alexandros

[Hierophant]

Another letter soon finds its way to this address, but as the author may already know, they will not be received any time soon.

Dear Friend,

Perhaps I have betrayed my own admis through a fault of my own, for I can certainly mold words together like water, and yet struggle to think on my feet. An idealist, and yet distracted still by the cynic in me.

I have broken your trust by no intention of doing so. My sister is catching on, and so I confessed that you informed me Calpurnio does not exist and omitted the rest. She still hasn't seen the letter, nor knows I carry it on my person.

Better again, I have signed my last letter with my false name, a name you suggested I take up. But today, I do struggle to find purpose behind it. I do not understand what it is your business entails, nor why it involves my clan, shattered as it is and barely clinging to its namesake.

It is all coming apart, and there are times in the night when I see only red. Take that as you will, but I have never felt a hangover worse.

I know you are still in Ephia's Well. Your words once cryptic have found clarity in my mind through silence, and that is why I have strayed unwittingly from our pact. If this letter finds you, I implore you, find pen and paper returned to me with your due counsel for I sorely miss it. The wolves draw near, their hunger unyielding.

Yours truly,
Dimitris Alexandros

[Hierophant]

Again, another letter penned to an address that may never have been. This time, however, no hesitance made upon the name of the receiver; on the envelope is handwritten in bold 'Thiore Lorincreve, Esquire'.

Dear Friend,

Basit has not surfaced, if only for my sister informing me he was present in the last Assembly called. I have begun to fear the worst and I sparked a rift between myself and the Sibylline Sisterhood. I have not drank in four days and still I feel the sensation of its splendor in my throat. My tongue feels dry, and it aches for another drop; yet I have told myself nay, that I need it naught.

For I am Leo Tzimiskes, and ere long I have slept beneath the rocks and the dunes and let my mind rot from drink and mizzar. One might think I pay dearest homage to the Gleaming Friend of my youth, who would always smile at Zoe and I as we played in the sand and parleyed with wooden sword, thinking ourselves destined for greater things, second son of the noble Ignatius Tzimiskes.

Was it Ibtihal who failed us, or was it the poison Sirhandi whispered into her ear? I have pondered this question in the eveningtide of my own follies of late. My reputation has been tarnished and I have been bullied from the League of White, and yet onto brighter paths. Balstan Gloamingdaith has taken a keen interest in my political career, and I cannot say the notion has made me worrisome of his true intentions. Can a man be as honest and good-natured as him without some secrets, damning or otherwise?

The wife of General ar-Parus, I have discovered, lays in wait at the hovel they call the Creep. Some one I met while travelling alongside the Black Prince of Qadira, in fact many some ones have become estranged companions of mine. We have bonded over our same introductions, and now I am torn between aiding them find prudence again upon the surface, or perhaps it is time I adjourn my sister's words and look deeper. Is that what you meant, when you told me I must know myself, and you must know I? What cryptic riddle you've given me, O Thiore Lorincreve, my friend; it has haunted my days and nights. Who are you?

Yours truly,
Leo Tzimiskes

[Secutor]

Pensive Leo,

I must ask that you delay on correspondence to me for a time, unless something fruitful comes under your gaze or into your possession. You were indeed good company during my tiresome stay in Ephia's Well, however, due to the content of these missives, I've had to burn them and I do not appreciate the task nor the risk. I prefer to keep letters from friends. And, in truth, I find the welt of politics that bruises your home boorish.

To be clear, I only told one lie during my visit, at it was to your sister. May you cherish what you now know about your family, and do me the favor to keep that lie alive in her. I can be petty at times.

As for who I am, you should know quite well. I am an esteemed broker of arts in Baz'eel, and my profession is truly my identity. I hope this gives you clarity, like water over clean stone. Do not forget to honor the gods.

T.L.

[Hierophant]

[Received by a trepid hand]