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Slipped beneath the Legate's chamber, is a note signed by the Musafir, Coryn Darsk.

Legate Moretti,

We have had little time to discuss amongst ourselves and it seems you have made a habit of throwing me to the wolves. But merit is built upon a crucible of such things and I thank you for the opportunities presented.

However, as I have chased you down each night, it has been your ear I sought and your counsel and not to carouse with stranger and mercenary; so in truth, I would wish to counsel in turn.

Prelate Zizzo has given me the loan needed to secure my Voice, and now Voiced I am, however my financial affairs are difficult and having taken a Vow of Poverty long ago, I fear despite my experiences in less honest business, I cannot say I've ever been a wealthy man.

My duty is to ensure the benefit of trade and that the goods within our League of Gold flow with ease to where they must go, and I believe wholeheartedly in unrestricted trade, and securing new trade routes for Ephia's Well to prosper and thrive. My goal has never been to become a rich man myself, but to make Ephia's Well rich. Rich in culture! In literature! In faith! In character, in merit, in jobs, in industry and in community. Yes, rich indeed. That is my charge within the League of Gold, and how I found renewed purpose within it.

Yet I fear I cannot keep up with one thousand dinar a week, though I try to, and for this I beseech you for a position in your Cabinet of some sort that I may find myself given a wage and a task upon your Campaign trail. Elsewise, I shall in what little dinar I make, be locked in deadfall's debt for months, and have little time to spare for anything else.

Your friend and fellow,
The Musafir Coryn Darsk

Upon unsure waters, across the Sea of Pearls, by the hands of men paid with noble tithe along the caravanserais and sprawling camps, finds a missive to the unassuming town of Harrowden. It bears a Wheel laden in wax stamp and once unopened, unveils a short message.

To the crestfallen people of Harrowden I greet thee,

I pray in earnest this missive receives you well, and you this missive, for it comes ahead of more amicable terms and a coterie of the Wheel faithful to come as missionary and spread the charity of our Mother, B'aara.

My name is Coryn of the Waradim. In my travels, I have visited your humble community before, and though I witnessed the hard labor of many, I could not thumb the course of discomfort I felt. When I wandered into your peaks, I could go no further, for the rocky expanse was perilous and I could not yet afford the equipment needed.

This has changed, and now I return fully prepared and with pious party in lieu of mine step and the footfalls of my God, in hopes of uplifting your spirits and prostrating ourselves with all our Faith combined unto you and your peoples, to give freely the gifts we bring from our home of Ephia's Well.

Tomorrow, we shall come, when the midday is met and the Demon slips into the night upon our voyage across the Sea of Pearls to your home. We come uninvited, but I beg of you believe that the Gods themselves have ordained our passage upon the blessings of our newly elected Hakem of the Wheel, Yogi Caelius the Kulamet.

I look forward to returning, and I shall be praying to Our Host, so you may stand godlike and serve in his stead this once, and He shall watch and observe as Visitor. Blessings of the Wheel upon you!

Where from! One good host to another, of course, with chins raised and cups full.

As we carry water for Him across the expanse, word has reached my ear that this 'Synod' established by a member of the Uzzarii priesthood has, by all irony's sake, been desecrated by an Uzzarii priest!

Condemned and shunned, as record states, for several months since the uninterrupted service of the last Hakem's peaceful tenure, Preparator Tariq of the Twindari.

So I am told the Waradim rose to the test, and against an Oathsworn of Wroth indeed, won the seat of Hakem only to vanish, taken by his travails and disinterested in the day to day affair, thinking peace secure.

Then was it another Synod called, and the Waterbearer Burak raised to the position, only to himself seemingly return to his family's estate in Baz'eel.

At once between, tradition established by the first Hakem of Ephia's Well broken, and Synod held at the First Wheel. In my eyes this is a most holy statement, and yet I'm pained to learn this Synod faired even worse, as the blood of a Legate was spilled by the Oathsworn spoken of early in my message.

What is the definition of insanity, my friends in faith? While I cannot in good spirit echo the exact sentiments of this estranged Wrothman, nor the fiery defiance of the Murid Ekret who seeks not to reconcile with the Wheel entire, I find their boldness admirable, and I find the lack of hesitance in attacking their actions, rather than considering their words and the very gravity of what it means to serve the Wheel appalling.

Now I say this. It is the duty of the Waradim to traverse the Spokes in themselves, and where there is discourse, seek to reconcile and restore some order to the script, and forever record it in the Book of Annals, that seldom text where the Orthodox and Unorthodox are spoken of in earnest, to become the Orthodox so peace may cement itself among us, we brothers and sisters, we beloved of the Gods, we, the children of the Wheel.

So I do not invite you all, Wheel faithful, to the First Wheel, nor the Maqbara of the Dead. I instead invite you upon pilgrimage, for this Four-Wheels-Rounding, to a place near the Giant's Roads high up and hidden in the canyons, long abandoned and yet perhaps once sacred to Salhin's own tribe. We shall broach new meaning of it in this new day, some fortnight before the Year's Gasp, where even the most vile of slights can be forgiven, and those cast off from the succor of cities offered olive branch to return.

Heed this holy word, this message as delivered by the Lord of Roads, the God of Exchange and the Zephyr upon the Ash, Warad, merciful and mighty.

From his loyal servant,

Coryn Darsk

Hark, Seriyah

You kindred soul, are your Salhinid tales spun by your hand or another? I recently took trek far and wide, from Ephia's Well to Frostport, and Harrowden to Qadira. Soon, I mean to make an extended stay in Kha'esh to visit their market and bring back beads of many colors for the children of the Stockade.

Though I am most often on my feet, I have made it a mandate of mine to ensure many of these tales are tucked in my traveler's livery for the long roads and voyages ahead. Therefore comes my next question for you, and I wondered if you know of a tale told from a mountain fast, and thought beloved of the Wheel?

The name eludes me, but there is such a place beneath the skirt of the Giant's Road to its west, or perhaps its east. To stare at the Demon's Glare and omit the truth of direction is an unnecessary sore on the eye; for regardless, there is a fast in those canyons, far above and nestled deep. It is abandoned, for God's sake, and I wish to embark on pilgrimage there soon.

Tales do make the world feel round, even if it does not make the world. I shall speak a prayer for you tonight in earnest for your contributions to the many spun of the city, keeping we patient and quiet travelers in suspense of what comes next in the Odes of Salhin by your writ.

Carry Water for Him

Coryn Darsk

Dear Selwyn,

We have crossed one another's path more times than I can count by now, but only recently have we become friends. The truth of the matter is, I have enjoyed our brief adventures together immensely. So I write this with a heavy heart.

Bras clearly means a great deal to you but I am weary of the self-righteous. He will only break your heart, just as my own actions have brought you no great comfort. You are a Nadiri. As your Master, Zol Nur, focuses his sights on Bet Nappahi, so too should you.

There are greater and more paramount things at stake, and your friend I am sorry to say has made his bed. I cannot abandon my duty both as an Agasian and as a Recluta now, for it is the Cinquefoil Rose I aim to cleanse of its rot, and I am not going to let pompous, wishful-to-be knights judge me unworthy of a banner that was theirs to water, and yet has been theirs to bring ruin and shame upon.

It will not be easy, following this path, but not all pure hearts find a happy ending. We must set things right for ourselves, and while the dream of lush Bel-Ishun is a heartwarming one, I know that I shall be long dead before such comes to fruition.

We have only truly been friends for a few days, in reality. I have a caring soul, but perhaps it is time I close that chapter of my life and focus on what I returned to Ephia's Well for. Ere long I have been locked in battle with my mind, and with obstacles set by mine own hands, and ere long I have struggled to maintain a balance of what is good, what is right, and what is necessary.

You'll probably read over this letter and say to yourself, what a fool! Why didn't you go your own path? You chose to hunt Bras! I can say this much. Bras is a zealot whose God is cruel and knows a humble bed with one eye open always. He is exactly where he wants to be, and where his God seeks him to be. I tell you this now, for while our friendship is fleeting for my own pursuits that I cannot quite shake, I do care for you. Please, focus on your studies and aid Zol Nur as best you can. Distract yourself with work and cease allowing your heart to tug you back and forth between the throes of hardship, sadness and responsibilities that should not be yours to bear, nor burdens for you to carry upon other's sake.

I am tired, Selwyn. Thank you for your company, but the road an Agasian walks is a lonely one. My brother and sister remain in the lovesick lullaby of the Balladeers and the spell placed upon them by the Sibylline Sisterhood, and I must honor my father's memory, and free them from its doom. Hate me if you must, but I shall no longer hate myself. I follow my heart, and for now, orders. Because they know the Sisters are false, too. They know the Balladeers are weak. They are what keep this Rose together, and what keep it from wilting.

They do what has to be done, so the Balladeers can play the hero

They do what has to be done, so the Sisters can play their politics

I'm a warrior, and I'm exactly where I need to be

I'm sorry

Alaric

Legate Argent,

It seems you've recanted your words but you must know that they have sprung a wounded mind into action. Have you seen the propaganda? You best pray that your accusations were or are true, because I surmise you have set in motion a storm that will not be so easily dismissed with political savvy and gravitas.

Now, I despise politics. I watched my father dabble in it as a boy for ere long and it is like some preposterous game played by fools but you have never truly been one for half-hearted words, so it struck me as odd that you would play with fire so.

Allow me to elate you on why I care. My father was among the few remaining 'true knights' that fought atop the walls of Ephia's Well, capturing it from the hands of the Orentid remnants. He perished, and though I tell others it was an Orentid spear, I only tell myself that to feel better. The truth is, I don't know how he died, only that many of them did.

And so a deal had to be struck. A deal that allowed whatever remained of the Cinquefoil Alliance to prosper and regrow. The Banda Rossa are mercenaries and I like to call them the devil I know. Do you know what I call the Sibylline Sisterhood in mine head? The devil I do not know.

Their secrecy, their honeyed words, this 'Drink' that circulates even around my fellow students. I saw a friend, Bruno, wracked with pain and unable to move but a muscle, and he asked me, 'What do you know of the Drink?'

I avoided the conversation, ignorant then. But I feel as if I am beginning to unravel what is happening here. They say it is a Drink to remember, but what is it, truly? Have you partaken?

Understandably you have recanted your words out of politics, but doubtless those accusations ring in your head. I wish to hear of them. Tell me what you know, be candid with me, and I shall join your League of Gold and hide my ill-perceived fallacies better than Aeronwy Caddick ever could.

Nothing shall stop me from pursuing the ranks of the Balladeers. I would even join La Banda Rossa, if it meant a finer chance at reforming this sickness that reaps through the cause my father died for. Whatever the cost. It is as you say, Dragon, total victory? At any cost.

Regards,
Alaric Gildecrown

Slipped beneath the Grandmaster's quarters by a fair-haired student sat quaintly a hastily penned scrap of paper that had all the mimicry of a short haiku, if anything.



Shoulders bearing lofty burden--
A songstress and her heart softly sleeps.

Heed the whispers not of the mind.
But the ones that call out to you, accompanied by an olive bind.

Alaric

The First Day

On the first day I arrived to the outskirts of Ephia's Well where mine brother Galahad has found succor; on the first day, a pack of Melek unlike the Sibilant of the Rings.

These are malnourished, somehow more uncivilized and borne of penchant for cruel act less organized than their cousins. Not a historian, cannot say whether they are the very same, or a different breed entire. All that I know, is the same. They bleed all the same, that is.

They were ransacking an ambushed caravan and I had time naught to think clear, this did not matter. I have hunted these coldblooded cur for ere long and shall continue my work. I slit the throat of their only shield, and all that remained were skirmishers with slings and rocks, whereas in the Rings they would have used more rudimentary tool.

They are savage and even their accent is different. Their war cries unnerved me, and they struck me several times and battered me. Bruised me, bloodied me. I fought on, and soon I found myself in a tranquil dance. When it was done, I was surrounded by their rotting carcass, that smelled not of the sea but of things long dead anyway.

The vultures then came to pluck upon them, and I took six teeth to add to my trophy collection. Welcome to Ouroboros, where the snake eats the snake.

I only expedite their fate.

[HOENSBROECK WELFARE & OUTLANDER COMMITTEE]

Pinned as an unassuming flier on the Board of Petitions outside the Palatial Pyramid.


HOENSBROECK WELFARE & OUTLANDER COMMITTEE


DO YOU FEEL LIKE YOU BELONG?

DOES YOUR FAMILY TREE END AT YOUR GREAT GRANDFATHER?

DOES THE DISC DESERVE YOUR PATRIOTISM?

WHAT ABOUT THE KING'S COURT?

DO YOU HAVE ANXIETY REGARDING THE FUTURE?

DO YOU STRUGGLE TO FIND HOPE FOR THAT FUTURE, FEARING WHAT MAY COME AGAIN?

LOSING SLEEP FROM INCESSANT, NIGHTLY MARES OF THE NOTHING?

THEN PULL UP YOUR TROUSERS AND SEND A LETTER TO ESCRIBE BAREND HOENSBROECK!

HE'LL HELP YOU FEEL LIKE YOU BELONG.

FIND YOUR PURPOSE TO DAY!


A White League sponsored initiative to foster a community we can all be proud of. Dinar a day stipends for labor.

[that there is no lack of shared opinion upon the mislike of those Voiced whom have expended their resources in acquiring privileges, yet their engagement with these benefits is conspicuously null. The sole testament to their influence upon our city is a most disconcerting inertia.]

Communique on Interleague Tension: The Downfall of Unity
Penned by Barend Hoensbroeck



Preface
Allow me to begin by extrapolating words I shall be using often in this treatise, or rather terms. 'Interleague', 'Unity', 'Downfall'. The premise of this text, the intentions are clear; to remind the people of Ephia's Well that the Asterabadian Experiment is quite young.

To say one must be forged in the fires of Primary, or the loud debates of the Voiced Assembly, before one understands politics or bears a semblance of chance at success is, to myself and perhaps to myself alone, a very backwards and unfair assessment. Unfair because I do not think Ephia's Well and her politics need be so cruel nor competitive and secondly, I do not think the current tendencies of the Primaries are right examples to set and follow.

The goal of every institution promoting the part each citizen plays; that is to say, democracy, the power of an elective system, should be representation and participation. The Leagues, and Ephia's Well, would more than have the wherewithal to bring her to heights never known before if they instead of argued and sabotaged one another, debated and learned from one another.

As I wrote in previous texts of mine, I believe Ephia's Well and her government are lodged into a revolving cycle of Sabotage, in that opposing and successful governments will often simply overturn their predecessor's efforts, which are not only efforts of that Legate and his League, but the people as a whole. It is not Progress we see, it is Sabotage, and once we open our eyes to this fact, we may begin the steps towards True Progress.

I hope you enjoy this treatise on our Leagues and Politick, and may it compel you to ponder. Mind over matter.



Chapter I
The Only Merit

The Leagues are fundamentals of our society, that which pull and tug our politics into the directions its proprietors seek for it. It is a wonderous idea that has compelled many to join their ranks and fly their banner.

The League of Purple, in its quaint yet familiar love of Ephia's Well. Their belief of crown & city, unity & strength is respectable. Indeed, the merit of conservatism and loyalty to a larger power is important for our very survival. We are yet budding, though many do not realize that and instead lobby for our very destruction, unknowingly. Thus it is the Sultan's league may well be our compass in matters of reminder and tradition.

The League of Gold would say they invented the very term. Merit, that is. While many among this League could be considered obligarchs who care only for dinar and one's ability (Merit) to earn that dinar, they are also the home of many bright thinkers and moderate minds with eyes on the prosperous future of our city. Not only that, but they often bear the very craftsmen and tinkerers worthy of accomplishing such. Thus the Golds are respected for their aptitude in many a thing, and it is this scholar's belief it is the League of Gold that ought to be advisors in all manner of government economics and our growing mercantile enterprise.

My own affiliation, the League of White are bound by camaraderie. A charming thing, and even if one fails, I never feel as if it was for naught. There is hope aplenty and to spare in these halls and I am fond of my memories within it so far. A gift and a curse both, as it attracts men like myself; soft hearts, and a deep care for the downtrodden, those who suffer. As I am reminded of the most sorrowful things, I must say there is more to impoverishment than one's opportunities or access to wealth. It is a sickness some have been afflicted, a sickness that tugs at their mind and ceases their diligence in tow. I am also reminded that with the vast expenses of past and prior elections, the amount of good we could have done for Ephia's Well.

This is humility. To speak good of your compatriots, no matter if your views differ, is to speak good of a rival who you shall learn or they shall learn. It would please me ever. for a Temple stands here for B'aara, so too the Twins and now Izdu.

For any ambitious plan to change the very threads of our city, you must remember ten years it has bore the Voice; so expect to put in the effort of ten or more. This does not mean that things cannot be done before then; I'm sure in that decade, small chips were made in the stone of hope.

But if all we do as a society, if all we do with this opportunity given to us and not to many others; if all we do is uproot each other rather than uplift, thus contributing to this Cycle of Sabotage, and not the Cycle of Progress we think it may be; then that is not leading us anywhere, and sooner or later Ephia's Well may be starved of new arrivals all together and left with a missed opportunity that they at first scorned.



Chapter II
How Rivalries Build Respect

I mentioned the lack of need for competition but I never claimed competition is not healthy, especially when the discussion or subject is fruitful. Though I am advocating for increased cooperation between the Leagues to mirror that of the allied nature our city, building upon a very important fundamental of its structure, the Accords.

We must encourage consistency in all things related to the vote, so a more accurate analysis of the Asterabadian Experiment may be detailed and studied. So if we are to put institutional powers into the hands of the Accord, so too must we place a form of united committee amongst the three Leagues, so that their duties if not aspiring to be Legate, are great and many, varied as well.

Through forced cooperation, with time it shall be Gods willing. Examples will be set and delegates may be found all over the city from both League and Accord, taking part in Assembly and the future of Ephia's Well in all manner of things and positions. Trade, diplomacy, civic service, policing, religion; things of that nature, that which shall therein be the duties of the Worthy and Willing.

So, respect is born between rivals, and yet a city thrives. A healthy competition of opposing views but not opposing interests, for fie on the Leaguesman who decrees that his interest is not the betterment of Ephia's Well, and so between all three Leagues is a shared interest to start.



Chapter III
The Committee of Leagues

Through discussion with bright and brilliant minds I have begun to respect most dearly over the last two weeks, I am convinced that though the Voiced system has its flaws, what it means to accomplish and the efficiency it provides is not only necessary but utterly mirrors what should be the priority of all Ephians; presenting daring and forward thinking leaders among Ephia's Well, who will go on to be a Voice for the Voiceless and pursue means and posts of service and contribution that not only include participation in our politick as Legate or Leaguesman but into the welfare and prosperity of our city itself.

In these discussions, a common critique is found; that there is no lack of shared opinion upon the mislike of those Voiced whom have expended their resources in acquiring privileges, yet their engagement with these benefits is conspicuously null. The sole testament to their influence upon our city is a most disconcerting inertia.

Thus it is my wish that the Leagues unite in spite of their animosities towards each other and put their defying ideas to test against those rivals and colleagues, for no single idea is perfect, but it may be considered ideal by a combined agreement of those participants. So six ideas may become three, then two, then finally the one idea that make note of the merits in three opposing Leagues, who have selflessly set aside their competing and politick to think for once of their city's prosperity and not their personal gain.

So a committee should be established, with a representative from each League who will be their guiding hand in making firm and iron their principles and ideals. Then together, though bicker they might over the years of its budding existence, this council of forward thinkers might put together their clay and build something wonderful.

As a Lilyman myself, I daringly wish to proclaim that I should rather ensure a slice of pie for all than wish the poorest of us the job he may easily procure in a day. Ephia's Well is a city of opportunities, and many downtrodden refugees newly arrived myself included have made something of ourselves, so it is not cruel to wonder why such so difficult for the many homeless and hungry among us.

That question is not a question of homes that will still need dinar to be paid for, it is not a question for shelters that will fill and never empty, it is not a question for the hard-working Ephians who have rose from nothing to something and aspiring ever for more, and whom cares for his fellow, and though too for the lowly man, takes pity for he also asks himself this question. "What is so difficult?"

This committee of Leaguesmen who do not agree might hold weekly or monthly meetings, and communicate shared ideas for proposal in Assembly. They may perhaps see merit in a Voiceless and uplift them, though not first without impression. It should be the Gods given duty of this council to keep their eye out for the so mentioned future leaders of our city and through combined funds ensure their Voice is sponsored and insurances made that they shall be forthwright in their own, newfounded duties thanks to the generosity of what one could easily call the pioneers of Ephia's Well. We want to be builders, victors, heroes and prosperous folk, and that can only be accomplished if all Ephians agree, for greater the number, greater the chances of success.

That is True Progress. It is my firm belief this alone would relieve Ephia's Well of its stagnancy, of its Age of Sabotage in politick. To reiterate, it must be our priority to encourage representation and participation in our government and our city. It is the unfortunate truth that the naysayers, some of them, are correct. Equality as some dream it and wish it cannot ever be truly accomplished, but we might do one better in my opinion. Equity is a much stronger term, and it means much more; it is honest, and that ought to be what Ephians represent.

Diligent, honest labor; in all things. Battle, academia, economics, philosophies, ideas. A city of ideas, and the ones who thought them, and the pioneers who shall build them. That is Ephia's Well, and it is the Ephia's Well I should hope all to wish and want for us all.



Closing Statement
Individuality in Leagues

I have glimpsed over this topic in this communique few and far but I should like to close it with elaboration. It is my belief that among all three Leagues, as proven by my own witnessed experiences with fair patrons in the city and discussion, there are minds that think alike.

While some may argue those minds would be better suited for other Leagues, it is my own argument that these trends should instead be encouraged, and that in the above mentioned committee, those like-minded Leaguesmen form their own cliques of thought.

In doing so, their ideas that are reckoned to be similar by mere logic of their like-minded principles, shall be sharper than before and more refined. A proper presentation, and thus closer to the successful enactment of such policy. Persons of their nature shall be the future of the very core philosophy discussed in this communique, as their public show of friendship and cooperation will set in stone examples of inspiring partnership. An alliance of progress.

Thank you for reading and I hope to meet you all soon, those curious faces I have yet to meet, whom read these words now and find themselves compelled to question.

B.H.

To the honorable Legate Argent Argyris,

You must forgive me for my vanishment last night, I perhaps found riches through diligence and as reward, called it an early sack. Today, I awake with urgency upon my mind; the flair of an artist, or at the very least, the idea of an artist.

Ephia's Well lacks for much political commentary and philosophy in terms of literature or treatise and having been studying past leaders of our city, I must say that despite our differing views and affiliations (your League of Gold and my League of White) I do admire your success and methods as do many others, it seems.

My question to you, sir, was whether you welcome such popularity, and perhaps further methods of embellishing it with true and prestigious fact via my writings and chronicles, or if you would prefer a fictional piece that is loosely inspired by your rise to power?

If your answer cannot be told in a letter, please let me know a time and date we can arrange to meet and I shall pen a loose draft with your presence.

Kind regards,
Escribe Barend Hoensbroeck

Dear Mr. Gloamingdaith,

I hope you are well and remain so for the time since our last discussion. My thanks again for your time and patience in professing your thoughts to my questions. To elaborate on them, they stem from an exploration and analysis of a text supposedly penned by the Magus Asterabadi, or quoted from his lips; four Legates were deemed his ideal Ephian democracy.

I had penned a brief study on this subject. In it, I go on to speak about the disputation between Voiced and Voiceless and how the Voice should be abolished and true Citizenry be established. Not simply out of necessity and common sense, but dignity as well. The very idea that a purse of dinar is what grants us our right to speak, to be recognized, is preposterous.

Given your own words, that you believe there must be more to it as well, that they spend a short amount of time at the very least to earn Citizenship, though you were permissible on the fact it is still an exchange of dinar in the end. I find it accomplishes scarce results towards your wishes that some Qadiran cutthroat cannot so simply become a citizen of Ephia.

Due diligence can resolve all of this. As a Scribe myself, our duties are great but there are many of us and some more than others very eager and willing to adopt more responsible and urgent clerical work. Applications for citizenship after six weeks of serving in an Ephian establishment would be a finer way about it?

Alike some trades' initiative, the Accorded have much to offer and teach newcomers of a great many things, your Sandstone College included. Newcomers wishing to become citizens of Ephia's Well should spend a deal of time in any of the institutions openly recruiting, and then fill in an application with the Scribes of the Sublime Garden, to be approved by any one Legate.

On that note, though, going back to the idea of four Legates; what if one seat represented the commons, and the other three were guaranteed seats for the Leagues of Purple, Gold and White? It was the brux of what I had been pondering in my notes. It will all be in my conclusive thesis, though I suspect will not be finished for at least two months.

Kind regards,
Escribe Barend Hoensbroeck

Ephia's Well: Dinarcracy, or Democracy?
Penned by Barend Hoensbroeck

Since my coming to Ephia's Well, I have observed the politics and day to day proceedings intently. In fitting retrospect, I have dubbed it a Dinarcracy for all levels of government are upheld by Baz'eeli traditions such as bribery.

A Voice, a station of respect in this city, now costs 15,000 dinar as one fine example. Some have taken to calling it the Citizen's Tax, or the War Tax, and perhaps more romantically, the Dragon's Tax.

With that being said, a cycle unveils itself plainly. Two Legates reign in Ephia's Well, elected by those Voices who have afforded the right to do so and own property. Often these electors are bound to a political league. My own affiliation is to the League of White.

A League chooses its candidate based off a Primary that lasts nearly as long as the Official, and while all three Leagues boast varying values and perspectives on how one ought to conduct themselves while flying their colors, the heaviest coin purse is surely to win the heaviest favors.

When Legates are in power, all thoughts seem to flow upon the treasured and perplexing ideas of income, and how the coffers shall be filled. Where to trade water for sustenance, for wealth, for affluence. Furthermore, if an opposing League rises to power after a tenure, it seems to be the sole aim of the new government to undo and unravel what has been established, albeit with rare exceptions. This leads to the great Revolving Door, and afterward, the Great Stagnation.

As a playwright, I am envious of the sheer gravitas involved in this mockery of Asterabadi's dream. Such a vague and precious thing. A direction that which provokes thought in one's self and one's neighbor, let alone one's city and home ought to be a troubling one indeed for no good comes so easy. True democracy can be established and prosper, if only the willful set themselves to task and place their heart in the work.

We must applaud ourselves, if we have made it this far as Outlanders; it means we are tough, and we have endured. Then too do I know well we've hailed from darker straits, and far less liberal. Indeed, I once paid fealty to a petty lord, and I'm certain many of you have. I am not so keen nor eager to return such lauded things I have cast aside, even so if out of my will. Will we bow so easily, after the heights we had reached once?

Some have arisen from those disparate ashes greedier than before; having seen what could've been, having been so close to death's door, why not want for more? Others, though, have adopted a more stoic approach. A sensible approach. How does one sleep at night with his coffers overflowing, when the impoverished stomach growls in the night outside your door?

There appear to be some pre-ordained paths a great many some ones have dictacted Ephia's Well must strive for; of the three, they are often aspirations sponsored by the three political Leagues.

One would be for Ephian delegates to work towards expanding the Sultan's sphere of influence and authority in the city and its surrounding regions, and to govern not as 'Ephia', but as 'Baz'eel'. Just one of a dozen satrapies loyal to the great House al-Maribid. Through subservience, these beliefs stem from the belief that by serving as vassal and not reformer, seeking autonomy for his city (but not independence; the conjoined belief that community is the heart of our future, of civilization itself, and that the larger a sphere of life, the more fortunate we all become), their own career, or the reputation of their name or family, shall be uplifted and reach metaphorical heights beyond the walls of Ephia's Well. The sole belief that the focus must be Baz'eel; Ephia's Well is but one part of Baz'eel.

As a scholar, and as a critic both, I cannot find due purpose beyond that in the League of Purple. This may be due to the fact that I am still new to Ephia's Well myself, and so these are a critic's opinions and provocative thought that have made my pensive mind elated to discuss with friend and colleague. This is, after all, my home now.

Secondly would be the path of industry and metropolitan ambitions, of trade and of commerce. Of craftsmen and pioneers, those with minds set solely on the future. That which is impossible, made possible by mortal hand. Ephia's Well is after all the holy site of a B'aaran miracle; the flowing of the Water. Said to bear the healing properties of the Goddess of Water herself, and I have both witnessed and experienced it myself. I feel closer to the Gods of these lands, closer than I ever was to those Old Gods that had abandoned my people.

So why can Ephia's Well not be a site of more miraculous things? The City of Prayers, where they are answered thus by the clarion calls of progress. The League of Gold stand for a great many thing, and of them I do find myself in alignment at times of doubt. Alas, my heart is one and true with the League of White, for my heart was long ago stolen by the woes of the people. It never ceases to ache for their plight, and I have ever striven to uplift them since my arrival, limited as my wealth may be.

Which brings us to our Third path, the path of accepting that we have not chosen the path of riches, or the path of glory, but the path of a sighing heart, relieved that its patron may sit soundly in calm and peace, and raise a family behind tall, strong walls; built by Ephian hands, with Ephian heart. The path of unity, of humility, and of humanity; a thing found not just in mankind, but in all living things. We describe this sensation as empathy for our fellow, and after the Great Calamity, we must never waver from uplifting our fellow indeed. We are the vanguard of hope and courtesy, of culture and cuisine, of smiles and hard work. But that now brings us to the conclusion of this article, upon the revelation of our Democracy; how is it, that a League might envision its purpose, humble and uncaring of dinar as it is, in this Dinarcracy?

How then, will the future of this city be in the people's hands?

The hands of those who would live and die for its walls?

Of those with little sleep, nightmares fluttering in their trying of a time before these walls of Ephia, fleeing from clouds of blackish doom?

They cannot. Not truly, not with the heart needed for the work involved, in seeing this honest Republic risen proud as the Heron that soars its wings for her.

So the answer is thus that we have need to put greater and more sensible thought into the procuring of citizenship; that we must abolish the signage of Voiced and call it as it  is; Citizen of Ephia's Well. That it involve not dinar but diligence, not bribery but commitment. Not contract, but trust.

So what will it be, Ephia's Well? Dinarcracy, or Democracy?

Thank you for reading.

Good evening, esteemed Miro of the Sibylline Sisterhood and fellow of the League of White;

I pray this letter finds you well and I do apologize for its speediness in pursuing your hands albeit I was short on time and you know how inspirations might turn for the fickle mind. It must be invoked before the thought is lost on us.

With that being said, I should like to meet with you soon in private to discuss a number of policies and ideas for the League that given your commitment to the Lily, you should find quite appealing.

I surmise you and I share a budding familiarity betwixt our goals and if this is true, then I have high hopes for the future of Asterabadian values. I have been writing feverishly into the night ever since our last meeting, and I am keen to see Ephia's Well governed with compassion and commonality.

Yours truly,
Scribe Barend Hoensbroeck
Colleague of the Lily

[Hoensbroeck's 'Essence of Song']

Hoensbroeck's 'Essence of Song'
Penned by Berand A. Hoensbroeck



AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is my loving nod to my most celebrated hobby, the hobbyist that I am. Indeed, never have I attempted to use art as a means of filling my belly, or my pockets. Art is something to be enjoyed immensely, and without malcontent.

With that being said, I do believe - despite its unnecessary attachment to material gain in our times - that though it ought remain pure and sabotaged, which is to say wild and free, that it might still serve a vital purpose in our society.

That purpose is lifeblood. Without love, without precious things to care for be it family, art or the crown of a Sultan, it is love that makes a heart beat fast and long for another day in this world in spite of its cruelties. The lifeblood that drives we, many survivors from scattered banners, to press on in the face of absurdity and fickle fate.

Of many things that makes this come true, is music. Yet for music to continue being its most inspiring self, it must evolve with its flock and conjoin innovation within creativity to create something truly wondrous. As the Izdur might tell you, leave your mark on the world and make it magnificent.

To conclude, music is not to be underestimated. It is a powerful instrument of itself that can shake the foundations of all we know in an instant. Be kind to its shepherds, who bring to you its softness and its tender nature. That makes you feel as one with all. That which makes your breath slow and your heart feel God's embrace.



Of Hummingbirds & Hope


I first realized my adoration for song from nature itself, if one might believe it. Without the touch of something not quite right, when nature is left to its devices, even the most unsuspecting creatures in existence bear the amazing gift of song. The song of a hummingbird, when I was a child; the very first time I heard their soothing hymns I was very young, but I remember asking my father what they were, and he called them Lovebirds, as most often they were seen in pairs.

Then I began to hum along with them by the Steading hills, as they went about their morning song. I was painting, too; and I remember being very perplexed by the excess of dew that day.

I imagine such things, such innocent memories of mine, and I fail to feel fear anymore upon the state of things. The world has taken a fierce blow from old, fickle fate; but such is life, and so long as we remain with minds that remain sharp and never cease looking forward to new and better things, then life shall remain boundless and bustling everlong.

I have my father to thank for the opportunity in honing such things, who cared little of art but certainly knew how to toil upon a field for our masters the Lords of Velstra. He paid me no trouble for it and because of this, I was allowed to practice and enjoy the things that made me excited, rather than get my hands dirty in the soil or milk the cattle. My hands were always too soft for such things anyway, but as a militiaman, my father did ensure I at least had some modicum of ideas in defending myself properly.

But we return to the hummingbird, who lives its life simply and completely, undeterred by the propagations we have placed upon ourselves, thinking we are not capable of this or that. We seclude ourselves into our roles given to us by life's woes, and toil on. If I told you that passion could be pursued alongside necessity and duty, would you believe me? Or would you cast my words down with doubt-filled words of your own?

So the essence of music is not to compose the piece that shall win the hearts of many and fade into obscurity once its flavor has worn, but to be so different that you win the hearts of the few and yet the lyrics cemented into their minds forever. Because it is my firm belief that when melancholy is discussed, this eclipse in our happiness that plagues many of us since the loss of our homes, that its culprit is stagnation and lack of hope.

It can be explained furthermore by repetition and trends, those who encourage the continued popularity of an establishment, a something that tugs at the hearts of men which cannot be truly explained. Half of us don't even realize its impact on our welfare.

But when you feel that pull, that hale beat in your chest that stems not from a nervous disposition but a content and surprised mind both; you will know there is more to this world yet than the eye can see, or what is told to us in repeat. When they hear your music, let it be the sound of a crowd clamoring for change and for the ushering of new eras; let it not be the sound of dull clapping and uninspired woos and brays, nor the antiquated and gentle 'such fine works' from the lips of so-called patrons and philanthropists in our midst. For such inspirations shall not be found in such dull sceneries, but in crowds and tables of folk with questions, who hear a song that sounds a little different than the others, with words that do not rhyme and yet speak to one's very essence.

The essence of music, raw and believable, and yet the precursor to the moving parts of an undying engine within us all that shall shape and mold the world we wish to live in. For I would sooner perish with an Asterabadian novel in hand, Ephia's borders no larger than they are today, and yet for all its worth in the world; its people fed and its homeless given home.

[LEAGUE OF WHITE MEETING DATED ILLUL THE 13th, 7788 IY]

LEAGUE OF WHITE MEETING DATED ILLUL THE 13th, 7788 IY
Transcribed by Berand Hoensbroeck

Author's Note; The highlights are as penned. Discussions deemed of unimport to the meeting itself has been parted with.



Miro Lac-du-Lanse's Bidding of the Candidates (Vesryn Aradan, Peryn Fairdrake, Yiti)

"This is the first trial of your candidacies: If you wish to put yourself forth, first you must impress your fellows in our League. Begin when you wish."



Vesryn's Opening

In brief then. The deep-set rot of the Golden administration must be excised. Like venom from a wound, I mean first to purge the Pyramid of their poisons. Their wrothful experiment in stripping from the Voiceless all right to legal protection shall end. The enormity of Voice-sums to be substantial, reduced more than that.

We must not only tear down their rotten walls but build our own vision. So firstly, I would have the Whites give Voices to the Valorous. Any veteran of a major engagement in the Iakmes war shall be accorded a Voice. Any who voluntarily spill blood in defence of Ephia's Well at the very least deserve some say in its future.

And I do hope those so Voiced by the White League might, in turn, look favourably upon us. I shall also gouge heavily into the gilded vessels which are our Golden princelings. To fund initiatives to the benefit of Ephia's Well and the war refugee, I would propose we of the White insititute measures excessive wealth. For the Golds have spoken much of the needs for the people to sacrifice, to die. To suffer.

In the name of this great conflict. Whilst they themselves have made themselves monstrously rich through war profiteering. We must redress the balance, my friends.

And so. These Golds who cannot prove that their wealth is held for the betterment of the Well shall have that wealth seized. We may come to a consensus on an amount. But that is the vision I do have.

Finally, I do wholeheartedly agree with elements of Elara's proposal (will be published at the end). The idea of open governance. I would mean to institute new norms for our Legates. All their meetings to be open for the public. Advertised by Bellows before they begin. Summarised at their conclusion by the Scribes.

Further, no more rule by dictate. Exiles passed down. Taxes raises and lowered. Property seized. All at a whim, as was! But no more. I will propose to return swuch power to the people. And reinvigorate the Assembly process. Legates shall not decide new laws, but advocate. Public votes at Assembly shall carry the day. The Legates will orate. The people will decide.

My vision, therefore. Voices for the valorous. Rule of the people. And to upturn these gluttenous golds by their Ankles until sufficient wealth has fallen free to make the people comfortable.


Interjections & Commentary

Asherias Myl: You stole dinar from Bashir, took it from the gnome in some deal made, and then it seems decided to fight that Banda Rossan over it all, instead of doing the right thing and returning Bashir's dinar. How can we trust you to do anything if these are the actions I've seen?

Vesryn Aradan: Ah, permit me a moment to set the scene then. It is true. A gnome had fled into the Krak des Roses. Pursued by one of those grudge-dwarves. Violence was afoot. The gnome asked for help. I am not obliged to inaction, so I did try to drag the dwarf off him.

A brief conversation then did ensue. Accusations leveled against the gnome. It sounded, to me, as if the gnome had asked Bashir to give him dinars. Bashir did so, willingly. To my mind, Warad loves the wily. Nevertheless, the dwarf wanted blood. He hired (Bruce) Danebluff.

Giving him 500 ducats and promising him the gnome's purse if he would only deliver his usual brand of justice upon the gnome. I could not stop both Danebluff and the dwarf. So I was left in the heat of the moment to reach a decision. I took the ducats from the gnome's body before Danebluff could seize them for his own.

To my mind, he has already profited much from the misery and death he has inflicted upon the Voiceless. It felt right in the moment. My intention had been to see the ducats towards the gnome's family. Or to hungry mouths beyond our walls. To my mind-

Aurelio d'Lyon: You said it was your intention to give it to the hungry and the poor, but what did you do with the dinar?

Vesryn Aradan: You might ask Horton. Argent's pet Janissary. We entered into a legal dispute over the definition of theft.

Barend Hoemsbroeck (Author): This question and answer have spun from a productive nature, I think. It seems a far more complicated endeavour than we first thought, perhaps we will discuss it after?


Introduction of Candidate Peryn Fairdrake


I came to this Well as a young girl. A refugee alike many others. The same as many of you here. Half my life I've dwelled this Waste where the memory of a more verdant life before grows all the more distant.

I have grown to learn of the strife that grips us all. The clashing of culture and of ideals between us newly arrived and those who have long dwelled. That a home must be chiseled into this sandstone alongside the very ones who sat this sandstone here before us.

The concerns of our league are many and known to all of us, it is true. That the price of a Voice must be lowered. That others may stake their claim here in Ephia's Well and nurture from these sands a future for themselves and their namesake.

That the other leagues, long having enjoyed their victories and their petty political play, must be held accountable. That protections must be afforded to those who seek sanctuary among us. I am reminded of a saying from my home; 'You cannot promise the berry before the blossom.'

And only recently have our works to shelter and house our farflung and desperate brothers and sisters budded.

There can be no more violence that goes unanswered. No more theft that goes unanswered. The future of our Well will not be determined by those who hope to stagnate our future. Water always flows. For when it stagnates it grows murky, brackish and foul.

For us to drink we must be sure that our Water flows. For us to live we must be sure that this is a home. I stand before my people who have come and I have promised to chisel the sandstone beside them. There is no other way.

So I am, Peryn Fairdrake, a candidate for our league's legacy.


Questions & Rebuttals

Lyrist Aubrey Domergue: What are the first three laws you would press Marcellus to enact with you?

Usaamah Khayri: Your words are most flowery and kind, but how will you achieve these things, miss Fairdrake?

Peryn Fairdrake: The first is simple. That even the Voiceless, under asylum or sanctuary, will be afforded our protections. It will no longer be only the Voiced who are granted haven from the cruelty of the wastes, and ourselves.

Aubrey Domergue: What would that entail? Legislatively?

Miro Lac-du-Manse: We are a simple people, Peryn, we seek only concrete measures. We seek only food in vacant bellies, rooves over scorched heads.

Peryn Fairdrake: A refugee, without Voice or accorded station, will be granted the same protections as a Voiced citizen. Yet in the face of criminality, their punishment shall be escalated. They will know the risk of thwarting what so many risk for this Well. The finer details of this, I imagine, would be discussed with the other Legate.

Vesryn Aradan: So you will hold the Voiceless to a higher standard of conduct?

Peryn Fairdrake: Do you believe they cannot meet such?

Miro Lac-du-Lanse: You wish to prosecute the Voiceless more harshly than the Voiced, for the same crime?

Aubrey Domergue: It sounds as if your intention is to revoke the new language regarding citizenship in the laws and enact more stringent punishments for the unvoiced?

Peryn Fairdrake: You speak more closely to what I intend, Lyrist, yes.

Aubrey Domergue: I see. Continue.

Peryn Fairdrake: I too agree that the Voiceless should be granted a Voice of their own. A means of council, where their plight is heard. Where it is considered. A Legate is meant to serve. The future is not for one to bear but for us all.

Back and forth between every member, commenting on the sincerity of Peryn's words.

Vesryn Aradan: I am confident I can see the present situation repealed. To convince Marcellus as to the wisdom of the old status quo. But, we must do more than unmake the monstrous wrongs of the Golds. We must present our own unique vision for the future of the Well. What of your other two laws?

Peryn Fairdrake: That those who serve in the war efforts against the foes of our Well be rewarded, just as Vesryn had stated, with a Voice. And a law of which all may bear witness to the ongoings of governance. That even the Voiceless may watch and play part in the discussions of our day. A Voice is the right to buy property, to lead an institution upon the Stele, to find station in government. It is not a /voice/.


Voiced Yiti Oioni's Floor

Yiti Oioni: Here I go, I shall be swift. Let us be honest. This seat can assuredly belong to me, Yiti. With a closed fist and an open hand. Votes will come in even if we are the underdogs.  (With a raised voice) But you who stand before me may partake. Allow an association to be not just mine but for all of us. I shall now allow Usaamah to speak.


Usaamnah Khayri: Friends, I come to this Well with NOTHING. Yet this man, Ser Yiti, he has risen me up from the depths of the Gutters. He bears nothing but a regal generosity that befits not merely a Legate, but a Sultan. Is it not the way of the White? To take to the poor, the downtrodden, those without say or sway in the Well and raise them up?

Ser Yiti has done this for me, and he does this for all. You may think his words prickly, but I assure you this man takes well care of his own. I would be dead without this man, drowned in a mire of my own poverty and sorrow. Ask any refugee among the camps that cannot even but have a pot to piss in, they will tell you, 'Yiti has given me his pot.'

Look to the Gutters, look to the wormfarms that he has built and see who works among them. It is not the bourgeois, but the low, those in need. You all speak of your intents, but Yiti has ACTED. Yiti has held to his word and the results are plain to see.

Legate Yiti will provide.



Conclusive Commentary


Aubrey Domergue: Grand. Lovely. I will ask you the same question: what three laws would you enact, if made Legate?

Yiti Oioni: You decide them, as my advisers. How dare you ask me, I am no tyrant. I speak for the people. My loves the Priory and the guides.

Aubrey Domergue: What do you believe the People need? What do they desire when they speak to you in these moments of sumptuous generosity that you spill unto them?

Yiti Oioni: Do not ask me about struggle, merely suggest the best course of action.

Aubrey Domergue: The best course of action would be to share your proposals based on the pleas of these refugees and downtrodden you have aided.

Yiti Oioni: Well said, and so it will be done.


Penned by Scribe Berand Hoensbroeck, Illul 13th, 7788 IY

[The Words That Shook a City, and the Caliginous Dunes of Mans' Souls:]

The Words That Shook a City, and the Caliginous Dunes of Mans' Souls:

A lament penned by Leo Tzimiskes, your Orentid Rat



Listen to the people,
They,
They lucky few,
Who sung the words that called to reason,
Our very senses so dulled;
Woe! Doth thou sow?
Seeds of doubt?
Seeds of doubt in your neighbor, your friend?
Never and nay, for we have pure hearts and naught our worry.
Of what time will tell is a valid truth,
A truth that all men should know.

That we are not ourselves, and that we are broken men. Broken people.
Scattered, by these Caliginous Dunes that take Mens' Souls, woe!
When will it end, or rather shall I say,
When will it begin again?
The endless truth! So why, do you sow?
Sow seeds of fear?
Seeds of fear in your brother, your sister?

Dear Narwen,

My sister speaks highly of you and I am told that you have the voice of a Songbird. I have penned a lament for the Twins, my favored spoke, and I intend to perform it for the first time thrice the day from now.

Would you be keen on supporting it? Here is a draft of it, though I consider it complete, it would sound much better sung by three figures in unison, or one after the other responsible for one section of verse and then unison for the chorus.

In Shadows Deep

[Verse]
In shadows deep
Where darkness falls
Kalim calls
Through ancient halls
The Martyrs weep
Their souls entwined
A vow we keep
Forever bound

[Verse 2]
Against Death's grip
Our swords we wield
The Twins
They stand
Our fate they shield
With hearts on the pyre
We march ahead
To quench our ire
Where Martyrs tread

[Chorus]
In shadows deep, our spirits play
Echoes of old light our way
Entwined in fate, the Undying Dance
Forward, we go, with Gamil's Lance.

Do let me know as soon as you are able, and if you know any other musician and/or singer that may be interested in this clamor I commit to.

Yours truly,
Leo of the Tzimiskes Clan
Bard of Soot & Mud
Partisan of the Gold League

...

Dearest Leo,

O, how the world spins. Its hues are red, so much red. A color I've seen most of all in my life, red. Red red red. This is how my soul dances among the whispers of what we call the Drink.

I write to you for I hate to love you, and I am not a proud man. But shouldn't I be? You are my trembling companion in this journey through the veils of perception, where reality melds with dreams and dreams intertwine with nightmares.

She poured the sacred wine down my throat, and it dripped down my chin careless; effortlessly. Then I found myself wandering through the verdant field of Bel-Ishun, that fabled paradise where the earth breathes life anew, where fools are broken upon the Wheel and made to see the very essence of our existence. I long to be lost in its embrace forevermore.

But alas, my dear self, reality is ceaseless, boundless and it rears its grotesque face all ways- and I find myself stranded amidst the ashes of a world bereft of hope, where the trees have no leaves and its branches are like dangling arms of a fleshless man, its bone-like tendrils reaching and clawing for my innocence, for my life. Monuments to a forgotten era of abundance.

The contrast between the green dream and the bleak reality is a dagger to my fragile heart, tearing asunder the fabric of my sanity. For this, fear grips me; fear of losing myself in this chaos of twisted truths, fear of never again feeling its loving touch. That dizzy feeling in my head, the everlong of a falsity and ecstasy born from the realization that I am but a fleeting speck in the stars, a mote of dust.

O how I ache again for the simplicity of ignorance, for the oblivion of the mundane! Yet, even as I yearn for solace, I cannot deny the allure of the unknown, the tantalizing promise of new realms to explore and truths to uncover. The Dakhwar. The Chalice of Life.

Ere long as I pen these feverish words, I am enveloped in a whirlwind of emotions, each more potent than the last. Euphoria, fear, anxiety, sadness; they make love together in my hallowed heart and dance upon the canvas of my soul, painting a portrait of a man that cannot be seen in mirrors, only dreams.

But in this chaos, there is a flicker of hope, a spark of resilience that refuses to be extinguished. For even as the world crumbles around me, I find solace in the knowing that I am not alone in this journey, that somewhere out there, amongst the chaos and the Ash, there are others who share in my plight. Is this selfish of us? Am I selfish? Are you selfish?

So, my dear Leo, my dear self- selfless? I now cling screaming to a flicker of hope, that ember of resilience and navigate now a turbulent water, not unlike the blessed bank of the Edutu. Though these are of the mind's mire and they may are and will be what I make of them, for I am an artist and I wish to dabble my hands in all beautiful things. It pains me, even the thought of this being anything less than a terrible joke spun in a tavern hearth; I wish it were so, and yet it is so real. Weather the storm?

Now my hands tremble and I perspire. What am I doing? These men killed my father. No, they were without a home. They did not know, or is it what I tell myself? As it were, I bid you farewell, the old you; the sad you. Now I embark and leave you behind, in the Soot and the mud as I leave on for better and brighter things worthy of our name. May we meet again when we are dead, and drinking wine in Bel-Ishun.

Yours truly,
Tomorrow's You

Memento Mori & The Clarity of Sobriety
Penned by Leo Tzimiskes, Partisan of the Gold League

Let blessings bloom, O fruitful tree,
May fortune smile, your works to see.

Across the Edutu, distant and wide,
Accept the journey, stride by stride.

Trust the balance, trust the fate,
All aligns in due, patient wait.

Salhin heard, with ears keen and clear,
Truth affirmed, dispelling fear!

Through winds that blow, and waters flow,
through the reeds we've come to know.

Martyrs' gaze, a silent plea,
Ashamed am I, for all to see.

In wisdom's light, their lessons glow,
So they taught, and we now know.