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[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.

The Lion of the Lost Hearth, Aurelio! Aurelio!

I have sent specters to tender my hopes and dreams to you, for the protest of a snow-haired woman you call Aubrey Domergue.

Niranye, myself and you I beseech; we wear the gilded Gold and yet we are not rich. Our souls, though, are rich indeed. Rich of life and vigor for our Ephia's Well, our beloved city.

My friend, your banner calls to me and yet I find my path obstructed by the whims and machinations of a bitter and petty Masque worn by the visage of one who deigns my actions mindless, and yet had been mulled over many times before, the papers stained black with Maniakes' deep roast. If only I had all the Caliphal Green in the world, I would be that much closer to my fingers stained too, and this ink to pen steadfast ere long!

She, who had turned her back to the Cinquefoil Rose with a Legate's seat closer to her heart than the Dakhwar; she, who thinks it shall be her alone who finds it, and not she among sisters, she among brothers. I would be your brother, d'Lyon, as I would be your student. Perhaps already, if poor Niranye not burdened by the idea, that she would be second-guessed by the catspaw and have need to brooch and unbrooch my Rose cloak from my swollen shoulder.

Tell me what I must do, a quest noble and true, to earn your trust and your respect. For I will not seek it from Aubrey Domergue, who has made it her eveningtide's amusement to belittle all and spew disunity, discourse among ideals born and true; nay, I cannot and shall not, for a deep shame already stains ash on my tongue and eye from the very thought.

Yours truly,
Leo Tzimiskes

[THE WHITE LIE]

In small doggerels around town, all with the title 'The White Lie', are penned quotes from a recent meeting, or rather caricatures of what was truly said. Who might say but those who were present? Regardless, they are unlikely to last for long, blowing with the winds of change.

THE WHITE LIE

"I've killed more members of the League of Gold than anyone in this room. I deserve to be here."
Balestriere Mirielle Rosseau, La Banda Rossa

"One must crave a Legate's seat. Must wish for it, with every essence of their soul! You are wrong to think I do not know what it takes to become Legate."
Aubrey Domergue, Balladeer of the Lost Hearth, Failed Candidate Thrice Over of the League of White

"I'm here to fight wars, and repeat words said a thousand times before. Agaslakku!"
Malik Saenus, Priest of Agaslakku, an honest man, long lost younger brother of senile Legate Marcellus Saenus.

"It is a simple reality that your petition will not be accepted."
Rosie Gunmper, beacon of democracy, official of the League of White.

These are your Asterabadians, Ephia's Well. Fret not, democracy needs not a color to abide its inevitable revolution in our society. Consider joining a cult today. They have plenty of wine to go around. Or perhaps this is what happens when a man begins his half-baked dream, and finds it twisted by another again and again. They say the true Magus Asterabadi rots in a cell, just like Ibtihal once. Perhaps he will escape like she did and return our savior.

Dear Zoe,

Your words and the words of the Sibylline have rang hollow. The Banda Rossa vote for whom lines their pocket, the Sibylline vote for which candidate they think they can best influence and the Balladeers vote as the Sibylline do, with spies in every league claiming to follow their tenets.

I was suspicious from the beginning, and if not for your gentle nature, I would never have let that red wine touch my lips. I lost all sense of care, candor and tenor to my beliefs, but it has been a few days now and I realize something. I told you I was drinking myself half to death, and when I am delighted to say I am sober, you push upon me another Drink?

Words cannot describe how wroth I am with you most of all, Zoe. You have promised not to lose yourself, but you are already lost. The words that ruminated in my mind when Stern warned me are the very same here; 'It is true that Zoe Tzimiska is of my blood, but she has not been my sister in eleven long years. She was never mine to begin with, and so I have not lost her, only lost the hope that she would be again.'

Those soothing whispers, those dreams of nothing, those twisted caricatures of what I really believe in. You are all very skilled in it, I confess. But I will make a note of avoiding you and that Krak again. They all stood by and barely blinked an eye when I told them of Gunmper's declaration. The very notion of it so undemocratic I could weep, if I was so invested in their White Lie.

But I am not, and it was only a trial. Now I know who are the snakes, and who are my friends. Who truly support me. I've run into that Margarethe of yours and she barely knew who I was. All those 'whispers' about me, wishing me to lead the League of White to victory were blatant lies. If they were not, then they were based upon wishing a scapegoat to take face so they could continue to seep poison into this city, as they did through Guivarch's entire tenure.

Make no mistake, Zoe. The Sibylline Sisterhood is a cult and those smiles are like daggers more terrible than any Djinn. But my work has already begun, and it cannot be cowed now. I will continue it in the League of Gold and bide my time. So many are concerned with immediate success, and the be all, by all of a Legate's seat; so little are concerned with the ideas that will truly shape this city into the Republic it must be, and can be. Such things are not built in a day, let alone a month- and I would rather not be broken by three months of a Legate's seat, demand after demand from the Accord. No, what I mean to build will not be so fragile a victory. That so many think it is an accomplishment worthy of praise is a curious joke.

Do not call for me again. Enjoy your new family.

Regards,
Leo

Esteemed partisan ibn Ghalish,

There is talk of expanding our Asterabadian ways in exciting new possibilities. Are you on good terms with Rosie? She has sat as official over the League for some time, and myself and some willful compatriots of mine were pondering whether you would accept being a candidate for leadership of the Lily were we to call a vote, as is our way?

Of course, you and I both know that this effort will be curtailed, as progress always is. Still, you have always been one for stirring the pot and perhaps it might amuse you for a time to participate.

We have not met yet, but I should very much like to share words with you over a cup of coffee, or a poison of your desire. Would you like to meet at the Soot Lamp some time?

Yours truly,
Leo Tzimiskes

Rosie,

We have not spoken since I joined the resurgent Lily, though it seems some one has over some thing. It pains me to see that even the great Gunmper, who once upon a time allowed a traitor to Ephia's Well into the League of White, can speak ever so eloquently of what the League of White shall and shall not support.

We are for democracy, are we not? Perhaps if all you have want to do is curtail progress and the will of the people you so wish to uphold and raise from poverty and destitution, we should be holding an election not for Legate, but for a new official.

I'm sure there's a precedent somewhere, for that, and I have no doubt that were I to raise a few thousand dinar that could have gone for extortion (a Voice), the White-dominated lower leadership of the Banda Rossa would be very inclined to oversee such an election.

Perhaps we could meet to discuss the details, my friend?

Yours truly,
Leo Tzimiskes

Salutations, my new friends; N. Blackvale and Magistrate Alzorbo,

I pray this letter has found you both hale. You maneuver very quickly and as circumstances mold into the new, I should wish to brandy words and perhaps share cups of coffee at the Soot Lamp some time.

We'll find one another soon, no doubt. I hope all is well.

Yours truly,
Leo Tzimiskes

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

It's currently 1 round/level with no benefits from spell foci or otherwise, and a bard-only spell. The push for more support focused bards starts somewhere or just plain old utility, and I think making some changes to their unique or early spells (compared to others, such as clarity, lesser dispel, etc) would be good. But mostly I would love for Amplify to last longer. Besides the mechanics, it's just cool as hell to take and a bard having great hearing (even if from magic) is peak.

Legate Balstan Gloamingdaith,

Our discussion the other day gave me much to mull over and though I've yet to decide what league suits me best, I had one notion to add. A statement more so than anything.

Perhaps also living proof of my true meaning; if the deciding factor for what political affiliations to choose is mathematics and the odds of victory in a Primary, taking note of each associate aligned or maligned, then does this not show true how flawed the politick of Ephia's Well is?

If I am to pursue the jungle that is Ephian politics and policy, then I will do it as an artist would. You named the League of Lilies as idealists with little knack for practice, or at least such is how I interpreted your words.

Fret not, I am ever in your gratitude for the lesson, and should a Legate's seat ever grace my hind, I hope to work fruitfully with whomever sits beside me and show my fellows the courtesy of an august tenure endowed in undying love for our home, our Ephia's Well.

But it is not difficulty that bars my way forward, nor what I fear. Nor is it even near my compass. I have no interest, I have realized, in the path that bears the least resistance, the least tension. I want to feel alive again, and I want my home to feel alive again; so I will embark on the most arduous path, and perhaps some will call me masochist but the clique of the Lily I mean to shatter with my silver palm.

May you find everlasting peace and success in your endeavors. John Syter would be proud of the way you exemplify your care for the people, even the Voiceless as I am, and you have my thanks for allowing me the opportunity to contemplate my own future and not have it dictated by another with falsity upon their pale lip.

Yours truly,
Leo Tzimiskes

Elias,

How do your studies fair? I have recently read your Herbology but I could not recognize the plant I wish to know more of.

You recall where we met? The Soot Lamp. Go inside some time and flank to your left where the finer seats and that grandiose table is and upon it sits a modest plant with four stems for four chairs.

What is it?

My thanks,

Leo Tzimiskes

Published in the less traveled corners of the city and spun without its cover in a long winding trail of papyrus, a work entitled 'Clamor of the Logothete' begins to circulate with hushed whisper, passed from hand to hand like contraband. It is a messy and disorganized series of pamphlets, and new pages seem to come and go.

"Alejandro Benjazar is a difficult man to read. When I broached him of the bloodshed, he only spoke of purer innocence bled that day. Were we not innocent?"


In the shadows of our divided leagues lies a truth too often ignored—a truth that echoes through out the corridors of power yet remains unspoken in the hallowed halls of the Accord. We are a city fragmented, torn asunder by the specters of our past and shackled by the chains of our present. Gold-White, White-Gold; a Lily on one side may not endure the stain of Ghalish mud on the other, yet both are bound by the same creed. The idea of forced disunity comes to mind. Why does rivalry between competitors turn to scorn and theatrics all ways? Why do we not practice what we preach? Illusion is engraved into our lives now more than ever and we do not fight it. No, we have made love to the facade.

The reminder of wartime looms large over our city, casting its long shadow upon our streets while our leaders dance to the tune of distant drums. The taxes remain unchanged, the rents unyielding, and the politics stagnant. If war has become our silent companion ere long after, then let us acknowledge it openly and embrace the urgency it demands. For too long, the interests of the self-serving few have held sway over the prosperity of Ephia's Well, while the needs of its people languish in neglect. Wake up, my friends, and see for yourselves that we have been wounded by our government and lied to. We must strive towards the promised city. The taxes can be lowered, the rents can be fairer, the leagues can be better!

Our adherence to the principles of this Republic ring hollow in the face of our fractured unity, the leagues standing as the pulpable in this exchange. We may choose the animal that best symbolizes our city, yet when it comes to matters of true import, our Assembly descends into chaos and discord. Common sense, that elusive virtue, should guide our steps as we navigate the labyrinth of progress. So I say, let it be on every Ephian's tongue to weigh the odds of our future, to forge a path forward united in purpose and resolve.

The time has come for we Ephians to reclaim our rightful place at the heart of our society, to cast off the shackles of division and embrace the promise of a united future. Let us not be bound by the sins of our past, but rather emboldened by the possibility of a brighter tomorrow. Together, as one, let us build a city worthy of our dreams—a city where the echoes of innocence lost are drowned out by the chorus of progress.

Yours truly,
Dimitris Alexandros
The Logothete

Dio has been a Janissary since February 11th and has existed since the 8th. He began as one of my more characterized concepts, starting out as a fervent Agasian wishing to prove himself, to an experienced Janissary who did not let any loose ends go uninvestigated.

He felt human, and for once I didn't feel like I had any OOC stake in a character. I played him as he was, through both mechanical and roleplayed flaws to just letting the story take him where he needs to go, rather than hamshoeing a goal. The only goal I actually had for him was to become Baz'eeli nobility (partly by becoming a Lieutenant).

But as time went on, he had always been rather naive and unaware of his surroundings and though he adapted his views accordingly came to realize he is and always will be a grunt. He was okay with this, and I was also enjoying just being a soldier without any ulterior motives.

He became involved in a lot of funky stuff, from being captured by some dead Janissaries to getting the shit kicked out of him by his own comrade Hosan (a hilarious scene), to his most notorious case, Phil Lashio the Wicked. It was all a blast and I enjoyed a lot of the PCs I interacted with. Just off my top of my head, these PCs were Samton Ashworth, Daoud al-Maaz, Arnock Reyer, Rennik Colmes, Zol Nur, Xon Dhoten, Ashley Scherwin, Bajica Dilleni, Maria Tuscanzi, Emmanuel Harper. Commendations go to the bros he had along the way; Kroggnought, Edan Keladon, Vim Veltrod and I forget the last dude but he made a mean worm stew.

I'm choosing to retire Dio rather than conclude his story, as the conclusion of his story is probably dying in the first permadeath event of this war but I'm running short on time and I didn't want to just be super inactive, show up for a perma event and off myself. So I'll let the end of his story be vague and simple, much like the man himself. Did he get killed in some patrol, after everything he had survived? Did he desert? Is he in some Fourth Garrison basement, waiting for a phone call? Whatever the case, Dio is never seen again by most Ephians.

A few screenies:













Peace and see you on the next (when I have the time!).

Pamphlets are spread around the city, with copy of an acquisition form with some entries crossed out and dignified as not for sale. The symbol of the Fourth Legion is present and signed by Janissary-Soldier Diocletes Diadys.

Fourth Legion Garrison Surplus Detail

Aid the War Effort! All funds divied to the War Council & Fourth Legion soldiery for the battle with Iakmes.

Inquire with Soldier Diadys for purchase of surplus.

Old Sibilant Shield - ?? (Unclaimed)

Damaged Tel'Quessir Leafchain - ?? (Unclaimed)

x9 Repeating Ballista Packs - Fourth Garrison (Claimed)

x4 Catapult Ammunition - Fourth Garrison (Claimed)

x1 Catapult Pack - Fourth Garrison (Claimed)

x2 Experimental Lightning Rifle - Fourth Garrison (Claimed)

Barbed Basher (Spiked Shield) - ?? (Unclaimed)

Runic Femur Club - ?? (Claimed or Unclaimed, suggestion that this item be destroyed)

Starred Cloak - ?? (Unclaimed)

Defending Shield - ?? (Unclaimed)

Janissary's Voulche - Fourth Garrison (Claimed)

Potion Cauldron - ?? (Unclaimed)

Hobgoblin Greatsword - ?? (Unclaimed)

Black Scarf/Wrap - ?? (Claimed)

Deadly Twinblade - ?? (Unclaimed)

Cloak of Auras - ?? (Unclaimed)

Janissary Bronze Shield - Fourth Garrison (Claimed)

Skillful Crossbow - ?? (Unclaimed)

Odious Rags - Prison Acquisition (Claimed)

Greased Up Sticker - ?? (Claimed or Unclaimed, revolting)

Prowler's Helm - ?? (Unclaimed)

Lightened Half-Plate - Soldier Keladon (Unclaimed)

Harpoon Gun - Soldier Keladon (Unclaimed)

Ornate Helmet - Soldier Keladon (Unclaimed)

Grapple Gun - Soldier Keladon (Unclaimed)

Oaken Shield - Soldier Keladon (Unclaimed)

Dame Scherwin,

We are at war now. I'm sorry for not trusting you.

I do not want to die, knowing I have lost a true friend.

That may well be tomorrow, yes? Or the day after.

The point is, let Xon's sacrifice be the end of this sordid affair.

I was wrong about him, and I was correct about you. I have felt lonelier, since our last conversation.

Coffee at the Bell soon?

Regards,
Dio

[Meditations of Diocletes, I]

Meditations of Diocletes, I
Hziran 7788 'When unions of love are formed'


Ah, and so it has come to this pen in my hand and this paper in front of me. What do people even write in these epitaphs of their personal life, and who will even read it? Is it intended as a message to the self, the self that many do not realize in themselves, much like myself?

Whatever the case, we are at war now. No more am I a glorified city watchman, but a soldier, a true soldier. I have stared death in the face and to my remorse, walked back alive with my friend on a Janissary shield. I have heard malcontent in my fellow Agasians, and I say to them keep that chin up. We are the true sons of Agaslakku, the prodigal brother. Iakmes is nothing more than a pretender, and it will be proven in the battlefield.

I came to Ephia's Well from my hiding hole. Telling myself that I am loyal to no one but the Sultan of the Maribid Golden Lands. Golden Land. I first heard this term from a citizen of this Ephia, from one close to the Wanderer, Bajica Gilleni. He went on an arduous ordeal of erecting beacons of pure light to guide our Way, and I have held a deep rooted respect for the man ever since. I am remiss to say we do not know ourselves too closely as friends.

When I arrived, I was filled with fervor. Yes, some might have witnessed my shameless bowing before the many esteemed Ashfolk of the League of Purple. To my surprise, however, the Ashfolk are not any more or less prominent than the peoples that make up this young and wounded lion. In response, I stifled my instincts and began to shift my allegiance to my Bey, Sorazin al-Komayyad.

The Fourth Legion was not all that I expected but I had lost all I cherished long ago, before even the calamity that befell the Rings. It begins and it ends with the barbarian; the Orc, the Torc, the Fork in the road. I have composed myself well, I think. Despite coming close to the edge many times already, I have been kept in check by my new found friends, my new found family. I even found the strength to loosen my wedding ring and say my proper goodbyes. I have forgotten what the faces of my children looked like, and I have forgotten the touch of my beloved wife.

There was a fellow soldier, the one mentioned above who did not return from Har'pas. His name was Kroggnought and when I was tutoring him in writing, reading and our Penal Code, he made his wants known well; the man wished a wife, and I could have entertained this as a friend and encouraged him. But I knew no woman would ever love Kroggnought, not in the way he wanted. Not in the way my wife loved me. Was this a sabotage of the most foul contention I had uprooted his hope in? Instead, I pushed the Penal Code closer to his chest and told him so, 'That is your wife now. Love her true.'

I am sorry, my friend. I am so sorry.

Sergeants:


I've just met a woman by the name of Halana Marioni. Her tale is a sad as they come.

Her husband served alongside the Fourth during the battle of Red Hill. He died there.

Then her daughter caught the red malaise, and died horribly.

The woman stood near the Pyramid gate with her kid, Harry, and gathered signatures so that we may prosecute the Apothar.


Good thing to note is that she seemed to have spoken to Magistrate Sephidra and Torchbearer Captain Naelin (Today is her birthday). After this meeting, she seems to have been invigorated to proceed with this.

I signed her paper, and gave her a 100 dinari for some food and a bed.


Why was Apothar Mae never prosecuted? She doesn't think Legate Marcellus is guilty of this, even if he took responsibility of Stern's actions. But--

Speaking from the heart...I feel it's wrong to abandon a widow and her remaining kid. We are men of the Fourth and have each other's backs. In life and death.


Awaiting orders,


Soldier Ashworth.

I send my humble greetings, honorable Legates Gausim al-Marain & Akna Ymir,

Attached is a recent report of concern. All agree that the actions of Apothar Mae Stern during the Battle of Red Hill was not only necessary, but perhaps the only recourse we had available. The alternative may well have been slavery again beneath the heel of Sibilant insurrection against our sublime Sultan Osman.

However, as I wear Agaslakku's words upon my chest, the Protector bids of us weep alongside the widows, tend to them. The Fourth shall take on this burden, however against all repercussion, I am requesting the Legates too take upon a burden of this responsibility.

For that is what this is; embracing new ideas and new ways of governance to keep the peace, to keep the Sultan's peace. Would it not be possible to pressure the Astronomers, to pressure Apothar Mae Stern into a public apology addressed to the whole city? To make some amends beyond, 'We saved you, so be grateful; else we shall peel the Shade back and you shall suffer.' Then we bow our heads, and we nod.

Is this how our city shall be governed? This Ephia's Well I have come to serve as Janissary? No, it cannot. I pray it shall not, and that your rise - particularly you, Honored Water-Bearer - will take this chance to show the world the leader you are.

Your humble servant & Soldier in Sorazin Bey's Fourth Legion of the Sultan's Janissary,
Diocletes Diadys