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Jerrod Felch,

Gratitude for the penned word. It is not an unfairness, for I also signed Akna's petition when asked. At the time, I did not think two petitions could be signed at once, and I reckoned with my haste already made, I may as well make up for it by giving them both my support and a chance to receive the nomination.

I have approached Legate Cassella on his faith, and he has made an appointment aside for us to discuss this in greater lengths. Placing Warad upon the Stele may have been his foreword way of seeking my approval, but this charge will not be easy. I will be wary of honeyed words when the question broached to him in my attempts to guide him towards the Wheel and towards my Lord, Warad.

May His peace never be broken

Leon of Maedhros

Dear Alain,

Khalid and I have heard the pleas of the Dervish, Bajica, and I personally would like to see a peaceful resolution to this matter. Many folk have come to support the matter, among them Acolyte Narwen of the Priory. For clarity's sake, the Dervish does not seek the effigy destroyed but moved.

On that matter, we wondered where the late Lyricist was laid to rest, and thought perhaps the shrine may be reconsecrated there and the Wanderer's memory cherished?

On top of this, with the efforts of the Messenger Richo and I, we have erected a new shrine focused upon the tenets of keeping the border safe and the roads free of thieves. You may find it above the Gate of Sand betwixt the stone watchers.

I do see the merit of Bajica's words, though you bring honor to the Twins to be so forthright in ensuring the shrines of the Wheel are maintained and the memories of the fallen are remembered. If we cannot come to an agreement, I suggest a small communion of the Wheel between the Waradim and the Twindari presided over by a Priest of B'aara to settle the matter.

I await your word and may Warad's peace be kept.

Leon of Maedhros

A nestled parchment finds its way to Ricario Cassella's estate, with no other adornments.

Ricario Cassella,

I said that I would pen you this letter, and so I have set to task this eve with my thoughts to do it. You helped me when I asked, and though you are not asking, I have found myself enamoured by your rise and though a keen eye might say they suspected such of you before, I shall stand by my idea that you are a man of the people.

An idea came to my mind, and I half suspect half of the far more idealist clergy among us rise to hate so quickly for the slip up. The more I learn of your Sages, the more I am convinced Warad has set me across the paths of you and others like you for a purpose. To guide you back to the flock.

This idea did not strike until you told me of the Navigator, and I could not help nor find myself striking the thought thus; could the Navigator have carried Warad's favor? Perhaps one of His favored sons, who watched as the so called Navigator lost his way, lost his reverence of the one and true Spokes of the Wheel That Turns.

I would like to help you, Cassella, help you find your faith again and honor the Navigator both. This Sage of yours could be adopted, like a prodigal son, by we Waradim. I make this offer to you, to stand before Almutahar in Hasheema's Hope and kneel before the Wheel, and submit yourself to our bountiful and enlightened cause.

I am not a political man, but it would be a fair reminder that a public ceremony, to be consecrated beneath the Wheel in front of all, may be a boon to your campaign as well when it is needed most. Abandoning what you know is not easy, and it should not be. But I ask you not to forget your faith, nor abandon it; I am asking you to accept the truth, and to acknowledge no folk above the gods. We are humble servants, and your charitable works are a divine mandate that you must not waver in, though I know you shall not.

Consider my words, Ricario.

Leon of Maedhros

Sister Amelie,

I pray this missive bearing Warad's seal makes it to you in good health. This letter is penned perhaps in a reflection, albeit a selfish one.

Do you ever wonder of the weight behind kingly decree? Fate's eluded me to the details of history between the Sultanate of Baz'eel and the Twin Crowns of Kulkund.

But the High Dwarves of Kulkund have a word for Agaslakku. Some mistake it as a name, and I know too little of the Dwarvish tongue to discern clearly, but I believe Coordum is a title that perhaps means Exiled One, or it could be a direct translation of what they call him; the Murderer. Traitor or betrayer may fit as well.

Enough of my aimless musings, however. I've lost some train of my thoughts but I assure you, I ponder them for the good of the Wheel and you know this city far better than I. It is to be reckoned by us that the High Dwarves gave Agaslakku this title for he bore the gift of fire to the Thousand Clans, whom now in hordes chant His name, offering bounties of blood to the Conqueror. They then marched upon Kulkund, weakened by civil strife, and laid waste to vast swathes of the Upper Realm. No survivors but those of refugees finding a place in some of the city ramparts - the Tablets - are known.

I've come to think dearly upon this. I have known my fair share of bloodshed, both of sweat and of blood in which I have defended my people, my friends and my lands-- as a soldier, as a father, as now a faithful sworn to our Noble Lord, Warad Who Wanders. Perhaps then you've come to collect why I call this belief selfish, for it favours my God above all, yet I come as a messenger of the Wheel as is our duty, we Waradim. We spread the word, we protect the shrines, we ensure the Wheel protects and the Wheel provides.

Yet too, are we the Last Man. The watchers upon the walls, the spearmen at the gates, the mighty few to hold off the onslaught that comes for us all. Be it the Hundred Princes who pay heed to the wretched Ninth spoke, His name we utter naught, or their Masters, who once enslaved my forefathers. Be it worse, and see it far more severe, the Thousand Clans whom worship Agaslakku, the God of War who cares only for bloodshed and conquest and the belief that what one bears, should be plucked from the cold hands of your enemies. An old way of life, that feels so distant and isolated from the belief in my heart I hold that the Wheel stands to protect and to guide our flock, to bring about Warad's peace is a thing we all strive for, but it is not the way of Agaslakku.

I ponder of dangerous things, Sister Amelie. I ponder of upheaval in our treasured Wheel, I speak words of treachery upon Mother Baz'eel that I would see Agaslakku the Warrior given King Archaz' Law. I would see the Speakers of the Wheel who ushered in the great word for generations in their ancient realm recognized and no longer scorned for the mere message it sends that we praise Agaslakku, the Murderer who decimated their clans and their people.

But I would not invite Izdu's wrath. I should like first to delve into this matter, and discuss it among peers and betters before I make a fool of myself in front of our blessed world of theology, and the gravitas that comes with the weight of faith. Would you be willing to arrange this, in a way that is discreet?

Forgive me if I overstep and ask too much of you, for I am a stranger; but I wear Warad's garb and I speak the words, and I need to know for all folk must when pressing matters concern all they know. From the writings of that man I had shown you, on Origins of the Wheel and his lofty claims of knowledge desecrated in the Great City, and now my pleading heart for the plight upon Kulkund and justice upon this god who wears any coat bathed in blood, who would call himself a prodigal brother of the Wheel.

Agaslakku is no brother of Warad. Let it be so.

Peace upon you,
Warad's grace.

Leon of Maedhros
Windmaker of Warad

[Kulkund and the Wheel: Excerpt IPenned by Leon of Maedhros]

Kulkund and the Wheel: Excerpt I
Penned by Leon of Maedhros

"Home is sacred, but home is not always a place. Sometimes home is the company you keep; your people. Defend them, protect them, lead them. They are Warad's people. Your people."

It is well known that the High Dwarves of Kulkund claim to be the founders of the Wheel. That the Spokes were stolen from their own, if this is true then delving the minds and hearts of the Stoutfolk on their telling and thoughts of the Wheel is a wise lesson to be found to bring us closer to our shared Gods.

The reason for this I reckoned to be their exile of Agaslakku whose name they stripped and bestowed alike a curse the title of Murderer, for he gifted the Orc of Nusrum and the Thousand Clans their boon of fire and invaded their home as their Deep cousins rebelled below, sallying to the surface dwellings.

If the High Dwarves of Kulkund no longer or perhaps never did worship Agaslakku, then their people's view and very way of life among Wheel clergy would have filled different roles, perhaps. As I speak for Warad, our Lord Protector, I may hold bias for my next daring suggestion; the High Dwarves of Kulkund do not relish in war for war has decimated their people and brought ruin to their people.

Along their Great Exodus, I imagine the refugees who remained grew quite close to the Wanderer. While in their mountain home, perhaps he was more revered for the protection he offered the defenders of Kulkund, with their home lost and their Exodus upon the road, they had now witnessed His vast domain in full and likely relied heavily on His blessings for what hope remained. That is what Warad brings; hope against terrible odds, a shield for the arm that cannot hold it, a guide through perilous lands of light and dark.

For they knew that whatever lay ahead no matter the length this mighty journey would take, Warad would guide and defend their way so long as they walked in His footfalls, and where He would guide the faithful, all would know the Hearthmother, B'aara to those Stoutfolk, whom would mend and lick their wounds and open Her doors of hospitality. So they found a place in the Tablet, one of many perhaps? But I hail from Qadira these long years, and know little of Ephia's Well yet.

My thanks for reading, know these are my thoughts alone and theory, pay heed to the next publishing where I'll author my records of Kulkund testimonies on Warad and the Wheel, and the history of the Murderer.

Chapter I
The Merchant Who Knows - Addendum
Sermon of Nissah the 10th, IY 7788

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Once there was a Mogul of Qadira who bore all the wealth one might muster in one life. Too much for one man, and too little for the little man; charity is a virtue, and this Mogul knew none of it nor the teachings of the Wheel.

He fathered no progeny, married no wife and cared little for friends who could not be bought, for the wealth that soared in his pockets could cater to the comfort of a hundred friends, he thought. There were few who could compete with his monopoly, and for those who could, quickly realized the opportunity was never there in the first place. The Mogul's men saw to it.

But for all the Mogul bore, he lacked what some men find comes easy to them; passion. From passion stems the three virtues of a Wheel faithful; kindness, humility and piety. For this, the Mogul did not realize, but while he had so much he seemed not to notice the few missing caravans weekly. Perhaps he did not care, for one of ten may arrive, and who would dare challenge his rule?

As the years went on and the missing caravans piled on top of the Mogul's quickly growing woes, the beginning of the month marked the most bountiful business contract the Mogul had ever had the opportunity to pounce upon, all reliant on one man whose own reputation preceded him. The connection fell ill a day later, and was bedridden for months. They accused the Mogul of poisoning their master, and this would be the first pillar broken beneath the Mogul's feet.

The end of the month marked the arrival of a Wanderer, who made a humble fortune delivering water from the many temples of B'aara. He asked for little in return. When the Mogul learned of this Wanderer's arrival, he was furious; for control of water was his domain, and his prices were far more steep. They called this month, 'The Month the Water Flowed'. He was a righteous man loyal to Warad, and though he was no warrior, he was clever indeed. As the caravans became more frequent, the Mogul was quick to act, for he was petrified of his business collapsing. He sent his men to waylay the caravans of water arriving from across the land, and none of the men returned with their hands. Their mortified shells wrought the streets with tales of Warad the Protector, who made it so they were not killed for their acts but given leave to send a message.

When the men arrived to tell the tale, their hands wrapped and bloody, it whipped together such a crowd the city had never seen before. The years had not been kind upon the Mogul, and a man who cared little for friends cared even less for those beneath his boot. Furious that the Mogul would make matters worse by robbing the people of their quenched thirst, they rallied together into a storm of rioting and bedlam. By this time, the Wanderer who brought about this omen had vanished, nowhere to be seen. The coin he procured found its way into the Temple of Warad there, and the doors to its halls would later be said to line all the way to the shore of Pearls.

The Mogul was dragged from his estate and hanged by the people he swore to rule over. The people of Qadira oft turn their cheek when unrest rises, for they remember the days of the butchered Legion and the blood spilled that day. His wealth went to the merchants who knew, who knew of Warad and would now praise his name. But let the lesson of the merchant who forgets, be a lesson for all who ply the trade whence wealth flows.

The difference between the Merchant Who Knows and the Merchant Who Forgets. A reminder why we pray to Warad, and a stark lesson in what happens to those despots, those warlords who scorn His name.

Nestled in the archives of Waradim Khalid's Wheel House in the Tablet is a compendium, as young as this satrapy, with tall tales penned following the sermons of Leon Maedhros, a recent arrival from the Temple of Warad in Qadira.