Messages

MIRACULUM

Imperial Year 7789, Qdim 30


He visited me in my dreams, and did beckon my thousand questions upon the folds but I could not see his face, only the specter of a God, a true God.

For if His brother was divine, would law be mocked so in the holiest of holy cities?

Yet he was magnificent. Full of wonder.

They have forgotten how to die in such a way as to honor Him, and already they steal from His domain.

He placed into my hand a bundle of hyssop, and as He waved His mandate, the air began to smell of myrrh and frankincense, and all around him the lost souls of the tarnished land began to dance in celebration for the Martyred Lord had returned to them!

When he parted, lingering ever slowly, as if to catch my gaze in a stupor, I could not look away. I was frozen in place. They followed Him, and reached the Expanse, and I heard the flowing water of the Edutu bashing against the battlements that would be dreadful Qa'im and our righteous army of the Wheel's true, and when I reached for His hand, the Martyr turned to me and took one knee.

It was a gentle touch, and His eyes, hollow and empty and mourning left a great sorrow in my chest, but also a duty; for He then whispered into my ear, 'Return, my son, for there is much work to do and you must be their guide for I cannot be. Live life into death and you will see me again, and you will know your work is done when the White Tree blooms again full of life and vim, and vigor!'

They parted then, and I was left with renewed piety.

Imperial Year 7789, Qdim 28


ADVENTUS

I have arrived to the fabled city of Ephia's Well, and here I have found few friends thus far but as is my faith's strength, the Church of Kalim and Gamil hold a fair influence within its quarters, and it is there in the Maqbara I begin my work.

They shift their eyes at me, for my admittedly self professed rank of Reverend, for a Reverend serves here already and I am a foreigner without a local name, but perhaps in my publications and sermons I shall denote my work under a more Baz'eeli welcoming pseudonym. I will have to think on that one.

Still, my coming here has brought me closer to the Gods. But will this pilgrimage lead to some thing I had not anticipated? Kalim, hallowed be thou name, I will teach these sons and daughters of Phor and Ephia how one dies well and Gamil, sacred be thou fruit, and steady be thou scales, I shall do so with the prudence and humility as befitting one in desire of Godly honor.

Only one face I know now. An elf by the name of Keth, who has offered to perform some strenuous errands by my side, though there is a ruffian's manner to him that I cannot place right in my conscience. I hope he is only poor, and lacking in a sense of fashion, that is the source of his uncouthness, and not some mirage of the mind, or rot of the heart.

Soon, I must take to the fore, and speak clear and loud my devotion. Perhaps he will visit me soon, pious as I am. A meeting with the Legates will do some good as well, to properly introduce myself into Ephian society. I am far from Baz'eel, and so lack for sponsorship. That will need to change.

An old thing, stiff for its age and not its make; a series of prayers, letters, notes and logs recorded by Reverend Martin Rosefeldt nestled in a private lockbox within the Maqbara of Ephia's Well he now operates from within.

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

Another missive is sent on the day of, delayed by perilous waters.

Privy, my friends!

We apologize for the delay, and now it feels a lie has been told. Our journey shall not commence today, but on this day a week from now.

But this delay will not come with uncertainty, for more time to prepare is always good. Of what we promised to bring, shall be brought tenfold in earnest, for my apologies.

All my words returned and repeated, meant in full, and we shall see each other soon.

Wheel's blessings to you.

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

I know this is an older topic but I remember seeing this a while back and guess I never had a chance to reply. I don't play long lived races often, but mostly I feel this applies especially to elves as dwarves have a very 'human' like lifespan, despite living longer than humans. For example, 50+ is generally considered adulthood for a dwarf. Elves on the other hand mature as quickly as humans (adults by their late teens), however are more often than not in cloistered communities for most of their life spending all the time they have learning and such and mastering a craft as you mentioned. Given that, I think elves are slower to learn but more likely to retain ghost reflexes, as in they stop realizing the gravity of their skillset and things become a bore not OOC but IC to them!

It is a player's choice to play a very long lived elf, for example. And to be honest? Its main impact on roleplay is how that would impact their personality, in exactly the same way there is a difference between playing an eighteen year old human and an eighty year old human. In this case, stop worrying about levels and consider more so that when the PC is created, they were unremarkable up until this point. It's the same idea as when a PC is retired and then comes back. They weren't doing anything 'great' or 'impactful' during that time. When you wake up every day and go to work or what have you and the week passes you by, how often does something impactful happen during the week? Now add months to that, years-- and many people can often find themselves living mundane lives and not really doing anything different. Because we are creatures of habit.

I consider the creation of a PC to be the remarkable point in their life, as all PCs are remarkable unless by choice they remain at that low level and play mundane roles. Just like the Stonefolk PCs are more likely to be aliens in comparison to the NPCs. It is the beginning of their story, much alike Bilbo and his quest with the Dwarves! Before that, his life was ordinary and mundane until something crazy bumped him off the road by happenstance.

In the case of a long lived elf, the reasoning for their low level could very well be amnesia, or maybe they were just never that great to begin with. Age doesn't necessarily correlate into levels and if an elf never had any reason to become a lvl 10 wizard, then he never became a lvl 10 wizard. For me personally, it is the choice of what kind of personality I want to go with, and a long lived elf is a great excuse to remove the self from the equation and seek higher purpose in some strange philosophical way. Like an extreme nihilist.

Lots of ways to explain it, and in the end, creative freedom is your friend.

Live & Drink, brothers and sisters of the League of Gold.

I should like to thank Legate Dante Moretti for his open-handedness, from which a candid agreement was made between the Waradim and that which we are told the faithful of the Wheel must fear.

So in that honor, I have reconsecrated the rooftop in B'aaran water, myr and incense, and granted it all the blessings of my God himself in ever the pious action, to celebrate in earnest this broaching of new and old friendship.

As you may know, we Waradim are not a wealthy faith, and the Legate has convinced me that my talent in Exchange shall be of use to our League. As such, rather than simply ask for charity in expanding the Shrine atop the roof, I would meet with you all whether together or one by one, and convince you to invest in the Open Hand.

It is my hope for it to not rival, but bear sweet and bountiful reminder of Warad's influence, and come by as a mere taste of The Welcome Reciprocity, that vast Caravanserai within the Epicrasis of Baz'eel. For those faithful of the Wheel among the League, I welcome you to make your prayers and offerings there.

Carry water for Him.

Coryn Darsk

I do enjoy this idea but after reading through the other PoV feedback in the thread I have to agree that it's a step in the right direction and should apply to more than just Legates. On my one attempt at Legate, one of the things I wanted to do, or at least one of the things I envisioned was opening up more avenues for politically minded PCs to advance. I've noticed since launch that the pool of PCs who actually want to be Legate or work towards Legate has thinned out, and part of that I think is that even without 'gamified' systems, being a Legate seems really taxing and unrewarding. I started thinking that the reason why these avenues haven't opened up with more ease is because more often than not the barrier is the back and forth vetoing of proposals and ideas. Sometimes I think having two Legates is the biggest factor of the politics feeling stifled, and that either one Legate or at least three or four Legates would be better, but I think one is more realistic to strive for. The idea being that there would be one Legate and his cronies filling up government positions (or just unaligned Voiced, or even Voiced from other Leagues striking an accord).

At the very least, the very idea of Legates needing to curry favor from the Voiced, Leagues or not, is a great idea. Moreover, I think Legates having a pool of political power that is not endless would be a great idea as well, and that political power being received from the favors of those Voiced or associates.

+ from Assemblies, from public events, bread and games, etcetera. I also think it would be more fun for Legates to interact with! The reason being, at least in my opinion, is it would make being a Legate *less* taxing, not more taxing. That's contrary to what NFG was wary of, but I do think that would be the case. Less expectation that a Legate must be perfect and fulfill every demand, and more expectation that a Legate should just be doing what a leader in power wishing to stay in power should be doing. Representation, and a line up of administrators, cronies and government officials appointed by them that do the work for them. The tenures of Gloamingdaith, Moretti, Argyris and now Komemnos are great examples of Legates great at delegation and accruing these lackies. I would love to see more of that sort of leadership.

Thanks for making this post as well. The political system certainly needs more public commentary and feedback, and despite how much we engage with it, I don't think we as players do it enough or the thoughts slip away and we decide not to make it public. I love to see new ideas on it and honestly it deserves an umbrella post for feedback! The changes of late have been great additions and ironing out the kinks of it would do a lot of good over time, of which it already has.

Fun to play with as a player and a joy to experience DMing and making the world feel alive in so many ways. Thanks for all the hard work you put in, EFU wouldn't be the same without it.

[Lift Thy Chin]

Lift Thy Chin

There has been much doom and gloom these past few days, and I have even been battered by creatures and monsters never known to me before. Trudged through the shit, watched a comrade utterly melted by Orcan fireballs and I woke up today, bruised, sore and bloodied, but alive.

I woke up for the first time in a long time feeling rejuvenated. I felt like I had slept soundly, and the bags beneath my eyes no longer felt so heavy. My eyes seemed more blue, like before, and I felt a Gildecrown.

Such is the stories of Agasians evermore, I walk a lonely path, but I am not alone. There is hesitance at times I cannot quite place my finger on, but there is also boldness and confidence. My new position in La Banda Rossa has never felt more comfortable. I know the stakes now.

Aurelio d'Lyon saw my treachery befitting disbarment, and the Sisters of the Sibylline Sisterhood deemed it my destiny or some such to stray from the path of a Balladeer. Mayhaps because they can see only few come along with loyalty in this Rose, with designs to redeem it in all its glory.

Here I was, once terrified of glory, of seizing the moment, of being pragmatic; now, I know there is no other recourse and this does not change that I do these things for what I believe is right and good. What is necessary for this world to be a world worthy of our children.

Ingway said he'll be long dead by the time there's a lush Bel-Ishun to rest easy in, and mayhaps he is right. So then what is the point of hesitance? He enjoys the saying, never say die.

Then let us never die. I am not burdened any longer by the shadows of the past, nor the stains of the now. All that matters is that I wield my sword high and continue my efforts to make war, be it on the battlefield, in the streets of Ephia's Well or in my fickle head.

I'll not muddy these pages with what has transpired the last week. From now on, these pages will be reassurances that I am on the right path, even if others do not say so.

Cyaxares, I come for you, and I know you are watching. I will not rest easy until this city belongs to the Cinquefoil Rose as promised long ago.

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