Messages

Lieutenant Colmes,

Forgive the brevity of this missive. I have had a devil of a time getting a hold of you or any representative of the officer corps. The League of Purple seeks your salvation and the leashing of the Banda Rossa.

We must speak.

Yours,
Adoniram Benayoun

I'll be retiring Miro as I wasn't able to find a good niche for her, apologies to those involved in her goings on.

19 Illul, 7788 - Itziyal Neniarral, Acolyte of the Sibylline Vine - First Session

「Maurebande's Op. 45: No. 1 Feuillet d'album」

"Calm grew the sea, and tumultuous beating
Turn'd to a ripple, as Unda the fair
Trod the wet sands in affectionate greeting,
Beckon'd to me, and no longer was there!"

Impression

It is not undesirable to disappear.

Working Notes

Itziyal Neniarral (9::7) is governed by Yalka al-Yirkesh, the Mimetic Anorganism, who is the final threshhold between the Last Stop. Yalka imitates life, and governs that which is made of metal and which moves and creeps despite it -- the Cobbled, the Remade, the Auto-Loom. She governs lunacy through the magnetic shift of iron in one's veins and emergent sub-specifications, the self-animating life of invention and economy, the propulsion of Hyperstitional states and social development. Mimesis has clear relevance to Itziyal by the nature of her condition. She is in a state where she, I believe, on some level recognizes the fundamental truth: she does not exist. The conflict between the truth and the observable reality, or perhaps her misplaced desire, produces dysphoria. She is caught in a gravitational pull far greater than herself.

She believes to disappear is a fatal, perverse pleasure, and in this is incorrect. There is no higher honor than to disappear, there is nothing more righteous. We emerge from the darkness, the Sea, the Soul, the Mother, and invariably there return, to be dredged out again when we are needed, in time's crossed circle, its spinning wheel. Her heart is in this abyssopelagic depth, and it is a tangle of a thousand different knots. One by one we shall have to untangle or cut them in turn.

Despite everything it is not unfair to say that I am fond of Itziyal, this illusion here before me. I am fond of few people in an earnest or genuine sense, but there is a certain sense of exhiliration I feel reaching into the mud of her heart and circling my fingers around what pearls we find. I look forward to our next session. I believe some fascinating progress might be made.

Dear Estellise,

It has been too long since we last had time to speak, Apothar, and I confess I have much to speak of. We are parties in a game, and I do not wish to be merely a pawn in it. It is my hope you may hold the piece shall see me queened.

I also find myself wondering about your own state of affairs, tumultuous as they are. Many describe you as a venemous serpent, or a fool, or a harpy. I do not care to trade in such cheap appellations. I see a woman, doing her best to avert a dark fate. I wish to understand what it is you value, and what a fate worth your struggle is.

I pray that you should entertain my idle request, Estellise. I did enjoy our first interview.

Regards,
Miro Lac-du-Manse,
Acolyte of the Sibylline Vine

P.S. I still have yet to be drowned. How disappointing.

Oh, also Salvatore di Ravioci, his Inquisition lasted for just over a month.

How do we define tangible harm in this case? Would Don Souk, for instance, beating up and robbing several Janissaries for their swords constitute tangible harm?

Some notables who I think are thus far not accounted for:


Naelin Karstwen
Sephidra Niridhe
'Father of the Heron' Hu Prak - not a leader of a PC faction but is responsible for the Ephian national symbol
Leander 'the Throater' Nifkil
Najh-Ra
Yomar agkaem Kamarya
Gers Geiger
Mari Blacke
Itaja Sijapuros

I can help with bios for PCs here whose players are no longer around.

[Received.]

17 Illul, 7788 - Margarethe Eisenberg, Apothar of Q'tolip - Informal Encounter

「Antonio di Octavine's 'Qadiera', from Fiametta 」

"Quand je vous aimerai?
Ma foi, je ne sais pas,
Peut-être jamais, peut-être demain...
Mais pas aujourd'hui, c'est certain."

Impression

"Come and enter my parlor," entreated the spider to the fly.

Working Notes

Margarethe Eisenerg, path-fraud (5::4), initial path (5::0). Let us see her governed, in this instance, by Tythys Fleshy-Heart as opposed to Desolator Karakh, although discerning her true patron will be perhaps one of my major objectives. Tythys, the Angel of the Cards, sits at the 5th Door, Formoria, and presides over talismania and destined numeric convergences. Karakh the Desolator, alternatively is also associated with convergence, although of a cataclysmic and inauspicious sort, representing the phase limit of Formoria and presiding over nature's redness in tooth and claw (tail-chasing, rabies) and panic in its purest form (see the grotesque pulp of la Freccia and the religious fervor of Gellemites). As Karakh is bound within linear time, I think it remains rational to place Eisenberg in the custody of Tythys.

My psychological assessment is brief. Eisenberg is an insecure narcissist of a compensatory form. Despite what her superficial grandeur may impress upon the unwary, she has failed dramatically in several major and perhaps legitimate respects, and is thus haunted by this. She is unable to move on, and is instead forced to ruminate over it. If she terminates her bloviating and bravado, her psyche will collapse in on itself. She is highly resistant to treatment, both as a matter of professionalism and as a matter of ego synonia. With this little evidence, this is the level of reasoning possible to a psychoanalyst!

I must continue my analysis to obtain a more complete profile. There is more to be collected. There is more to be done. Offer me a bitter winter, Margarethe, and let a wall of ice ten centuries deep stand between me and the abysses you wish to hide. I shall break your defenses, and I shall expose the darkness which is mine by right, and I will drink deep of it, and it shall be good.

Bishop to e6.

The Puppets Have Fallen Limp
I remember a time where I would play with my dolls.
I would steal them from my sisters.
I would dangle them upon strings.
I would build them houses,
Upon the sand of the shore,
And have them live in peace and war.

There was a time I grew too old for my dolls,
Yet I played undissuaded,
And in my loneliness upon the great white tower,
Vapored desperate secret pleas,
That the dolls should move there without me,
And with each movement I recall,
Over every moment a pall,
Frustration mounting and desperate to provoke,
What can be described only as a miracle,
I took then the blade of a knife,
And cut their feeble threads of life.


They
tumbled

down




down






down








and when they landed,

no one caught them.

I wept.

This is when I learned of death.

Dear Barend,

Your words cheer me. You see lucidly the essence of our League and its immortal principles.

I encourage you to meet with Ahmet Yildrim, a newcomer in our citadel of some promise. He may be our candidate in a future election.

At present he, myself, and Elara Stormblade have entered into a discussion of the holding of a People's Assembly a week hence. It shall be a protest, an impromptu Assembly where Prince and pauper alike shall attend before the Pyramid, which shall legislate, which shall issue demands before the State. Whatever service you might offer to such an end, I shall appreciate.

Regards,
Miro Lac-du-Manse
Acolyte of the Sibylline Vine

Scribe Hoensbroeck,

I would be delighted to speak on such matters. I am unable to convene today, but the day following should be suitable for such a discussion. I share your assessment of our mutual goals.

Regards,
Miro Lac-du-Manse,
Acolyte of the Sibilant Vine

[An Acolyte of the Sibilant Vine enters the League of White Office and calmly, with hammer in hand, nails a document upon its bulletin board. It is written in careful, flowing calligraphy in a trained hand.]

The Myth of the Asterabadian Assembly

It has previously been suggested by members of the League of White a sentiment of dissatisfaction with the infrequency and marginal role of Assemblies in government. Many radicals and moderates alike have suggested a programme whereby all power would be invested into the Assembly. It has been suggested that the power of the Legates, the Executive, is tyrannical. It has been suggested that it is in the interest of the masses that this power be curtailed. It has been suggested that the Assembly is a democratic and Asterabadian institution.

Let it be said that we of the League of White; we, the inheritors of Asterabadi; we, the technicians of Ephian democracy; we, the defenders of the refugee, subaltern, and impoverished; vociferously disagree with any proposal which divests power from the Legates and towards the Assembly of the Voiced.

The only Asterabadian feature of the Assembly is its name. It is an institution, in the format of the old salons of Baz'eeli high society, dominated by the Voiced, a class whose interests are mortally opposed to those of the Voiceless. The Assembly has supported the introduction of slavery, the outlawing of the vast majority of the Citadel, the sale of Ephian territory to Gohari Heavy Machinery, and innumerable atrocities before mankind. It has opposed the reduction of the Voice, enfranchisement for the veterans of the War of the Southern Waste, the reception of Baz'eeli economic aid, and has made itself the mortal enemy of any effort to improve the welfare of the average person.

The masses of Ephia's Well do not need a forum where the merchants of wealth and the advancers of war might air their grievences and launch assault after assault on their welfare. The masses require a tribune, empowered to pursue their ends with whatever means are available. It should thus be the policy of the League of White to support a strong executive power and support the further divestment of authority from the Assembly, until the Voiced as a class are abolished.

[An Acolyte of the Sibilant Vine enters the League of White Office and calmly, with hammer in hand, nails a document upon its bulletin board. It is written in careful, flowing calligraphy in a trained hand.]

Six Theses for the League of White

Let here be writ six theses to guide the League of White and carry it successful and triumphant into its future. Let these theses constitute new and scientific organizational principles.

1. The League of White shall hold meetings no more than 14 days apart.

2. The League of White shall in its meetings discuss and vote on matters of policy, and shall develop a platform decided upon by the committed membership based on consensus and debate, with majority votes where necessary. Let these policies and proposals be actionable and concrete.

3. Once it is that a policy has been decided upon in an Asterabadian meeting of the League of White, let it be that the decision is now binding on all members of the League. Let all members work to realize the strategic and tactical objectives of the League. Let this be governed by the principle of "diversity in debate, unity in action."

4. To enforce the policies and objectives devised by the membership, and to coordinate the disorganized masses and membership of the League of White, let a cadre of professional, bonafide members be named League Whips and entrusted with the authority to organize and discipline.

5. Let funds be set aside by the League of White for the purposes of political incentives, wages for meritorious members, the procurement of Voices, and the coverage of campaign expenses.

6. Let it be that the League of White commits itself to a continuing campaign of propagandization, that it names members as League Propagandists who shall oversee the production of agitprop promoting the League line, and sets about arranging visible and spectacular acts of public protest.

9 Illul, 7788 - Nebtu, Sister of the Sibylline Vine - Formulation

「Isman al-Ahbahi's ar'Parus Variations - Aria da Capo」

"Lo! 't is a gala night
   Within the lonesome latter years!   
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
   In veils, and drowned in tears,   
Sit in a theatre, to see
   A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully   
   The music of the spheres."

Impression

I was right, I fear.

Closing Thoughts

Sister Nebtu (4::0), governed by Raos the Mantid; or Rokat, the Spinal Cervix, the Croaking Curse, of the land of flaming hail, half-way immersed in the land of dead where he holds court over all subsidence, and where he weighs the heaviness of fatality, is away for a time. It is no matter, I think, whether it is for a short time or a long time. I am prepared to say farewell, sadiqa. You, who brought me to this Abbey. You, who lighted the way. You, who have failed me. I wonder if those words wounded you.

Growing up a lonely child, told by your father that you will die... you look at humanity as though you are an outside observer. As though you sit in the court of Raos, and weigh their sufferings and their heavy hearts with casual indifference. As thought you are the very clerk of the Stone Library. But you are not, Nebtu. You are a woman. Perhaps less. Perhaps a child, still scared, still awaiting death come the morning. I looked up to you so many times. Now I see that I was right. You are human. And, more definitely --

You do not exist.

I brush my hand across the surface of the water. My reflection vanishes.

Goodbye, Nebtu.

9 Illul, 7788 - "Noukou", Sellsword of Frostport - Informal Encounter

「Riccardo di Ghuelf's Northern Dances」

"'Tis not the tiller
That steataing furrows drives
In chilly glades when autumn wanes;
And in her wounds the Disc
Rejoices not;
'Tis not the plow
That left these gaping traces on the glebe.
Not heavy seeds of golden wheat,
Nor Spring's sweet showers
That fecundate earth's ever-virgin womb,
But steel and brass,
And living flesh and seething blood."

Impression

She will die nameless or ascend to greatness. She will remain, always, fate's slave.

Working Notes

"Noukou" (9::6), governed by Natchi (Glory! Glory!) who moves so quickly she is paralyzed, who lurks without space and time in coiling, seething outsideness and glances in only through conceptual anomalies, spent a brief time with me in Elossi's Lounge. It seemingly took her interest to inform me that Asherias would miss our little political meeting. She was skeptical in disposition, and I cannot distinguish a sardonic character from a sort of Northern laconicism. Afflicted with some manner of malady of the skin, she wears a parasol and is white as the snows of her homeland.

This Noukou is destitute by birth, so common an origin in these circumstances, and hails from Frostport the bastard of a sailor, hoping to carve her name into history. She sought a reading, and I thus provided it to her. A spiritual prosperity, an aristocrat of the soul, and one undertaking a journey perilous into the dark forest -- to be greeted with success. She will find her prize, a place in history, regardless of if she should like it. Without any trepidation or fear she took it as her prize, this fate, and rejoiced.

Perhaps she is wiser than me, for she readily loves her fate. We will see what becomes of her. I cannot tell whether it would be better for the world for her to die in a gutter or rise to her aspirations. Certainly, I cannot tell which would be better for her.