A Baz'eelan Memoir

[Ashwrought]

[A small grimoire, kept on the Ashfolk Legate's person, a small rune etched onto the cover holding it closed against idle perusal by others, as it is stored next to a similiar sized tome of spellcraft]

It has been suggested to me, that for the sake of histories, I record a chronicle of my time as Legate of the Well. I believe I shall take the advice, and record my true thoughts; when the time comes to make a public copy, I shall review and sanitize it appropriately. And if, as these dreams of late foretell, I am to be assassinated for my actions, then let those who come after know why I have done as I have. As I have felt I must.

My time in Ephia's Well will shortly approach a year in duration. It has been over a year now since my life was sundered, and desperate to escape the comfortable but oh so familiar sights of glorious Ba'zeel, I left, travelling to Ephia's Well. I do not know what I expected; to be another widow lost amongst the refugees, perhaps? I knew only that I could not stay, that if I did, I would wither with the loss, and join him. Even now, looking upon the model of Baz'eel in the Terrace's Chamber of War, I felt the pull, felt the ennui call once more.

Perhaps the Well was a poor choice. It is a place of violence, of desperation, of raised and raw emotions scraping against one another. It has brought so many emotions, some I will cherish, and some I loathe. So many that I loathe.

I keep caring for many here, and they die. Galen, I think was the first heavy blow. I knew he was not perfect, but I still cared for him so; a child growing past his mistakes, and before he could find that step to true redemption before the Wheel, a petty assassin killed him. They think I am ignorant of what he did. But he was changing, and if a soul can find damnation, it can find redemption. And he was so close to reaching out of the darkness, and I loved him for it, as I would any of my children striving to fix a mistake. And then that self rightous witch, Azimi mocked him for deserving such a fate. I think she may be the first person I've truly loathed, that has stirred worship of the Wroth within these weary bones. Her absence has been a blessing, one stripped from the goodly people of the Well by her return. Even Cosine called her evil, but still he grovels and turns to her. [A large splotch of ink stains the page here, as if a quill was held in place at the last period for a time]

There have been other losses, so many other losses, since then. Boucher, the Janissary rescued from Banafsi with Reyer, who I fear in my weaker moments, went to his death as a hero, when he may have survived otherwise, because of things I told him, as he expressed regret and concern over his past. Boops Margo, who has vanished, after reforming herself from a delightful young woman to a serious politician at the critique of others. Even Pauvera, who fell in a battle led by Marcellus just days past. But I find myself not connecting to these new arrivals as closely as I did a year past. I doubt Pauvera even knew the comfort and enjoyment I found in our brief interactions. I must ask myself, do I protect myself by not extending my care so easily, or is it that the well grows empty, and I do not have it in me to care for them? Am I spent, unable to even make friends, now?

I thought Akna was different. Someone I could form a friendship with, then the terrible business Jordan (another I thought I could trust...) initiated and unveiled thrust Akna into a poor position, then into the seat of Legate. And those blossoms of friendship seemed to recede, as we met as co-Legates, both unelected. I thought perhaps they could resume, once our business in governance was done, but the betrayal at the first assembly crushed those blossoms under her foot; hearing her try to throw all blame upon me hurt, I admit.

But I have drifted away from the topic at hand. Like lancing a wound, that which was festering has poured forth.

In my time here, I have never hidden my fondness for the Legions, and done what I could to support the Fourth. It is perhaps ironic that the greatest issue, and likely what I will be condemned and remembered for as Legate will be protecting them; Qadira.

Hunting assassins that struck and killed Zain on the sands before the Well itself, the Fourth followed rumors that they were hiding in Qadira, and ventured there. They were told to not start any fights, and only speak, and with those terms accepted, they went and spoke to the assassins. But when they were leaving, they were attacked, but thanks to the intervention of a Qadiran enforcer, Sergeant Ashworth survived, and they returned with one of their assailants subdued. He pled guilty, and faced the Wroth's justice. But Qadira, scenting a chance wealth without having to earn it, demanded a hundred thousand for the offenses given. The 'offenses given'. As though they were the ones wronged! Our people, MY people went to fulfill their duty, and held themselves to their hosts restrictions. It is clear, beyond any doubt that it was Qadira that failed us here. Visitors to their city, abiding their rules, attacked by those they sheltered. Reperations are due, and they owe us for their abject failure.

What choice did I have? If I yielded to their demands, I would disgrace the Fourth, Ephia's Well, and Baz'eel itself. But here I did not comprehend the outlanders correctly, and if I had considered it, I should have. To so many of them, even those that have been with the Well since its reclaiming a decade ago, they look around at the powers, such as Qadira-on-the-Sea, and think they are Institutions, their state a fact of life, and not easily changed. They look at Qadira, and see a pirate cove, well established and settled in its ways. I look at Qadira, and think of how it was when I was the age of these outlanders; Baz'eel's port to the sea. The Maharaja's treason and betrayal of the Sultan is not ancient history, but a recent and ongoing failing rebellion. To so many of them, it is as if there is a clear division. What they saw over the last few years is current, all else ancient history, and not relevant. I failed to account for this, and so I think so many of them cannot understand my stance.

I don't wish the chaos and violence of war, but it comes for us regardless. Qadira is holding a blade to our throat, gleefully trying to hold us hostage due to the Clan's announcement of war. If they only knew how close it comes to seizing them to prevent this threat from ever reoccurring, and that their provocations do them little when they sent nothing to us after promising at Kardesler. It seems their Maharaja makes many oaths he does not keep to the Sultan.

I never asked for the position, as Legate or Prelate. It has been others recommendations that I become Prelate, and perhaps it is conditioning from a life married to, and raising those that serve our Sultan, but when I am called to duty, I cannot easily decline. And now I sit as Legate, because Gausim left, and found the relief of pressure enough to avoid returning. I will do my duty, even if it calls for unpopular decisions. And now that I am in the position people asked me to take, they tell me I should retire, to make things easier for them. I expect, if I follow through on doing my duty, I will risk assassination, and I fear it will come from those that have encouraged me to run for the position in the past. In my time here, I have often found myself playing peacemaker, and being agreeable, but now that I am representing authority, I don't get that option. Any weakness I present is harm done to the Well I call home now. I simply wish that the people I want to help weren't opposing me over being able to take credit for it.

I shall end this entry for now. I fear I ramble, and will need to purge most of this to make any published memoir of my time and decisions, but it has been theraputic. I simply wish I did not feel so utterly alone, these days.