REQUIEM WIKI

By the powers vested into the Fort Praesidium Conscription Guard Force by the Venerated Church of Decus, all are hereby notified open combat within Fort Praesidium will henceforth be met with zero tolerance. The excessive fighting, included but not limited to recent events, constitutes a public nuisance. Failure to abide by the prohibition of assault will be met with a fine of 1 gold and exile from the fort on pain of death for one week.

In addition, failure to observe the authority and impeding law enforcement of the Fort Praesidium Conscription Guard Force will not be tolerated. Penalty for breaching this code of conduct will result in a fine of 5 silver and potential removal from the scene of the incident.

These laws are to be upheld for the health and safety of all citizens and civilians within Fort Praesidium.

Regards, Arthur Ellery Captain of the Fort Praesidium Conscription Guard Force

THE BEST METHOD OF THEFT PREVENTION IS A STURDY LOCK. Don't delay, get a new lock today from Barnabas Haim of KM&A!

Article by Jeane Harlow

Not two days past, I ran into the Directors Assistant of the Ancestry Treasury Musuem submitting requisition forms at the General Store for mining supports. This in itself is not news. It is no surprise to see Mr. Black preparing for expedition following the museum’s successful grand opening, but the reasons surrounding the encounter certainly warrant some note.

When I inquired further, he explained to me the museums plans to finally learn the fate of the Amabilia Sisenna. Admittedly, I rolled my eyes; Having been born and raised in the port city of Paeldern, I am all too familiar with the ship. A story perfectly mundane in its facts has over time grown into a fantastical tale as each retelling offers different and varying degrees of intrigue to entertain an audience more so than shed light on an unsolved mystery.

The story always begins with a whaling vessel known as the Fog Strider who caught sight of a ship named the Amabilia Sisenna floating adrift about 50 nautical miles east from the coast of Lucerna Obscurus, in the Bay of Good Men in the year 1341.

In some retellings, the whalers saw a ship of Tormented crewmembers, others say the ship was completely deserted, or that a lone female figure was seen on deck feasting on human flesh surrounded by dead crew, strung up upon the mast for butcher. While there are dozens of different versions of these events, they all are consistent in that for whatever reason the Whalers did not dare board the ship out of fear.

What is significant about the whalers story was the Authority’s confirmation that same year that the Amabilia Sisenna was indeed a real ship. Furthermore they announced the financial reward for any further information leading to it’s discovery. For it was not documented anywhere publicly previous to this announcement that the ship existed at all. This revelation only made the whalers tale more legitimate, and speculation grew into the notorious tales we know today.

Fortunately, Mr. Black made no implication that he anticipated to find any far-fetched tales awaiting him should he reach the vessel. His explanation was much more simple, smuggler rings are routinely and successfully thwarted by our Venerated Institutions, and it just so happened during one such occurrence, there was evidence of old smuggler routes where there was noted a shipwreck in a previously un-surveyed craggy cove off the coast of the First Province.

This information changed hands, and made it’s way to one of the museums benefactors, who have asked of the Ancestry Treasury to verify if such a cove is indeed real, and if so, if the ship in question could be in fact the Amabilia Sisenna. With the fall of Tor in 1342, and subsequent Quarantine of the First Province, it is theorized that the ship must have sunk somewhere within our isolated borders.

Mr. Black was also forthright in that he had not the slightest idea of what lost treasures they were hoping to find, “Anything we find we will report to the Pontufex, afterwards anything not recalled to Redholme we may be able to incorporate into local exhibits, with credits given to the expedition team we manage to assemble.”

The expedition is to be scheduled to be set for the 14th of Warmwind, and any able bodied persons are welcome to come assist. The museum is hoping that volunteers will include some geologists, a few strong backs to help install mine supports, with an engineer to oversee, good swimmers, and lastly a doctor as an added comfort in the event any of the aforementioned tasks were to suffer a misstep. He is not expecting to run into an altercation, but martial professions for security purposes would also be most welcome.

SIGNED AND SEALED PUBLIC LIBRARY on Main St. is accepting book submissions! Drop off your creative works in the mailbox for review. Heretical texts will not be accepted.

Article by H.M.Maeby

Miners, blacksmiths and able bodied engineers alike, please heed my warning and beware of the black lung! Too many times I have seen young and foolish men and women enter the crust of Eden with their pickaxes and lanterns in toe in search of coal without even so much as a second thought about their health.

The mining and processing of coal, a substance we need to run warm our stoves, process our steel and even use in some medical practices can be very toxic to your health. That’s right, you heard me, it can even be deadly! I know this can be hard to hear and I’m sure you’re thinking, I’m young and healthy, this couldn’t possibly be directed at me!

I can assure you that you are exactly my target audience. If you haven’t been mining for long or processing steel for many years there is still a chance for you to save your lungs. Precautions you can take are as simple as wearing a cloth mask, through a respirator of some variety would be the ideal choice.

By making the simple change of wearing a cloth mask over your mouth and nose (it must be both) when mining or working with coal, you could greatly reduce your risk of this debilitating and unattractive ailment.

You might be asking yourself, what are the signs of black lung? What if I have it now? Now, I am not a doctor but I can tell you that the first signs of black lung are a persistent cough followed by difficulty breathing and the production of black mucus.

That’s right, black mucus. You just try to woo your favorite guy or gal while coughing up this tar and see where that gets you!

You can start practicing safe mining and coal processing today by visiting your local tailor and asking them to make you a fitted cloth mask. You may feel silly the first few times you wear it, but you’ll feel pride knowing you’re taking care of your health and extending your life in the First Province.

Besides, when so many other things could kill you, why let something as silly as coal dust do you in?

In the preparation of the remaining materials in this weeks issue, I felt it prudent to remind our readers of our original introduction of the Foundry's acquisition of this enterprise; while we at the Foundry will not tolerate the publishing of any heretical or anti-Republic rhetoric, we will not be responsible for the material printed otherwise. Any grievance against a written article rests solely on the reporter.

It is my intention as editor to provide as neutral a platform as possible for residence of to share news, information and engage in civil discourse. In this issue, I have received multiple articles from primary sources in which I believe only fair to print all sides of the incidents. To further maintain my mission to keep the Frontier Herald impartial, I have made the decision to place the below based on routine contribution, followed by order submitted. - Jeane Harlow

Article by Quincy Everhard

Soup for the needy. One could argue that it sufficiently encompasses the spirit of the charitable event orchestrated by Jahandar Hassanzadeh, a prominent Prodaen entrepreneur. But is that the case with the event held at the Old Town district's patio? Readers who agree on the quality of this paragraphs' opening line are bound to appraise the sculpture of a horse and comment that it's made out of wood. Now, I'm sure our faithful readers are capable of considerably higher acuity, so let's increase a few layers of complexity as we go along, shall we?

Mr. Hassanzadeh addressed a few of his collaborators, each of them carrying out important tasks without which would have turned out to be drastically different: all food was provided by Viola Wandren in the shape of bountiful bowls of soup and loaves of varied recipes of bread, though I confess I won't dare evaluate Ms. Wandren's culinary prowess as my knowledge in the kitchen is sketchy at best; Drusilla, the Kaduraan physician, was charged with serving all diners in attendance, and I believe the task suited her if we factor just how much assistance she provides towards the populace at the expense of her pocket; and Constantine would not be left out when the matter at hand pertains to generosity, considering all the dining ware was provided by the humble publican of the Meddler's Risk - a tavern that by now requires no further introduction or commendation.

The evening began with the Prodaen reading a few highlights from The Republic Sentinel, a newspaper from Redholme. This served a double purpose, according to my view: not only there would be plenty of time for interested Republicans to attend the main course in time, but also simpler folk unable to make sense out of the written word would be able to grasp current events taking place in Vitaveus. I could just as well wrap this article here, but there's yet a last layer I'd like to approach, presumably the more important one just below, so please stick with me.

When I arrived at the patio, I was staggered to notice everything was arranged neatly, yet there's still refuse and waste all around the floor! I would imagine inviting the Fort's inhabitants for a meal would have the place proper beforehand. However, the contrast was blatant, and I couldn't shake off that feeling throughout the evening: people were feasting on good food among detritus; known community faces selflessly donating their efforts and means, yet with troubled countenances of unease; Jahandar professing his well-meaning plans to feed the masses, but from an exquisite chair draped with his expensive garments. Even I fell victim to chance, as I was ushered to perform on the spot without having anything especially catered to the occasion. Thus, unease seems to be quite a good word to describe the overall experience through this author's lenses, a rather diverse sentiment than the fulfillment of seeing the poor being fed. Somehow, I don't believe we're headed in that direction just yet.

Open Letter from Sammie Walsham

I’ve been long in this trade, having produced and printed a very successful paper of my own for quite some time before traveling to this beloved Province. So it is not without humbleness that I can say I understand its workings well. Understand the nature of the trade my peers and I ply. Understand the duty we hold to the people of the Republic to provide honest tellings of events so they may stay informed of the greater world we all share. It is, however, my great shame to know that I am one of the few within this business to hold stout to such earnest beliefs. Though it pains me to admit, many, especially those new to the craft, bend and bash the hard truths against their own whims and wants in order to carve out a place for their names amongst the titans of journalism. These people would gladly see their neighbor starve just so they might have another scoop of porridge in their bowl.

One of these dastardly folk I speak of goes by the name of Quincy Everhard. A promising up-and-comer working freelance for this very paper. I confess I had high hopes for his future within the industry. As I believe it is the duty of the old to carve the way for those who might follow and in doing so make their trek all the easier. It is to my great sorrow, but not surprise, that I must write this today. To dispel the lies and misinformation brought forward by a blindly ambitious man, too impatient and slothly to earn his reputation he has sought to besmirch my own in selfish hopes to further his career. And while normally I would ignore such senseless blabber, this has struck close to home, attacking my character and integrity as a reporter.

It is not the first time my passion for the truth has been mistaken for ire. I am an honest man and when I speak to someone I afford them the respect of that honesty, no matter how ugly it might be. Save the false pleasantries and two-faced smiles for the Prelacy, I say. It is also true that a stern word opens many doors that would otherwise stay shut. But to paint me as some ‘entitled’, unpleasant man can not be further from the truth. In fact, it is wholly and utterly a lie. I treat all I meet, from Reeve to rogue, with respect. Respect unshared by Mister Everhard, who knows not the way of honest folk. Miss Harlow and I have a long history, one that has not always led us to see eye to eye but it is that mutual respect we hold for one another that allows this paper to flourish. To try to tarnish that with falsehoods, to place doubt in the minds of our readers, is nothing more than a selfish and devious act of a careless man who knows not the weight in which his words carry.

It is no secret I and many others are grateful to our hosts, The Foundry, for the sanctuary and support they provide to both me and all those who reside within this Province. But to suggest I would warp the truth and ‘aggrandize’ them is but the misguided musings of a man who knows not how to be thankful. Who, like a spoiled child unknowing of the lash, EXPECTS rather than asks. A man who has not seen the desperate troubles of this world so does not know the great extent and expense the Foundry has gone to ensure a place of peace within this Province. They pay your wages, Mister Everhard. Paid you fair compensation to write your foul, reckless words. They pay as well for the very museum you reported on, a fact you, either through ineptitude or devious tact, left omitted from your article. I am a prideful man but even I know when humility and gratitude are earned. And the Foundry has earned every praise I write and more.

In truth, if he had saved his words only for me I may not be sitting here, scribbling now. I am blessed with a thick skin and a forgiving heart, so I may just have let his article fade and gather dust within the library, soon to be forgotten. But Mister Everhard was not satisfied with only attacking me but saw fit to smear the name of the accomplished Padhraig Witherby, who, though he has many prosperous prospects elsewhere, sees fit to devote his time and effort here within this Province. A man who was instrumental in gaining funding and establishing the Ancestry Treasury. A man who has devoted his life to preserving and studying the past and worked tirelessly for many months to prepare for that grand opening. He is a reserved man who prefers to focus on his work, hence his absence at the opening. Mister Everhard did not set up an appointment to meet him. Did not reach out to learn more about his contributions. Instead, he rudely ambushed him while he was deep in work and then took offense to Mister Witherby’s reserved demeanor. Another target to the list.

So that leaves us with an important question, loyal readers: In an article on which the subject was meant to be the grand opening of a museum, why dilute the topic with petty mis-tellings? Well, I’ll tell you. To make it in this business you need good, interesting stories and those stories take work. Take skill and determination. It is a reporter’s duty not to fabricate drama to add intrigue to what they write, as Mister Everhard has done, but to uncover truths. To dig and push where others might not and find honesty where lies are only offered. Unfortunately, Mister Everhard appears to not have the grit for this and would instead tell us tales. Works of fiction, while entertaining, have no place within the Herald.

I will end by saying this: Mister Everhard is a minstrel, a man experienced with twisting facts. A performer. And that is what he has done here with pen and ink. A performance. Tainting the pages of this beloved paper that I, and many others, hold sacred. In doing so he has endangered its integrity and made a mockery of the hard work and sacrifice that went into getting it where it is today. Worse of all he has misled you righteous and true people of the Republic. He would make of you a rube, loyal readers, and for what? So he might see his name written next to mine own? So he might earn a few silver more on his next article? Pitiful. Embarrassing. Human. I tell you this, loyal readers, he, as I, is but a man stricken with vice. Judge him not too harshly, I beg of you, for I too stumbled many times before getting to where I am today. I would like you to know, Mister Everhard, I hold you no ill will. I hope you might learn and grow from this egregious error. That we might soon share a drink together in common cause, rather than waste our time with these petty squabbles.

Open Letter from Jahandar Hassanzadeh

Recently on the 2nd of Warmwind after the sharing of food and company in the Old-Town Park, I left that place with three others; My brother Ikashev, my friend Drusilla. As well as a man many of you who take residence in the fort may know, Constantine, who is the proprietor of the Meddler’s Risk and who had contributed cutlery & dishes to the aforementioned soup put himself between me and the park exit. As the event began to go on he said to me, offering a threat out of nowhere, saying “You and your brother, I will break your heads open in the street and I will not lose an ounce of sleep”. I prayed his temper would soften before the kitchen closed.

His disposition remained aggressive; He and I had previously agreed to meet after the public meal and I intended to make it immediately after the majority of people had been fed and the entertainment provided had ended. So we departed to the Backstage Bistro of which I am the proprietor of.

Previously Constantine and I had agreed to enjoin our efforts, finding common ground in our mutual heritage from the western provinces and other such dispositions. When first we came to agreement I had recently acquired a mortgage for the property of the Backstage bistro but it was and remains in a state of disrepair.

Plans to mutual satisfaction were made for the renovation of the building to purpose and it was agreed that the current location of the Meddler’s Risk would be closed once the Backstage Bistro was ready to be re-opened, and that Constantine would have a free hand in the operation of the business and that I would essentially be a silent partner.

Amassing the resources and gaining approval to modify the building from the Foundry took many weeks and I was for that time ensconced in the preparation of paperwork etcetera. It was my intention for one and one half week or thereabout to meet with Constantine and discuss this and other matters of import but we were made the victim of circumstance time and time again and a meaningful meeting was unable to occur until that day, the 2nd of Warmwind.

We took to our meeting on the second story of the Backstage bistro, parties present being myself, Ikashev, Drusilla and Constantine. Therein he once again levied a threat of bodily harm to myself and my brother. He seemed to be under the belief that some sort of bodily poisoning had been performed on Drusilla to which she fervently denied. At this point I must divulge for clarity;

Early on that day, the 2nd of Warmwind I had met with both Constantine and Drusilla separately to beseech their help with the pauper’s feast. Constantine I had asked for assistance with aforementioned dining ware, and Drusilla I had asked for assistance in serving those gathered food & drink.

Both agreed to help me in these requests, however – and it shames me to disclose the health information of a friend but I fear I must – Drusilla did appear to suffer from some physical ailments which I will not detail, and stated she felt faint. I opened my medicine drawer and provided to her some of my medicine. Such things are hard to come by in these times and it is known to me and many others that Drusilla is a doctor. She enjoined to use my meager medicines to treat herself and seemed much better in energy and disposition afterwards. Thereafter we all departed to the public meal.

Back to the present of this woeful event; Constantine remained angry and demanded that myself and my brother Ikashev never speak to Drusilla again and disavow her. Drusilla protested this demand and was very upset towards Constantine and his actions at this time but he pointedly ignored her.

It was at this time I said to him that I would turn no friend away from my home and said that Drusilla’s interactions with me, past present & future were mutual ones. Drusilla affirmed my words but Constantine continued to ignore her & once again demanded I disavow her and cast her away from me now and forever. Once again he threatened the life of myself and my brother.

I remained firm in that, if Drusilla did not wish to interact with myself or my brother that her wishes would be respected but that I would not turn any person away from me. Drusilla, now becoming distressed, affirmed my statement and pleaded with Constantine to cease his madness. He continued to ignore her.

Constantine called upon me to peer out of the window to the street below. I did so, and there beheld a handful of people bearing the sigil of the  Black Suns Company. Constantine confirmed that I saw them, and then stated that if I did not disavow Drusilla and cast her away from me that he would proceed with his previous threat of death to myself and my brother. Drusilla began begging Constantine not to do such a thing; he continued to ignore her. She pleaded with me to concede to him to avoid bloodshed, and I refused.

I have not previously nor shall I begin at the threat of death to turn away any soul in need, nor any person who wishes to make a friend of me. At this time I told to Constantine that if he wished to spill blood in my house over his deranged designs (though my words were not those but rather diplomatic ones) he should go forth.

I was readied to see my life ended. Morals and ethics are the very essence of man and I would not betray them in the spirit of cowardice to save my own hide. It had now become clear to me at this time that Constantine was an abuser of Drusilla and wished to possess her like a slave; He listened not to her words and treated her like a reviled dog.

Reader mine, I must divulge to you at this time I have seen such things before and though it shames me to claim descent from such a man, my Father was of a similar disposition. He lorded over my beloved mother and it destroyed her body and spirit until she passed away at far too young an age. I cannot tell the realities of such things now as I desire to. My feelings are so overpowering now I find it hard to write at all.

I had endeavored to not give in to his demands nor abandon Drusilla to such a  fate. It was at this time that Constantine yelled down to the streets below & the Bistro was suddenly filled with armed men of that aforementioned company. Again, he made the demand of me and promised death to me if I refused. I thank the flame that my courage did not flee from me at that time and I remained steadfast.

Drusilla continued to plead for an end to this madness and Constantine continued to ignore all of her words and the group of fighters, now armed with  a variety of Weapons & Constantine himself wielding a mace began to call for blood. Drusilla again persisted, and attempted to take the weapon away from Constantine; he shucked her off. Once again he made the demand that I disavow Drusilla and that myself and my brother never speak to her again.

I refused with finality. During my tenure in the Venerated Legion of Decus, I faced death many times and saw death many times. I have seen the ways in which it renders destruction to the mind and constitution of people when they bear witness to such; it was at this time I begged Drusilla to leave that she might not be the victim of such. I, nor my brother, drew any weapons. The futility of such was self-evident as the hired thugs numbered a half-dozen or more.

Finally, one of the Black Suns who was behind me made some statement which I cannot remember at this time; it was a warcry, and he did bring his blade to bear against my back. I dove from the chair and scrambled for purchase on the hardwood floors.

I say with some shame that both myself and my brother fled from the Bistro. We both sought the protection of the Whitecloaks, to which they descended upon the mob of thugs who chased after us. In the confusion and strife I lost consciousness. I have not seen my brother since that time and I fear him dead at the hands of Constantine.

Too do I fear for the future of Drusilla. I wish, reader, that I were a stronger or braver man and could do some thing to free her from her bonds – those bonds of the mind that such men as Constantine make to their victims… I can not write further for my hands tremble much and my throat constricts.

Open Letter from Constantine

I am called Constantine and two weeks past marked my first year in the valley. In that time many of you have come to know me, to know my heart, and it has been my pleasure and privilege to know you and to be known. I care deeply for this place and its people, and have labored– and bled– alongside many of you to ensure its continued safety and stability. In the spirit of this I come before you all with a warning.

There is one among us who seeks to upend this hard-won balance; who seeks to divide the people against one another in pursuit of his own insidious plots. A man who claims to offer freedom and prosperity but would see those he claims to serve bound in chains of his making; beneath him in abject servitude. This man is known as Jahandar.

Over these past few months Jahandar has sought to curry the favor of the public while binding myself, and others, to his service through favors and pretty words. Beware these honeyed words and grand visions. They are empty and hollow, with knives behind them. He will make a tool of you; something to be used and discarded as it suits him.

To me, he offered the management of his tavern. To some, gold. To others, gifts or favors. Through the indebtedness he creates he then rules by manipulation, binding his victims ever deeper to himself in pursuit of his unspoken goal. Those who work for him are plied and pressured through fear or drugs into unwitting compliance in his schemes. Even his own brother, Ikashev, suffers under the invisible shackles Jahandar uses to pull him about.

In my time in his service Jahandar revealed to me his aims to overthrow the Republic and raise a new West under his banner; to rebirth the Old Dynasty. I know that, through word and deed, he has revealed these aims to others as well. I had thought to bide my time; to extract proof of this plot so that he might be better held to account. But true conspiracy offers little written evidence.

For my own safety, and the safety of those I care about, my hand was forced. I sought to extract myself, and others, from his service and to put an end to the threat the man posed before more harm could be done. Jahandar once remarked that what I know could see him roasting on a pyre, and I do believe, with this revealed, he will seek now to bring an end to me; first in reputation, and then in fact.

I don’t make such accusations lightly; it is my hope that exposing him here, at great personal risk, the damage he might wreak on the province and its peoples might be limited. There is no greater threat to the stability of the province, and the safety of its people, than one who would seek to turn the Republic against itself as Jahandar does.

Jahandar must not be allowed to continue as he has. Every concession made to him will be met with yet a greater demand. Jahandar will twist the truth, make you doubt the very ground you stand on, because he is as charismatic as he is dangerous. I beg you to heed my words; do not find yourselves caught in his web of lies as I have.

REPORTERS WANTED! Interested in writing for the Frontier Herald? Leave word for Jeane Harlow at the Foundry’s General Store located southwest of Fort Praesidium to get involved in the upcoming issues!