To the Guild Clerk,

I write once more in protest of the taxes levied upon my caravan. It is already no small feat to bring goods across the Phantom Desert, where wheels sink in loose sand and water skins crack under the sun. My men labor under heat that feels like a forge without shade, yet when we reach Friar, we are made to pay a second price for the privilege of trading spices.

Meanwhile, slimus haulers wander freely with their clay jars, storing mana as if it were grain. They pay no tolls, though they compete with honest merchants like me. I watched one of them exchange a lump of condensed mana for three bolts of silk. Three! It is not fair trade when men are bound by coin and others are not.

Do not mistake me: I bear no ill will toward these folk. They are polite and reliable, and I will grant that their bodies endure what no human could. Yet if the Theocracy insists on taxing us, why not them? Or is this Guild too enraptured by novelty to remember its own merchants?

Mark my words—if this continues, I will turn back to Kum, where at least a bribe is worth its coin.

Sincerely,
Hadrien of Glumea