My Dear Clio,

Though I am not surprised by your frantic scrabbling and the clawing for
ideological purpose which ensues when one's patron passes, I had hoped
you would not force the whole of Sapience to see the fruits of your
zealotry: instability and madness. There were several choises before you
when you were confronted with the news of your Lord's demise, and you
chose to capitulate to the most primal of them all. You could have
chosen to slaughter Ayalaine for her roll in your Lord's death, but
instead you look to the followers of your Lord's rival. Your own folk
slew your Lord. His own followers paid heed to a voice in the night. His
own followers clumsily carried out an unknown ritual whose effects were
disastrous.

It is not in my nature to attempt to reason with Mortals when they are
overcome by strong emotion (nor do I believe most to be capable of
reason), but I am this once making an exception, because I know that
somewhere, deep, deep down inside that exceptionally thick skull of
yours, you've still a mind capable of higher thought. Learn from this
experience and use it to grow.

And let this be a lesson to all of Sapience. Not all voices in the night
have wisdom to offer. One should not perform an unknown ritual unless
one is willing to acknowledge and suffer the consequences; this the
Reborn know well. We have, each of us, paid great prices to discover the
workings of arcane magic. Yet, we do not see fit to lash out at others
when we fail; we return to study and experimentation until we find the
correct components.

Find comfort in the Darkness you have brought upon yourselves and
reconcile with your failings, Mortals of Enorian. You have triffled with
unknown powers and a heavy toll has been exacted for your folly.

Penned by my hand on the 24th of Slyphian, in the year 160 MA.