Grand Sycophant,


I am pleased that you have finally admitted what all of Sapience has known since your foul inception. The Akkari Host is nothing but a legion of mindless husks and flapping lips, simpering to an abomination who cares nothing for them. You ARE mindless, it is true, and though you have come to this revelation, there will be no salvation. You have chosen your path. You have chosen to be nothing and no one. The Lord's judgement is all you have ahead. I am certain you will claim you have no fear of such, and why should you? It is beyond the mindless to comprehend His glorious wrath, His unquestionable devotion. You will burn, you will end, as you lived. In self-admitted ignorance.


Make your threats. Act as if we have not been at war since your heretical kind first set foot upon the Father's land. Claim that now, because of some perceived injustice, the war has only just begun. The hanged and swinging bodies of your heathen brethren should have been evidence enough that this war began years ago, and will not end until not a speck of your doing remains upon sacred ground.


I will leave you with this final question. Earlier this week you said to me, "You are a failure who can not even kill me when I am mindless." You died just like the rest, and now you mewl that I slew you. I can't kill you, I am wrong to kill you when your head is empty and your vigilance is slack. I ask then. If I am the failure, what are you, Ayastia?


Ever His,


Whirran Arcan-Tetzauh


Herald of Strife

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 2nd of Lleian, in the year 507 MA.