Aamiran,

Your time is ended. The Aerie will no longer rot in the shadows, forgotten and inconsequential. While you clutch at a seat you do not deserve, Tyranny's Fist closes upon you to drag you back screaming to reality.

For your incompetence and arrogance, you will pay the price befitting those who cling to the false notion of peace. Streets will run red. Buildings will be turned to ash. Your adherents and kin will wither under the fires of war as they are forced to rip free the blindfolded lies of your 'peaceful refuge'. The blood spilled in the last alcove was only the beginning.

And you will be made to watch it all knowing there is only one action you can do to halt the tightening of our Fist. Abdicate. Yield to me upon your knees and perhaps I may find some use for you in the slave pens. I suspect you will swear this all away as you always have, but the Aerie need not share your fate.

People of the Aerie: I carry my homeland in my unbeating heart.

Stagnation is not safety. All will be brought to yield, and under our dominion, the Aerie will be made worthy of the strength and Tyranny we provide. Resist and be ground beneath the Empire's tread or accept and rise from the ruin Aamiran left you to.

The sun never rises on the Empire.

Ser Aren Yaslana,
Satrap by Right of War

Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 20th of Chakros, in the year 14 AC.