Courtless

For someone with so much pride, your opinions are dreadfully impotent. Pride is only as grand as the might that backs it; the bluster of an inflated ego has little to do with it. Else, it is nothing more than a child's attempt at crying out for the notice of his betters. You mistake your audacity for strength, your yowling for conviction, and despite espousing your affection for Sapient Divine, you have accomplished nothing.

Despite your call for bloodshed and accountability, it falls frail and deaf upon Imperial ears: it is ever the problem growing in Duiran that your own councilors shy from the fight. When one tremulous call comes forth in challenge and is put to the mud, there is naught by Gyrinno or Barimoth, or even fickle allies, to stand for your barbarous kin. Instead of allowing themselves to be molded by the teachings of failure and Despair, instead of embracing and exploring their Fear, they instead rely on the Might of others to protect them. When an Imperial is called out, we ensure -that- Imperial answers the call, that our warriors be further honed in the face of adversity and challenge. Amidst your boughs, you and your kin are but bleating, trembling sheep, to be sheltered in place by your stifling shepherds. Do you not see it as the insult it is? The wolves see naught amongst your kin but prey to be protected.

For someone so young, you share some ancient, archaic assumptions; to begin with, we live in the age beyond the Creators' Monomachy and Varian has fled. To ignore the influence of the Eschaton and cling to an age that no longer exists is a immature attempt to cling to the past. How pathetic. Two such Divine mandated by Eschatonic will reside on your Council's very own advisory, and yet, such a delicious contradiction you've proposed.

You speak of 'OUR' regard to the Divine, as though you speak for Them. As though THEY serve you. Surely we can agree this to be a laughable thought not worthy of consideration. The Duirani dole out their service piecemeal, tremulously supporting a Divine here, offering to another there. They place every Divine upon the Advisory as though it were some collector's paradise. The Empire commits to our Divine unhesitatingly and without question, as has been witnessed by the realm at large from the mark of our indomitable will honed by Their teachings. Each visceral death a veneration, every uttered word becoming a wretched consecration for Their - for OUR - machinations. They DEMAND this. They deserve more than the half-hearted attention of the Woods, who spare their affections to another.

"Wretched husks. Abominations. Anathema made flesh."

Stop. You're making me blush.

The Empire follows Lady Chakrasul, Corruption Incarnate, as our Dark Matron. Corruption is unending potential and we travel the Infinite Spiral, ever descending, ever transforming, to bring something incomprehensible to you: it is by our creed, our will, and our devotion that Sapience is further honed against the threats we all face. It is we who bring you clarity in the face of Fear. Indeed, it is we who unite you in your tepid alliances, you who would attempt to stand against Imperial progress.

We need not gloat; we need only succeed on our own terms.

As such, we do not abide your feeble attempt at goading. You will bleed for your falsehoods. It is Her teachings of Malice that guide our hand in this:

Run, little Duirani. Your many corpses will rest ground and sundered, 'neath the heel of an Imperial boot. You speak of pride. Let us see how much of it remains when the blood begins to flow.

Her Imperial Emanator of Tyranny,
Sumie Ke'Lolawid

Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 3rd of Omeian, in the year 22 AC.