HER IMPERIAL EMANATOR OF TYRANNY

My supposedly feeble attempts at goading have already resulted in the instigation of an abundance of bloodshed, incited numerous Imperials into seeking me out for a sequence of battles, and the ripples of outraged response to my words led to conflict igniting between the Council and the Empire of sufficient ferocity to please Manifest Might Herself. An accomplishment that amounts to more than merely nothing, I believe.

My call was answered rather admirably by a number of Imperials, including yourself, all of whom I fought alone. You call me a bleating, trembling sheep; I was Lamb, once, but no longer. For all your talk of wolves, I had Might enough to make prey of you, Emanator.

As for the Heartwood and the Gifts of the Jade Lady, are you not aware that we count Her Chosen among our people, including Her Despair? That Fear is a hallowed and long-revered aspect of our culture? While I appreciate the Malice that drives you, I encourage you to strive for more accuracy in your obloquy. You will find more success with hitting a nerve, as I have.

I did not run. The blood flows, my flesh and that of those I felled lies strewn across the snows of Asper.

My pride remains intact.


Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 4th of Omeian, in the year 22 AC.