"A mere social club for those with fangs." I haven't laughed so hard in years. The truth of the statement is so striking it is almost painful, an arrow squarely on-target.

Hashan, Vayne Trismegistus, I congratulate you on finally ridding yourselves of an obviously pernicious cancer. May Hashan now find unity, and in that unity, strength and purpose in the coming years, the lifeblood of all organizations.

But as for the eulogizing of supposedly impressive deeds past, let us set that aside as well, so long as we still speak of the Serpentlords. It was undeniably with them that the craft of serpentine subterfuge was born. But it was only in the West that it was perfected - as all things are - under the feared name of "Naga."

The Shadowsnakes may crow about their petty trespassings and lootings, and the remnants of the Dawnstriders may claim superior expertise in sowing discord and misdirection (if only in their own home). But aside from these, few and far between are those foolish enough to deny that the Naga serpents stood unparalleled in their mastery of this craft. Yet even more important than the skill was the purpose we used it for.

Only the Naga can say they stole, spied, lied, killed, bled, and died for the progress and betterment of every sentient being in Creation. Only the Naga were united and effective in the execution of a mission that transcended personal ambitions to fulfill the most important mission every mortal has - to live up to our own potential and carve a world worthy of God.

The Naga are dead, but such an indomitable spirit lives on forever. In the audacity of those bold enough to brand the radiant flesh of the immortals themselves, demonstrating the interminable reach of the black hand of Lord Sartan, the Naga become His Dread Legates. In the steady, secretive work of those who raised the Spawn of the Unnamable Horror under the very noses of the impotent practitioners of the Occult, merely to demonstrate the superior intellect and will of those sworn to Evil, the Naga become His Insidium.

Mhaldor has ever cultivated greatness, and such a place cannot help but put a paltry band of aspiring thugs like the Serpentlords to shame. The Naga are dead, but if the spirit of the Naga still calls to you, wherever you reside, do not quash the seed of greatness that dwells inside you, calling from the Legates. Do not suppress the ambition that swells like the cresting waves of the stormy sea, beckoning from the Insidium.

Seek out the unholy spectres of the West, for we shall still be here. Embrace your destiny in the shadows. Find your purpose as a servant of Mhaldor. And one day, claim your place as a legend of Achaea.

The Naga are dead - long live the Naga.


Penned by my hand on the 9th of Glacian, in the year 669 AF.