Hundreds of years ago, the War of the Deeps saw Seleucarian and Shallamese forces sheltering in the protection of the shrines. It was a brittle, temporary protection, but their defensive hold-out inadvertantly bought precious time for Matic Ridley to enact the betrayal of his masters. The unprotected Ashtani were forced to murder their own troops under the thrall of the Tsol'teth's litany and were nearly wiped out.

Now we have eighteen patches of rubble, eighteen potential circles of solace for whole damn continent and six cities. But everyone seems to believe they only need to make sure their own Gods stay turgid and erect while the rest of the essence is wasted on whatever blood-thirsty idiocy they deem fit to spend their time on.

Micaelis, your ink is wasted and quite frankly so is mine. But I paid the scribe's fee so I may as well continue.

I don't need to do the math. Or maybe I do since there appears to be nothing between the ears but guano. The events of the past month have made it clear that most are without honour or sense. Their skulls are filled with shit and the filth of hubris, imagining themselves one above the other. They have thrown away basic sentient decency in favour of acting like thugs and animals. It has become clear that they are no friends of mine.

If we follow down this path, we are all going to die. To be frank, I don't really care if some idiots don't ever come back. But hundreds of other people are going to die because of this stupidity.

The stupidity of people who should know better.

Penned by my hand on the 6th of Miraman, in the year 724 AF.