Jokach.

Jokach the Withered.

Jokach the Mountain.

Jokach the Shadowbound Durdalis.

I know you have spies somewhere. I know you will read this.

Dendara is mine.

I claimed Dendara before the High Priestess of Sky Dreaming with a Promise that will not be broken.

I offered Dendara in tribute to Lady Chakrasul, as a testament to the inevitabilty of Her Gifts.

Dendara will be the greatest sample in the Archivium's collection. It deserves nothing less.

Dendara is mine, and you, you worthless abortion of botanical life, you failure of evolution, you feeble-minded, rotting mistake of existence, have no claim to it. I am going to drag your broken body to the Archivium's laboratories and keep whatever passes for your internal organs in the most luxurious jars I can design, and I hope that whatever hold Ohlsana has on you will impose upon Her even a small faction of the mutagenic agony I will inflict upon you until I have extracted every drop of science I can out of you.

My only Fear is that I might lose the enlightenment I gained from Mother's Gifts.

My only Despair is that I have not yet reached the end of Her Spiral.

My only Avarice is to experience the boundless vastness of Corruption.

My only Malice is to take what I want because wanting it makes it mine.

And Might will deliver what is rightfully mine to me, because no one else is worthy of possessing it.

Ever downward.

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 18th of Khepary, in the year 504 MA.