To Bloodloch:

I do not care about your insults. I do not care if I have to face the final death. I do not care if I have to wage ware in the Shadow, in the Light, by myself or surrounded with allies. I am of the North.

Your words are empty, your existence hollow. Till my dying breath, if need be, I will be the mark of Freedom to stand against your tyranny. I am not claiming to be stronger.

I've only ran blood through your caverns. Twice.


To the rest of Sapience:

You can hate the Dragon. You can fear the North for what we MIGHT do. For what we can do.

I ask that you look at what we HAVE done. We are people, able to make mistakes no different than the rest. Still, we value knowledge. We value individuality. We value culture.

And we will do what it takes to ensure it survives. That is what you can expect from us. So, I have given a gift to you.

Bloodloch is not as strong as they believe. Their guards can be bled dry. Their troops slaughtered. Their generals can fight all the pitched battles they like.

There just isn't any need to suffer them.

Kind regards,

Aros Riahl,
the White Rose
Strategos

Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 22nd of Lanosian, in the year 505 MA.