To the Primus of the Imperial Dominion and Tyrant of the Empire of Bloodloch,

I know you, Asaraii. I know you are not stupid enough to believe what you're saying - but you've said it, again and again, perhaps hoping others will believe it. You seem to have taken up spreading false narratives as a hobby; I pay little attention to those you spread about me, for my actions have ever lifted me above my peers and they have ever seethed about it. I don't feel the need to address them any further here.

What I will address are your sad attempts to claim accomplishments which are not yours. You have done so repeatedly, and I will set the record straight.

Your ascension to Primus is not your own - it is Dourif's. Perhaps you assisted him in dethroning Callidora, but Dourif took the throne from her, plain and simple. Then, when you had driven him to madness and he could bear you no longer, he took to slumber and left you to slither in. You have since prevented the Dominion from sliding back into the slime it once was, and I suppose acting as a paperweight in that place is commendable, considering its history.

Your successes in war are not your own - you speak of Bloodloch winning the second war against Enorian, but that is not your victory to claim. It is Bulrok's. Moreover, the Generals who won that war for Bloodloch are almost all gone, now, only one or two remain within the caverns. Bulrok slumbers. Mjoll slumbers. Almol slumbers. Kurak has left. You threw Whirran out yourself, against the wise counsel of the Son of Autumn. I have left. Now, Bloodloch is represented by your public tantrums, an air-headed fool who shames the Carnifex, and... Sitoun.

Your place in an Order is a sad one, too - you, of all people in this world, have no right to bring to bear Mother's Gifts or claim any knowledge of them. You are one of three - including one of your favorite cronies - who abandoneed Her in the throes of a childish tantrum, because She did not pay you the attention you believed you were due.

Because She never loved you like She loved me.

Like She still loves me, even now.

I have tried over the past week or so to muster the righteous indignation now expected me as a member of the Hammer - to wield disgust as mine own armor, and hatred as mine own spear. But for you, I cannot muster it. I can muster only pity. Only sorrow that Bloodloch, a place I loved, has been yoked to the lunacy you desperately try to pass as policy.

You are pathetic, Asaraii.

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 6th of Khepary, in the year 510 MA.