Yet, there was Peace.

The stone cracks and shears, with naught of Life to hold it together, merely a sand-filled hourglass that silently funnels to its own Inevitable End.

The former Empire was never an ally, they will never be friend. They are, and remain merely a husk. Not dissimilar to the desiccant bodies that supp from their Gods so that they may feign their own strength by loud declarations upon any ear who will listen.

Let us hope, when the Earth's duties call, you can drag yourself from your lifeless Earth. Your desiccant hands clutching for the last vestiges of the Dominions blood stores to maintain your pillars. Your failures shall not gain the ire of mortal make should you continue this Desperate path.

I implore that you find yourselves with insight to overcome what you have done to yourselves. No one else bears responsibility for your actions but you.

This war. A disappointment.
You. A disappointment.

Until the Inevitable End,

Executioner Ulo

Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 2nd of Slyphian, in the year 510 MA.