You will rise again, of course, just as you always do; flailing, grasping, scrambling to convince yourselves that your losses do not matter and that your humiliation is temporary. However, it is your own city that bleeds and rots while you sit upon your throne of seemingly endless excuses to justify your failure.

Perhaps, "Commander", you should worry less about the "fundamental rules of this world" and more about the fundamental truth of you, Akarn Yaslana.

Your predecessors were warlords. Your predecessors were feared.

You are a caretaker.

A caretaker of a seat which you do not fully deserve, and one day soon, someone worth a shit will come and remind you that the only thing you truly share in common with the Carnifex is that you are a yapping mutt that can only bark but does not bite.

"Luhar kunu, kuf h'ayinetuhut. Kuf jhakar, kuf ajir, kuf ruush. Tuhut aaj ruush, kuf shafir al-urh'ir h'inayi."

"Arrogant whelp, you are neither demon, nor born of flame or strife. You are ash, fit only to be tread upon beneath the heel of my boot."

- Lord Marshal S. Kavoros
Voice of the Light

Penned by my hand on Closday, the 18th of Severin, in the year 10 AC.