I was born in the Aalen, but I was raised on the streets of Cyrene. Boyhood fancy called me from the home of my heart to the freedom of the mountains. A place promised as refuge, as Just. There has always been bickering over the meaning of these words, over exactly whose justice Cyrene will enact, over just who might be welcome to the refuge. These days, there are few Cyrenians who seem to recall the darkest time. When the city fell, the Black Wave surged over its walls with the aide of other cities of Sapience. When every Cyrenian was cast to the wilds, until the city could be liberated, could be reclaimed. A purpose seared into our hearts, our minds, and a purpose that guided us home.

Few Cyrenians remain, it seems, that understand just how savagely one might fight to reclaim their home. At least, it must be, or why else would Cyrene forsake an oath sworn over honored dead? Why would Cyrene seek to enshackle the freed people of this land? Those who know Nature, know that each forest has its story. Each eldest tree, a connection to Her realm, and a tale told by its guardian spirit. Every Eleusian has seen the founding of the Aalen's village, relayed through Terspichore's vision. We all know that this was the very first place that found its home in harmony with Nature. But, we also know that such history, such sanctity has no meaning to civilisation: which cares only that its glory be spread, that its banners be seen. There is no honor in this. There is no justice in this.

Each Cyrenian has their choice in the months to come. Will you perpetuate this oppression? Will you stand with your armies against a people yearning for the freedom, for the justice that Cyrene once claimed to be founded upon? Has it all been washed away by salted sea?

Know that all who stand against the free people of the Aalen will not be remembered for their heroics, but only for their cowardice.

Penned by my hand on the 12th of Miraman, in the year 992 AF.