Esteemed Mistress of the Maldaathi,

The other day, I was calmly standing in the bait shop in Shastaan on my
own, when the image of your former Tyrannus appeared in my mind. Searing
heat grew in my brain and I ran to find she who had entered my mind. I
left the bait shop and immediately a large iron horseshoe fell on my
head having been suspended above me. It dazed me and left me reeling.

Hardly had this happened then suddenly my legs were swept from
underneath me by the shaft of a spear and I was covered in thick
webbing. My next recollection was of your sword being plunged into my
bowels. From this moment my demise was swift and certain. I thank Lady
Maya for granting me return to this realm.

You and I are at war, Lady Istiria. I offer you no mercy, no cease, no
respite - for you deserve none. I have stood and seen your followers
slaughter defenceless children and yet you claim to uphold Honour. Your
Knights rove the realms spreading disaster and calamity as they go, yet
you speak of Honour.

Honour apportions to each what is due him, it is not the offering up of
one's neck to the chopping block of the Maldaathi executioners. However,
I have accepted duels from you in the past as you attempted to protect
the well-being of thieves and murderers. I wished you to see that only
in Light do mortals grow straight and true, that only those who accept
their birthright of serving Good come to exist in harmony with all of
existence.

I pity you, Maldaathi, and your brothers in Mhaldor. You destroy, cast
down all that you find and trample it into the ground and you are filled
with the rage of suffering. I wish more of you could be saved, but
unfortunately mercy is wasted upon souls who have drunk so fully on
life's blood.

For my part, I look forward to seeing the Guardians ride out to meet you
in battle to show we hold Honour dear and service to Good dearer still.
I will be looking for you in that battle, and my swords will be
sharpened. Perhaps Lady Maya will see fit not to return you this time
and the world can be rid of another abomination.

There is no peace unto the Wicked.
Sir Alban Aodh'Stormcrow

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Aeguary, in the year 450 AF.