God of Valour,

Babel sends me, a lowly mortal of no rank or status, to respond to your
post, judging you unworthy of His direct attention. As you yourself are
only a conceited atavian to whom some essence was recently granted from
the infinite pity of ancient Sarapis, it has been judged fitting for you
to be addressed by one of your own station.

Be it known that Chaos was created by Ayar, and Babel was created by
Sarapis. What Chaos and Babel are, they are by the will of the infinite,
which is the will of the Great Mother by extension. It does not fall to
you, most puffed-up and outspoken of thoughtless half-breed godlings, to
say what Her purpose or will might be.

Even one of your limited prescience ought to be able to perceive the
course that history has taken, though it may take another millennium or
so for you to fully grasp the implications of the powers at work in the
worlds. You speak the words of a being seeking desperately to cling to
the present, terrified of the unknown, and driven by frenzied panic to
clutch at the hollow trappings of power and status that you have
accumulated to yourself.

Take comfort though, weak-willed Pentharian, in the knowledge that your
destiny is nothing less and nothing more than perfect Oblivion. Your
error, considerable and shameful though it may be, will not prevent you
from achieving the blissful succour of absolute nonexistence.

The Lord of the Iron Crown is not as kind. Be aware that, in those
occasional moments when He is not preoccupied with enemies and projects
of importance, Babel may be inclined to distract Himself by arranging
some small thing for your obliteration.

I do not write to you with my own words, but with the words of the god.

In Chaos,

Olene

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Valnuary, in the year 480 AF.