The eleventh of Scarlatan, of the year 507. The army of the Masters
Shaitan and Apollyon watch as a horde of alchemistschip away at the
Shield of Proteus, bit by bit. Cyrene makes several attempts to rout the
Mhaldorian forces, and fails more miserably with each charge. It should
be noted that Shallam and especially Eleusis, those Cyrene fought
alongside in countless conflicts past, have nearly abandoned the Heart
of the Vashnars. Less than a day after the fighting begins, the once
great Icon is naught but the dust covering the deadlands of Nishnatoba,
as a reverberating crash echoes across the planes of Creation.

Cyrene. You have been warned time and time again. Keep your nose out of
business of Mhaldor. Keep away from that which does not concern you.
And, time and time again, you poke, prod and force yourself into matters
far above your pathetic mountain refuge in spite of Mhaldor's warnings.
You were promised revenge, and you have done more than earn it.

Perhaps in the future you will learn. I doubt it, but time will tell.
The Shield of Proteus will only be the first loss you endure if you
continue to weasel your way into Mhaldor's affairs. Heed this warning,
Cyrene, lest I take great joy further enlightening you in the realms of
Suffering and Oppression.

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Scarlatan, in the year 507 AF.