Salutations Overseer,

It was during the hour of evensong as I was rising from my prayers that
I saw your missive, Overseer. It was long past time for me to retire,
but I felt compelled put pen to parchment to respond, as such
contentious words cannot long go unanswered.

Your words were well-formulated. You have taken two stands of history
and blended them together so seamlessly. One strand describing a band of
secretive rainbow-lover turned End-worshippers. And the other describing
the origins of an immoral city which grudgingly turned a blind eye to
their excesses, gave them refuge, and eventually power.

One cannot deny the position Shallam is in at this time. Long gone are
the halcyon days of patrolling Templars ensuring the safety of innocent
villagemen and guileless goodwives. Long gone are the golden days when
robed priests bestowed benediction upon swelling foreign congregations.
And long gone are the glorious evenings when the Luminai took up
firebrand and sword to lead holy crusade against the occultic abuses of
yore.

Such was the devastation visited upon the Ashtani and Theran cabals in
those years that the memories are as strong now as ever. Embellished
even. Years later, and your kind has not forgotten the fiery touch of
our zealous stormtroopers.

Likewise the Holy Conclave--the martial force of the once Holy
Church--that organized force which at its peak removed the stain of all
but a small handful of unholy shrines from Sapience, is sadly becoming
little more than a memory as well.

Great Ashtan may take nominal victory from the ritualistic carnage your
chaos-wielders exact monthly upon Shallam's shining walls, even to the
point you no longer consider her people a threat. I step from my
cloisters and I see my comrades fall in flashes of technicolour magic.
Eastern blood pools in Eastern streets, but all I see are more
reflections of Northern excess. In my mind's eye I contemplate the
cannabalistic tendencies of your city, as Northern children are falsely
led towards Northern slaugherhouses disguised as orphanages. I see my
countrymen fall in the streets, the latest victims in a centuries long
orgy of innocent blood, and I know their sacrifices are not in vain.

This is not the harrowing defeat that your scribes and aides so
eloquently describe. As Keeper of the Mad God's spear, you of all people
should know better than most that the ebb and flow of global power is an
ever moving tide. And as a faithful devotionist, I assure you that as
the waters recede so too will they come in again.

The fires which once raged across the continent--bringing light to every
corner of Sapience--may be little more than ash now, but amongst these
ashes are many embers still. Embers which do have the tenacity to
endure, and embers which--despite the might and efforts of our enemies
to the North and West--have not been extinguished.

As long as embers burn, flame can ignite, and trust my words Overseer,
in time they will again. It matters not if our victories last a day or
decade, if they were yesterday, today or tomorrow. For surely as the din
of daybreak heralds the uplifting of morning prayer in the East, our
luminous faith is eternal and unchanging, and our will and spirit will
never be broken.

May the Light bless you and keep you,

Father Halos Vorondil
Mayan Seraph
Vizier of Shallam


Penned by my hand on the 20th of Scarlatan, in the year 598 AF.