My friends, I write this here to plead with you for your help.

Last night, while most of the Tsol'aa slept, our ancestral home was attacked. We do not know who the attackers were, and we could not understand their language. We also were unable to see them clearly, for they had set the great Aalen forest on fire, and the smoke caused such coughing and watering of our eyes that only vague shapes were distinguishable.

I do not know what happened to my father, the King, save that he did not rendevous with us. My mother, Celaabi, refused to leave, and remains in the Aalen. I do not know if she is alive. Some of our people have fled, though to where, I shall not say, for fear of alerting our attackers to our location, and prompting further genocide.

I fear that this was not a random attack. We have not suffered such devestation for generations, and it seems unlikely that if some unknown menace is loose in the land he has a grudge only against the Tsol'aa. I fear for Sapience.

I beg you, be on watch. It is too late for some of my people, though we hope to return to our homeland someday. We will not, however, return until we are sure that whatever slaughtered us has been defeated. Watch militantly, and be prepared, for an enemy that will rape and murder my people while they sleep is an enemy without scruple, and without honour.

Penned by my hand on the 1st of Sarapin, in the year 258 AF.