Dear Perseon, Dresden, Brigit and all else concerned,

Earlier I was thinking to myself. Should we, as an Order, offer yet
another chance to you to call off this war? The people of Achaea are
suffering, it is obvious. How could We let this happen? It is just
unthinkable, isn't it?

Well, the answer is a firm no. You have brought this upon yourselves.
You denied our previous offers, and thus the suffering of everybody can
only be pinned on you, the deniers of peace.

For your acts against Lord Sartan, the following will be done: You will
all be hunted to the end of your mortal existence. If possible, you will
be stripped of all accessible goods, humiliated, defiled of any pride or
sense of morale you had, and then killed. For a special few of you... I
think you know who we're talking about. Don't you, Covenant, Dresden,
Brigit, Perseon? For you, We will show the world what atrocities you
are. How you have managed to keep herbs out of peoples' hands by turning
your back on peace offers. By ganging up on people with huge groups. 10
weaklings will beat 1 powerful person, I am sure. But in the end, the
weaklings will be alone. At some point, you will always be alone.

And it is then. When your friends and family have abandoned you. When
the night presses its weight against you, and you snap your head around
at every cracking twig. This is the time that the powerful reap their
revenge. When people like Dresden are tied down, stripped, flogged until
they are bleeding messes of flesh, begging for forgiveness. But it is
not a forgiving God they have decided to oppose. Nor is it a forgiving
Order. And it is then, when they are bound, broken and bleeding out the
last remnants of their life that they look up and see where they are
headed. It is not a Light at the end of the tunnel for them. It is only
darkness. The inky blackness of the eye of Sartan as he grins above you,
passing judgement for your acts of ... stupidity.

And so do not come whimpering, cowering and crying to Us. We will just
be getting started. Sartan's work is never done, after all. What is
that? I think I just felt a drop of rain... ah, but nevermind. Tis but a
spot of blood from the museum of bodies that we will string up in
Sartan's Temple. People of Shallam, prepare to suffer like nothing you
can ever imagine.

Xerimor

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Mayan, in the year 281 AF.