I write this story from the ministerial offices of the Spire of Malevolence, a written eyewitness account of the happenings of Phaestian 871. I may get my limbs chopped off for this, but nobody gets in the way of reporting the facts!

Writing this the morning after, I see the guards still loading all the dead onto carts bound for a huge pyre blazing just outside the gates. The stench is nauseating, and I've eaten my fair share of the muck they serve at the Worm and Grub, so that's saying something! I haven't had a wink of sleep in three days, and I have to report to Minister Eoka for even more Mayaween Ball preparations. 'Hardship', they say, 'It'll build Strength' they say. Pah!

Anyways, back to the breaking news. I was drying the orcskin racks and dreaming about my next chance to write my latest masterpiece to Eimeri, when the Confessor called the entire city to the Blood Gulch. I thought I had to suffer through yet another five hours of him exulting the Lord, but the lecture was cut short by some kind of trap! Mhun dressed in guard's armour sprung out of nowhere, arrows went flying all around, and that pretty lady with the pink diamonds was hacking up people left and right. Everybody was hootin' and hollerin' through the streets like a bunch of untamed ruffians. It was madness, pure madness I tell you! I picked up a plank of wood and chased a rat back into the sewers, so no one can say I didn't do my part in pushing back the invasion.

I was huffing and puffing by the time I made it to the Crossroads, and I was nearly the last to stumble in. No one paid me any mind though, because the Tyrannus was giving another one of them inspirational speeches. "To Moghedu!" he roared, and everyone echoed his cry. I did as well, though I will admit to you, dear reader, that I don't actually know where Moghedu is.

I hitched a ride on the back of a really big war beetle all the way to this super big underground tunnel system. I can cross visiting Moghedu off my resolutions list, now! Everyone scattered and began killing all of the Mhun folk milling around, and so I decided to do the brave thing and stay out of their way.

Now, I've got as strong a stomach as the next Scribe, but even I felt a little queasy as I trailed behind all of our soldiers. I don't think a single soul was spared from the Halls. I even stepped on a spider that I found tucked behind a bunch of crates, and now I can proudly say my official body count rests at a strong three.

Anyways, I legged it and flagged a merchant cart down before I got myself killed. It all makes sense now, dear reader! The graffiti, the increased patrols, the strange happenings with the Mhun slave gangs. Something was brewin', so they decided to cull the lot instead! I hope this doesn't give us a slave shortage...

Penned by my hand on the 17th of Phaestian, in the year 871 AF.