Achaean News
Hope Rekindled
Written by: Grandue Xeh'ria, Keeper of the Iron Crown
Date: Sunday, January 15th, 2023
Addressed to: The City of Targossas
H O P E R E K I N D L E D
His screams were pleasing to our ears. After so long of lying to you, decades of poisoning your minds with His delusions, it only made His cry for mercy that much sweeter. All the while you sat idle like lost children on the Prime.
You are helpless.
Inexperienced lambs in your Father and Mother's watery pasture. You find things to busy yourselves with, tasks designed to take your mind off your current meaningless existence. At the slightest hint of trouble you scatter like roaches, fleeing to ships and closing the shutters of your private residences. Who can fault you this embarrassing habit though? What else is to be expected when you've a spineless leader who fills his hours praising himself and searching for opportunities to remind his subordinates that he is their Dawnlord and worthy of the recognition due his title.
The only one left among you worthy of claiming to be our enemy is the spawn of the retired Dawnlord. At least he doesn't bolt like a frightened rabbit the moment the blood starts spewing, leaving his friends to their certain death. The same cannot be said for the ex-Hashani, Myrddin.
Some men choose to seek relevance, while others are forced to it. It is always better to choose than to be forced. A man who is forced is never completely his own master. He must dance on the strings of those who forced him. You, little lambs, have chosen poorly, but I am a man of boundless compassion and you have my pity. In my benevolent concern for you I have re-attached my strings and you will learn to dance once more.
You could not be bothered to action on your own, so I will bring to you He Who will inspire you and hold your feet to the fire. You will find little glory in being forced, however, but if the legendary blindness of the East has any effect I'm sure you'll be able to warp the unfolding events however necessary to make yourselves feel good about the coming days.
He fights your pleas like a trout fights the hook, but He is unable to ignore our summons. Our occupation of His chambers was not without purpose, as I'm sure you are beginning to discover.
Today, fletchings are drawn to cheek.
Today, the marionetter raises his many strunged fingers.
Soon, little lambs.
Soon.
[X] Grandue Xeh'ria, Keeper of the Iron Crown
[A small octagon encircles a raised "II" here, inscribed in thick, amethyst ink]
Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Phaestian, in the year 907 AF.
Hope Rekindled
Written by: Grandue Xeh'ria, Keeper of the Iron Crown
Date: Sunday, January 15th, 2023
Addressed to: The City of Targossas
H O P E R E K I N D L E D
His screams were pleasing to our ears. After so long of lying to you, decades of poisoning your minds with His delusions, it only made His cry for mercy that much sweeter. All the while you sat idle like lost children on the Prime.
You are helpless.
Inexperienced lambs in your Father and Mother's watery pasture. You find things to busy yourselves with, tasks designed to take your mind off your current meaningless existence. At the slightest hint of trouble you scatter like roaches, fleeing to ships and closing the shutters of your private residences. Who can fault you this embarrassing habit though? What else is to be expected when you've a spineless leader who fills his hours praising himself and searching for opportunities to remind his subordinates that he is their Dawnlord and worthy of the recognition due his title.
The only one left among you worthy of claiming to be our enemy is the spawn of the retired Dawnlord. At least he doesn't bolt like a frightened rabbit the moment the blood starts spewing, leaving his friends to their certain death. The same cannot be said for the ex-Hashani, Myrddin.
Some men choose to seek relevance, while others are forced to it. It is always better to choose than to be forced. A man who is forced is never completely his own master. He must dance on the strings of those who forced him. You, little lambs, have chosen poorly, but I am a man of boundless compassion and you have my pity. In my benevolent concern for you I have re-attached my strings and you will learn to dance once more.
You could not be bothered to action on your own, so I will bring to you He Who will inspire you and hold your feet to the fire. You will find little glory in being forced, however, but if the legendary blindness of the East has any effect I'm sure you'll be able to warp the unfolding events however necessary to make yourselves feel good about the coming days.
He fights your pleas like a trout fights the hook, but He is unable to ignore our summons. Our occupation of His chambers was not without purpose, as I'm sure you are beginning to discover.
Today, fletchings are drawn to cheek.
Today, the marionetter raises his many strunged fingers.
Soon, little lambs.
Soon.
[X] Grandue Xeh'ria, Keeper of the Iron Crown
[A small octagon encircles a raised "II" here, inscribed in thick, amethyst ink]
Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Phaestian, in the year 907 AF.