Momentary Weakness

Date: 03/28/2013 at 02:34
From: Sabiru, Augur of Abbadon
To : The City of Mhaldor
Subj: Momentary Weakness

City of Mhaldor,

It is with a renewed and genuine sense of humility, and with an
unusually candid approach that I write to you on this evening, having
once-more taken the time to observe you from afar. Know first, though,
that this was never my intention ? know that I fully expected to revel
in casting aside the weighted chains which carried such inescapably
mortal notions as responsibility and frustration, and to assimilate
willingly; to slide without effort into a pleasant anonymity and freedom
from purpose or attachment to State affairs.

Ashtan, with its established history and might, was to provide me with
as fitting a compromise as it had my peers, and to that end I submerged
my being in the corrosive depths of northern culture.

What remains is to echo a cliché which these boards know well. Close
examination of the Babelonian undercurrents, of the socio-political and
military bellies of the Bastion yielded only the most critical of
monologues. Religion without purpose is banal and pedestrian, the
political and social paradigms are unnecessarily but decidedly impotent,
and without these pillars of strength and structure any martial victory
is hollow.

There remains, then, two other options for the cognisant man, and each
in turn induces a nauseating shade of that same internal monologue. On
one hand he has the village of Eleusis, at one time objectively
admirable for its military might in lieu of any real self-propelling
purpose - and now, in some cruel feat of worthlessness it sits silent
and ineffectual, consciously dousing any glimmer of hope for relevance
which might be sparked by a Gaia with a renewed disdain for that which
isn't natural.

And on the other, the settlement in Targossas ? the for-now-metaphorical
fortress of Good, where one expects fanatical priests are working to
create a new doctrine and State worthy of being mentioned in the same
breath as Creation. Alongside them, one would assume, are warriors and
politicians, sharpening their blades and wits that they might enforce
that which is lauded by their scriptures and Idols. Were they to succeed
? perhaps, were there some new Eastern blood at the helm in place of the
stagnant broth which spills from the throats of the oft-slaughtered
swine who led the countless, failed incarnations of their Religion
previously ? there might be a place in lower Sapience for the cognisant
man; a State where Creation and the mortal condition is nurtured by
those willing to put blade to blade, to recognise the natural paths
toward strength, to declare weakness as criminal and to cast aside the
trappings of democracy and equality.

This will not eventuate, however, and the inevitable result is another
failed Codex, another rapid descent into the Eusian Ocean.

The cognisant man, then, has but one option if he is to escape this
cancerous mediocrity. He must venture West ? perhaps once-more, perhaps
for the first time ? and he must embrace servitude to something far
greater than himself, a sublime servitude to a fierce and powerful Idol
Whose tenets require no mental contortion, but instead ring true deep in
the essence of every mortal. Service to a theocratic State saturated
with the spirit of sacrifice, permeated with a glorious and pure hatred
for all that is ? and all who are ? hindering the advancement of
sentient life.

It stands now that no religion of any relevance to the realm has stood
for as long nor as strong as Evil, no shelves richer lore, no citizenry
more brutally efficient. You are without parallel, City of Evil, and for
good reason. It is my sincere request that you grant me my fetters once

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Chronos, in the year 621 AF.