Hail, my noble and esteemed kin of Mhaldor! Hail, my errant kith, across Sapience scattered and divided!

By now ye have no doubt read of the fallen Cardinal's folly. Be not mistaken: these are but the vainglorious actions of a man pretending at fealty. His mind clouded by delusions of self-importance, he acts now in no one's interest but his own. I address this response, made on behalf of my sibling Sartai, not only to Mhaldor but to all who will read. Though his crimes be against the City, from his piteous behaviour may be gleaned lessons valuable to any mortal.

How could it be, ye might wonder, that this man, so long a faithful servant of the Lord, should resort so readily to the complete and utter betrayal of his homeland? How could it be that he should have grown so arrogant that he believes himself now outside his Master's purview, his mind beyond our ken? How could it be that so great a man should prove so weak?

Weakness, my friends and fellows, is not always easily recognised. Dangerous is the weakness of others, but far more perilous is the weakness of the self. No creature can look outward to purify the world without looking also inward, for there is where grows the greatest threat. We are mortals, all; we are none of us immune to the creeping, clutching grasp of the weeds of weakness. To imagine otherwise is hubristic. All mortals, every one, are subject to this, the innate failure of our kind. The question we must ask ourselves is not 'Am I weak?' but 'How shall I respond to this weakness?'

The true believers, the doers of God's good work, will consider themselves honestly. They will assess their aptitudes and inadequacies alike and accept the criticisms of their peers. They will recognise their mistakes and, by His grace, seek to rectify them, culling from body and mind and spirit all weakness they can, in accordance with His Truths. These sapients embrace struggle; these sapients aspire to Strength.

The unbelievers, the heathens, whether noble or ignoble, will also so consider themselves and, if they be honest, will see within some measure of ineptitude. Their responses, however, will vary: it may be that they desire to improve, but it is equally likely that their incompetencies will bother them not overmuch. Either way, having refused His guidance and abjured the Seven Truths, they are doomed to failure. In these creatures weakness is ignored, for its nature is denied, its cure renounced. Left to fester, it will inevitably poison them, corrupting their beings entire.

The unfaithful, the heretics, the traitors before God, will never pause for introspection, for in the sincere contemplation of their actions would the truth be revealed, and there is to these wretches no greater enemy than the truth. They alone know what is best, they think; they alone have drawn back the veil and seen what lies beyond. Their words taste to them only of sweet certainty and righteous memorial, but on their sickly breath wafts the stink of false anamnesis, of tainted faith. Like an inexperienced chef with too heavy a hand, these arrogant theologasters have overseasoned the meat, masking its natural flavour. Memory and experience, the exquisite spices of life, have been so long overapplied that the core of their beliefs, the purported motive for their every move, has been forgotten, overwhelmed by egomaniacal conceit. In these deluded mongrels weakness is the most difficult to root out, for in them it is at its most insidious; in them, it masquerades as strength. So fooled by themselves, their religion gives way to religiosity.

Our newly named foe fears that he will see his words twisted. Rightfully so, I say, for he has himself already bent the Lord's words to suit his purpose. His invocation of the Truths is disingenuous, his indictments merely misdirection. Well does he know that no title in Mhaldor is self-assumed; it is by the Lord's judgement and His alone that power is granted. Look ye to these paragons, Mhaldor: there is not a one among them who has not sacrificed willingly for the City, not a one who would not die to accomplish our goals. To the last they each of them strive for victory in His name. If they should find defeat, it is no disgrace; one cannot approach true Strength until one embraces the crushing weight of Oppression, the coiling agony of Suffering.

The Infernal code of honour, lately noted by the treasonous cur, has of its precepts three items particularly pertinent: loyalty, piety, and bravery. In severing his ties with Master and City, in fleeing to parts unknown to hoard away his stolen prize, Tiamat demonstrates none of these. Furthermore, among those other works he has stolen, works he dare not read lest his fraudulence be exposed, there is a tome in which it is writ: "And you will relinquish your holdings unto Him and to His endeavours that they may serve a purpose greater than your avarice and your vanity, which to Him is a sign of feebleness." This is no 'petty regulation'; this is the edict of our Lord.

What is this theft but an act of supreme vanity? What are his words but the hypocritical babblings of the deranged? Who is this man to judge us when he has for so long hermited himself away, for so long set himself apart? I ask you: who is this man but a spent soldier, a living relic of a half-imagined bygone era, his every utterance the product of a confused nostalgia?

If ye require any exemplar of failure, search not among your leadership, my fellows. Look only to the perpetrator of this heresy and others of his ilk.

In days gone by, Mhaldor moved as one, unified in thought and purpose by the Lord and His Truths. Has this in my years away changed? Have the seeds of discontent been so widely sown that our purpose has been forgotten? Despair not of death, Mhaldorians, of what may at times seem impossible odds. Our task is too important for us to succumb. The balance of power ebbs and flows with time; in pain are we forged and in pain do we forge the world. Always the fact remains: we are all, my brethren and sistren, instruments of His will. We together form a united front, marching undaunted against the ignorant masses, the venerators of weakness.

Remember always our Cause, Mhaldor. Remember that we stand together. Remember Tiamat's treachery; remember his weakness. Remember that it is at His discretion we live; remember that it is at His command we die. Remember the Truths; remember our Lord.

To the people of Sapience, I extend an invitation: if ye tire of the mundane, of the pathetic lot ye have drawn, of repugnant weakness and foolish sentimentality; if ye desire a life devoted truly to something greater, to the advancement of all Creation; if ye be by this cretin's act as sickened as we, then come: join us in the West. Give yourself to Him now--or be taken later.

To the traitor Tiamat I offer only this directive: repent, and open yourself once more to His wisdom. Your transgressions will not be forgiven, nor your bloated pride welcome again in Mhaldor, but your eyes may yet be unblinded; ye may yet learn something from the Suffering ye are destined to endure.

In His service,
Father Nocroth dis Serenath

Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Lupar, in the year 645 AF.