Syndra,

Firstly, as Lord Marshal of Hashan, let me extend a hearty congratulations on your promotion within the walls of Mhaldor. Truely an exceptional feat for someone of such a tender age and limited combat experience to be entrusted with leading the city into War behind Aegoth.

I've been party to your recent city visits, sampling the delights of Hashan amidst the rubble you leave behind as you send wave after wave of Hashani to bargain with Ugrach. But one thing strikes me more than your leader's Holocaust globes, or the abscence of your Tyrannus, and that is the smell of fear.

From you.

You see, we in Hashan are used to spending time rebuilding the streets, retraining guards and repairing our totems. We stand tall for what we beleive in the face of adversity and some we win, some we lose, and we will lose. But believe me, we will win too. When we do it will be you that will suffer the ignominy of defeat to the hands of Hashan, it will be you that blunts the axe in Red Square as it slices into your neck, it will be you, the sacrifical lamb, that will go down in History as having been beaten by the Court of Shadows.

Your constant attacks on Hashan are bourn from fear, you are scared that we are once again on the rise and this worries you. Worries you enough to trawl through our streets trying to asert your superiority frustrated that we won't just lie down and take it, as we use the tools at our disposal to expel you from the city as we see fit.

You see, we in Hashan are on the ascendancy and have nothing to lose but everything to gain. You, however, currently have the Red Isle at your feet and will feel that support crumble with every strike we deal.

So, I wish you well in your new role, because it will haunt you for the rest of your days.

Regards,

Lord Marshal Sobriquet Storm

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Glacian, in the year 761 AF.