Dear Ms. Oubliette,

How quickly the spores of the Wyrden Woods have gotten to you. And so
soon after you've left our wonderful City. I was quite surprised that
just weeks after such a spirited speech at our Necropolis you decided to
go back to Glomdoring Forest.

Of one thing you are correct... the Engine does rot. Many legends have
died and decompose on our streets. The stench of their blood fills our
noses. The stench of their blood floods our dreams with rage. We hear
their spirits calling for vengeance, and they will not be forgotten.

Yet what you view as weakness is shortsighted, and what you view as
stagnation is something far more profound. The maggots which feed upon
the power of Old grow more bloated with every waking moment. Day in and
day out the city grows and swells with the blood of those who seek the
forbidden knowledge of the Soulless Gods, those who cry aloud to spill
blood for their master. The festering piles of the many that fought
before us have merely started the feeding frenzy of the Maggots.

Many have come to us in recent years. They are filled with greed,
ambition, pride, and vanity. Cast out by their former friends and
allies, they come to the Megalith to share their Sins - to revel in
them. They know that we will take their hatred and temper it into
strength in the forges of our glory to come. A strength far greater than
simple zealotry - but instead, the tools to become the Heroes which will
be written about for centuries.

Yes! For every cog that breaks, three come up in it's place! In death...
in rot... there is more life than anywhere else. We are the young, and
we will fight unendingly against those who have betrayed us! We will be
the ones to inherit the throne, and we will be the ones to have your
souls as the fires burn your precious trees to the soil!

All the while, the Legion watches as we are reborn from the ashes of our
forefathers. He watches us, the Maggots, devouring the meat of our
enemies and heroes alike. The Legion watches as we burst from our shells
as something far greater! We will devour all in our sights in a starving
swarm of momentous proportions! As we rise from the ashes of the old, we
are reborn - and the Legion will laugh ripples into mountains as the
Serpent finally bites his own tail.

Never cloud your judgement with the illusion that we will fall...

For when the smoke clears, you will know that it was Magnagora who has
risen again.

For the Everlasting Glory of Chaos,
Kalas Dakkhan

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Dvarsh, in the year 235 CE.