Ceren Valtyros,

For many years our pasts ran parallel. For decades we served the Red
Masque together, and with Thoros d'Murani's departure, I looked to you
as the arm of Fain. A symbol for those that wished to serve my former
Master upon the bloody battlefield. Indeed, for a time, it was you and I
that stood as the pinnacle of accomplishment within the Masquerade. For
a time, you and I were intertwined in servitude.

Ceren Valtyros, some things do not change. I stand against you as the
Talons of Crow, but you remain my superior upon the battlefield. You
remain a mighty and fiercely loyal force to be reckoned with.

However, Ceren, you stand for weakness. Your city, my former home, has
long since abandoned the cause for which you continue to fight.
Magnagora has all but crumbled to pieces, an embarrassing shadow of the
noble city I once served. You have chosen to raise the cowardly and
spineless Narsrim who fled your anathema, Celest, only because he was
faced with defeat, abandoning all the promises and vows he spewed. You
have accepted the repugnant Munsia who has been tossed like garbage from
every organization within the basin, she who clumsily plotted, and
failed, to assassinate the Great Houses of Magnagora as your ally. You
stand for nothing. Not rebirth, not transformation. You and your allies
are but phantoms of the Engine, people desperately seeking sanctuary
wherever they can find it.

Long gone are your days of glory. Long gone are the days where the
wisdom and influence of the Red Masque were paramount. As your crawl
upon your belly, mewling for assistance, Glomdoring stands tall and
independent, ready to call those worthy and wise enough her allies.

Make no mistake, this is the era of the Glomdoring. Where you have
failed, I have grown. Amidst the roots and branches of the Wyrden Wood,
the peoples of the Glomdoring have claimed this basin as their own.
Under the guidance of my Lady, Viravian, and the Lord Nocht, the frail
influence of your divine has been revealed. While you remain mighty,
your allies have abandoned you.

I pity you, Earthen Ire. While you remain a champion of the Engine, you
are surrounded by parasites and leeches who will abandon you when
Magnagora crumbles once more. You are doomed to fail, and to stand alone
amidst allies who will place a dagger between your shoulder blades the
moment you falter.

You are a worthy opponent, Ceren, and I am honored to stand against you.
If only you could see the perfection that calls to you as it called to
me.

Celina
The Talons of Crow

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Tzarin, in the year 257 CE.