[awwlie]

Fall of the Year 2182 AC

Betwixt with the Devil.

Two years have passed since the leader of the City of Arts, the Martyr of Mydaea was placed under capture. Even amidst such chaos, the City has endured and pushed forth. The mourning period for the faithful has been painful, yet even more so: Cut short. Sky Lanterns float on top the Cathedral as a reminder for their sacrifice, their actions as the Martyr.

May She See,
May She Hear,
May She Speak.

‎ 

The Priestess of Mydaea speaks for herself, as the named Priestess of Her Grace. Sending an envoy carrying letters onwards to the offices of the Gloomlight's Oracle, and the Vicar-General of the Tribunal. Each contain a seal carved out of blood itself, with an singular wing imprinted in the middle to act as symbol.

Ayse Shizuka Akatsuki, The Priestess of Mydaea Wrote:

---

The words written bear weight-- Not just in judgement, but finality: It is clear, the misguided of Eternia lack awareness. A canvas to be burnt, anew will be found. Flames of the Republic will burn bright that is for certain, yet, how many are you ready to sacrifice to the kiln. How many are willing to burn up their faith, their ambition to reach this madness? Will you be able to look upon those soldiers in the face, calling this an act of amelioration.  

You can destroy all you see, but, what you can not see. You are unable to grasp: Exorcise the rot from within first, so you may be able to remember what it looks like. If you must pretend redemption comes through the flames you oust as mercy, then let yourself burn first. The ashes of your ambitions will remember the truth.

You will find yourself to wonder once you cross in to our holy lands, what has the truth of your lies been. 

May She See,
May She Hear,
May She Speak.

Yaeka Akatsuki, The Viceroy Wrote:

---

Once again, our home is set upon by the righteous and the just. They who write history. They who look ever forward, towards a bright and blinding future.

We, who have only defended ourselves against these onslaughts, have only stood to lose. Our Vicarian was taken, and killed. Those that I provide for, are only killed without mercy. We attempt to free Her Grace from a terrible fate, right a wrong on a divine scale, and Aetius sought to lay us low. Not once have we marched on others for disagreements. Not once have we done anything but leave the world to its own devices.

If you wish to see the beautiful streets of Viritas so badly, then I welcome you. The last time an army walked upon it, the ashen streets were painted red with blood. Uralai was granted peace. What shall happen this time, I wonder?

Remember, O noble warriors of the Republic:
The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows.