[PostsforIncogs]

To the esteemed Sanctuary, and to those who dare call it refuge,

My commendations are, first, reluctantly offered.
Sanctuary has shown a certain… resilience. A firmness of spine that, in lesser settlements, would have long since dissolved into chaos and ash. And to the she-wolf Felice—ah, yes—an image most fitting of motherhood: tender in promise, yet unflinching in fang when the hour demands ferocity to protect her children. For that, you have my regard.

I shall not dress this plainly, for plainness is a mercy rarely afforded in matters such as these: Yvelt whatever her surname is and Cedric Veythar are not anomalies to be quietly ignored—they are criminals. Outliers, yes, but not innocent ones. They do not embody Sanctuary; they erode it. Their actions stain your name

Tell me, then, what is this “redemption” you so quietly uphold?

Does redemption, in your doctrine, permit the harming of beasts? The theft from the vulnerable? The striking down of those who merely… disagree? Or is this one of those delicate fictions, where virtue is spoken loudly, and practiced only when convenient?

One wonders, truly, am I speaking of Sanctuary alone… or of the many kingdoms who preach renewal whilst sowing quiet ruin beneath the banner of spring?

Ah, but not all that I have witnessed inspires disdain.

The girl, Fuyuan—now she is of interest.

The last kitsune I observed with such presence did not remain as she began. No—she ascended. Nine tails, divine in her own right, a force that bent both culture and myth toward her becoming. I do not err in such perceptions, and I trust I do not err now.

Mark her well, Meranthe.

She warrants study—ethnic, cultural, perhaps even religious, though I suspect Sanctuary fancies itself beyond such frameworks. How inconvenient that may prove for one who must, inevitably, reclaim what is hers. And yet—what grotesqueries unfold under your watch.

I bore witness to beasts made to fight. For amusement. For the dull hunger of a crowd.. And worse still, a boy, scarcely remarkable, set upon a cat as though it were sport. His face, I assure you, shall not fade into anonymity! SHAME!.  And who was that yellow haired woman with you? I have never seen such a face. She was ferocious and I commend her for that.

Pamphlets are such effective instruments of memory.
Unfortunately I must speak of the pink-haired peddler of substances and scandal, crooning indecencies as though he were some tragic bard of ill repute. I find myself wondering how the Soothing Reed has not yet dissolved what little structure remains of his mind. Though, I concede, his “scientific musings” possess a certain… accidental charm. One expects as much from an infant dabbling in borrowed intellect.

But I digress.
It is not merely individuals that concern me for it is the youth. This world’s young, distracted by chalices and trivial intoxications, while the Shadowlands fester!!!!

Lady Argus, if you would lead, then lead wholly.

You require diplomats worthy of your name. Representatives who do not merely stand, but mean something when they do.

And so, I conclude with a question that should trouble you far more than my tone ever could:

How long shall Meranthe continue to hunt scapegoats, while something far greater watches… and waits?

Let Sanctuary be Sanctuary, if you insist.

But I ask you

Is it a sanctuary… or merely a façade?

—Wyrmia
Monk of Sheng, Divine dragons reminder