The Shadow Rising
[Found upon his desk, within a fractured subplane]
My Illustrious Brethren,
Situated as I am there can be but faltering uncertainty as to the veracity and culmination of our most earnest enterprises. The Fomorians and Unseelie have veritably snatched the dangled carrots ever so carefully laid before their ignorant and oblivious selves, their entirely unapperceptive wits failing to comprehend the majesty of our endeavour, let alone the pitiful and paltry offerings the Ashen Covenant negligently toss their way, and thus it is with elated pleasure I may here announce our work with the elder races of the Cthonic Rifts commences.
I am unopposed within their clandestine assemblies; that contemptible buffoon and his most ludicrous exertions at reanimation are vainly pitiful at best, yet nevertheless serve to mollify the slack-jawed incompetents that scramble for the very scraps cast off by Blood Lord’s eager hand, maintaining those feeble attentions indefinitely, whilst the other interveningly works towards their auxiliary ambitions within the enclaves of fallen Cormanthyr, all whilst the Shadovar’s own ignominous machinations are now predictably channelled by our own eminent hand and therefore no longer disparate within our grand and exalted scheme, thus accordingly, and unknowingly, serving our Lady of Loss’ every whim. I am, as I have ever so elegantly enunciated, therefore unconstrained in corroborating our efforts. As these inconsequential Dalelands fall into ruin I am as always and evermore, the utmost, unfailingly, abundantly, exceptionally esteemed member of their own pathetically farcical and most undoubtedly underwhelming Tribune.
Nightsinger, guide our path.