The Empire has given me purpose. I stumbled for so long among Magickers I had no idea the type of person I could be. Turns, out, I was never meant to be a person. I was meant to be something more.

Blood, hot and sticky between my fingers. Eyes hanging with sinew and tendons from skulls. A quick incision here and there, seperating skin from muscle, muscle from bone. It is a blissful trenscendance of gore that has filled me with a longing I had never thought I had.

You fleshy husks walk around your councils and cities weilding Magick as a tool, when it should glorify your existance and allow you to lay siege onto anyone. You claim honor and integrity when you deal with death and backstabbing amongst yourselves. This chaos pleases me, but your ignorance of potential does not.

Welcome the beautiful visage of death as blade slices flesh. Bask in the red breath of life as it covers your body. This is what it means to hold power. This is the true glory of the Empire.

Bloodshed is only a means to an end. I pray that end never comes.

For the Empire,
Mathiaus

Penned by my hand on the 17th of Tenebrae, in the year 60 AM.