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SEREMVS * DELENDA * EST AN OPEN LETTER TO THE HIGH PONTIFF YOUR HOLINESS; Throughout history, we of Horen’s blood have been tasked with the greatest trial of the descendant tribes. Where Eldar may observe the flow of time as a keen observer, we Men may only reference it through the monuments of our forefathers. Our bodies are enfeebled with each passing day, and our strength is inconsequential. It is nothing less than a miracle that our people have not succumbed to the wretched beasts of our world. We persist. We persist because Men welcome the challenge of the curse. Our lives are measured by the ambitions we possess and the merit by which we conquer adversity. The shortness of our lives forces us to seize the day, and to join our brother Man in the pursuit of a common goal. At Humanity’s best, we are united. As it stands, however, we are divided. Divided by rite, geography and politicks. It is in this division that ignoble scavengers have begun to stalk the splintered pack. They loom in the shadows and lick their chops in wait. With our backs turned and at greatest risk of the assassin’s plunge, they strike. They strike with cold and apathetic malice. To they, Humanity is not the legacy of our blood nor the depth of our character; rather, we have been reduced to dinner. In recent months, the good citizens of the Harvest Confederacy have been under siege at the behest of drab barbarians. Amidst the shadow hours they arrived in their hunting bands, rattling of bone and ice. They take limbs as a form of cursed retribution for their heresiarch’s faith. They reap lives as the farmer reaps his crop. They dine on the succulence of once lively bones and belch crassly in delight, for they had made their victim suffer. They are of Serheim, a would-be Xionist polity that scars the Urguani coast with immeasurable iniquity. They have declared GOD dead, and have seen it fit to justify their monstrous ascendence through a faux “defense” of mortalkind. Ironically, these mortals are the same they cannibalize. This is a clear violation of the Epistle to the Magi and of basic integrity. Serheim must be destroyed, and we Lectors have done our best to see an end to it. We have rallied with the Harvest Lords and patrolled the countryside endlessly in pursuit of these villains. We have tracked the few foolish enough to reveal their face and have dispatched them with prejudice befitting the Men of Anthos. Those who have not retreated to their depths have skittered to new lands, furthering the spread of sin. There is much more to be done. We thus invite the Holy Church of Canon, and our fellow Human lords, to join us in our CRUSADE. The ruins of Serheim must be quarried brick by brick, and devoted to the Saintly Caius. We must enslave their immortal witches for the creation of iced creme. We must ensure that none are ever so bold as to hunt Men again, lest they find themselves in the T’s indifferent embrace. After we raze Serheim, we must raze all bastions of the Deceiver. Those fugitive and absconded wretches must be hunted, tested and exterminated. The surest way to determine if one is a servant of Iblees is to cut a suspect deeply into their supple flesh with a blade of Aurum; salt the wound. Further, one must be willing to bludgeon a suspect to determine as to whether their flesh will crack as ice. Should any adverse results be detected, termination is preferred. It was the Prophet Owyn who freed our peoples from the tyranny of the Unrepentant. It was the Prophet Godfrey who punished the would-be Slavers. Such actions mimicked can only be blessed. DEUS LUX MEA EST, Arch-Lector Dante of Denesle
