O citizens of Béy Sü, Jewel of the Empire, Cradle of Dynasties, and Soul of the World:
For centuries we have called ourselves faithful and yet we have failed in our most sacred of duties.
Ditlána, the Rite of Renewal, commanded by divine law to be undertaken every five hundred years, lies neglected. The gods wait – and we have made them wait too long. The city groans beneath the weight of that delay. Its bones are old. Its heart is still. Its walls are choked with silence and, within that silence, fester rot and blasphemy.
The Temple of Belkhánu, long a sanctuary of Stability and Repose, has become a shadowed fane for something older and far more terrible. There, beneath clouds of incense and threnodies to the honored dead, the foul cult of the One Other has taken root – tended not by outlaws, but by priests masked in reverence and armored in tradition.
Therefore, the Temple of Belkhánu in this city shall be the first to fall. Stone by stone; beam by beam.
Its relics, if true, shall be preserved.
Its servants, if loyal to the gods and the Petal Throne, shall be spared.
Its hidden masters shall be cast down and scattered.
Let this be the first hammer-blow in the long-overdue renewal of Béy Sü.
This is not sacrilege. This is not conquest. This is not vengeance.
This is obedience to the will of the gods and the cycle of centuries.
This is the sword raised to purify.
This is Ditlána.
Let the traitors wail. Let the halls of power tremble if they must – but the city will be reborn.
The Empire will be reborn.
The gods will not be mocked, nor will their patience last forever.
Let the banners fly. Let the fires burn. Let those who love Tsolyánu stand and be counted.
Thus speaks the Sword of Judgment. Thus speaks Eselné.
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