A rider from Damaskos rushes in with a scroll and begins reciting aloud:
"Highest of the High, Most Wise and Just Fathers and Brothers of the Council,
The city of Bostra in the neighboring country of Nabataia is besieged by an army of innumerable proportions: banners, shields, and engines of war as far as the eye can see! WHEN this city to the South of Damaskos falls, it will not be long till the leader of that great force looks North toward our valuable mines, seeking to seal off the Arche's might from the riches that are as of yet still untapped. Should I fall, defending one of our two passages to the Inner Empire, to the hordes, we must press Southward from Sidon to Hierosolyma, cut off the enemy's supplies, and maintain a front further from Imperial soil.
I am sending my best rider by swiftest mount; I pray this message falls upon sound ears and that a plan can be put into action posthaste.
Ever Your firm and unwavering adherent,
H. N. Syriakes"
The horseman awaits the response.
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