(agreed, perhaps a merchant slinging mud is fun

)
Foolish wayward child of Aya'se. Know that the Seshweay were old before this world was born, before it was even conceived by the Old Ones, for our Ancestors were aged beyond the sum of all the stars in their domain and so are we. The Old Ones created this world in their image, before their sons and daughters took it from them, and then gave it unto their children; us. They bequeathed us the Republic, the Tales of the Seshweay struck into bronze, and their language. You are our sons and daughters, the imperfect get of some madman long in the grave. But none the less our children, did not Aya'se say of all his children that they should be kept safe from harm, even unto themselves?
And children you are, for none in the north deny his word, or his deed and his holiness. For that you are thrice damned, damned by ignorance of his words, damned by the ignorance of his deeds and damned with a government of one. You are ought but babes in arms, for our Ancestors wrote not of your existance, pitiful it must have been to not even warrant a word. Even the ancient enemies two, Arkage and Satarai warranted a mention, for yours there is nothing. Silence resounds for the wayward children of Aya'se and for that we know you are lost.
Faith begets humanity, humanity begets liberty, liberty begets culture, and culture begets Union. For that lack we intend to impose it in the manner of a parent punishing a wayward child long lost to the fold.