Trothkin, I, Liam Nevversan, shall be heard.
I have seen our enemy. Felled at Black Luthien, taken as a captive, held for years, I have seen their heart. I have seen their true, perverse strength. I know the words of a failed, defeated, old warrior mean nothing to so many of you, even as the defeated begin to outnumber the victorious. We hide behind tradition, cast blame to all others but ourselves, all to avoid facing the truth. We are a failing, dying clan, and we face an enemy that will hasten us to that end.
We do not face honorable combat. We face an enemy that cares nothing for honor.
We do not face a scattered host, we face an army with resources and numbers beyond our ability to match.
We do not seek to rule tiny enclaves of cowed lower castes, we face billions who have never known the structure of the clan system.
We do not have allies, we are surrounded by opportunistic predators who will turn on us at every sign of weakness.
If the Jaguar cannot evolve, the Jaguar will die. If we cannot evolve, we should die, to make way for those who will, as has been our way since our founding.
Only Loremaster Kotare recognizes this. To make any other choice is to embrace our end.