I pass through your rits, at the Path Entrance. I take damage, my demons respond.

Note ye did not ship? Or are ye claiming I can't do that to ye? Note that I

departed as soon as I realised ye were under attack? Note that I apologied, a


Still not good enough for ye?

Then in future I shall not deign to be so gentle with ye, fool.

Prepare yeself. Death comes.

Written by my hand on the 17th of Paglost, in the year 996.