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.