Normally I concern myself only with prose, but for your idiocy I shall
make an exception.

Long have you held sway,
Until the time I choose today.
You take your pick of mhun,
But now I'll have myself some fun.

You speak of our weakness,
But I demand you to regress.
So light of thought,
It must be an art;
Or simply a test.

Of me to refrain from calling your bluff, and demanding that you face me
before you set your mind to killing other mhun. Your eyes are surely too
large for your stomach, as you have picked a fight you cannot handle.

Finally:
Leave our home,
And cease to roam,
Wherever you're not wanted.
For if you do,
The only thing for you,
Is a funeral widely vaunted.

Fen Lichlord




Penned by my hand on the 24th of Ero, in the year 483 AF.