Jardon,

I grow weary of your nonsensical babbling. I have once again cleansed of
life the miserable coterie of tents you call home as a direct result of
your witless retort, and shall continue to do so as long as you maintain
residence in el'Jazira. Your idle threats and demands of the citizens of
Sapience for punishment have indeed amused me, though the time for
amusement is now past. I'll waste no more words, as it appears you do
not even possess the meagre mental faculties necessary for
self-preservation.

I can assure you that you will tire of watching those you hold dear
being slaughtered, gurgling and choking on their own blood and crawling
through the mire of their own entrails, long before I tire of inflicting
these horrors upon them. Your hands are caked with the blood of your
village, Jardon. Your arrogance shall cost them their lives many, many
times over.

May their heartbroken weeping and agonised cries sing you to your rest,

Khoraji,
Tyrannus of Mhaldor

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Daedalan, in the year 381 AF.