Hail to the Lord of "Valour", Pentharian the Thief, most noble Cutpurse,
divine footpad,

Let it be known in every corner of this world that You have turned Your
face from Valour. Let it be known that the words of your priests and
followers are dust in their mouths for You have adopted the very methods
which You and Your teachings claim to despise.

I, my Lord, am a thief of no little repute. But at least, my victims
have a chance to defend themselves should they be nimble of thought and
hand. You rifled through my packs and took what You would without
returning that courtesy. Your methods are the very antithesis of Valour
and Honour. You coddle Your Order members like children. You descend
into the gutter with the lowlives and the criminals, You Lord of Valour,
you shameful hypocrite.

Have the items as you wish. I care not. They were but marks of success,
mental trinkets and keepsakes. The success remains whether the items do
or not. I have lost nothing. But You You have lost everything, Thou
hypocrite.

Shallam Suffers under the Mhaldorian yoke not because its strength of
arms has grown weak or at least not initially. It Suffers because it
lacks strength of belief. Its principles and purpose atrophy as its
leaders and now, its very Gods, allow the stench of hypocrisy to rise
from the once dreaming spires of the East.

Wallow then in the midden of hypocrisy, squatting like lowlife scum.
Thou craven honourless God who shames the very realm He patrons. Let the
name Pentharian be said, henceforth, with a smirk. Pentharian the
Lowlife, I christen Thee. And like all nicknames with a grain of truth,
it will stick.

Yours, in grave disappointment,
Tenebrus; Proselytist and Cutpurse
Servant of Purity and Scourge of the Hypocrite
Speaker of the Truths, Nimble Nine Fingers.


Penned by my hand on the 10th of Lupar, in the year 439 AF.