I will make this short and try to use as many small words as I can, in
order to accomodate your well-renowned wit.

I doubt anyone has to think very hard before they realize that your
'work' is simply the product of what happens when another cowardly
Tanjinn becomes bored. You are nothing but one of Lord Shaitan's
dullards, a child in a man's body.

The Isles will be replanted. Nature will flourish. And once again, the
very world in which we live will show the world that Nature will not
bend to meet the whims of the foul Divine of Evil.

May the winds scour your eyes from your face, may the earth swallow you
whole, may the skies be turbulent and storm-ridden in your travels, and
may the seas rise up and cleanse you and your worthless Isle from our
world.


Until next time,

Fyr Ravensong

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Glacian, in the year 547 AF.