To the soon-deposed toad upon the stump,

When I told Proficy that he was a self made man that worships his creator and the insult went over his head, he strutted like a proud hen thinking it was praise and we laughed.

Now we laugh at you for the same reason.

You weave 'magical wards' around the cradle that a baby's rattle bats aside like a cobweb.

You weave a healing 'nature' spell over the children that does absolutely nothing.

You shout very bigly at the West and I mock you. Then our deathsense is lit like a fireworks finale as you all die in a grand display of your incompetence.

Did it not even occur to you that when I suggested you perhaps look to the other nations for assistance in the wake of your utter failure I was making fun of you? I know that Blackwillow did not tell you I was offering assistance. That hopeful twist of words is your own and the world sees through it.

Know this, fool: just because I stoop to speak to one of you does not make you famous by proximity nor relevant. You do not need to pop champagne and run to proclaim to the world that Grandue Xeh'ria has deigned to acknowledge your existence, especially when I am making you the butt of the joke.

Enjoy the exhilarating euphoria of my attention while it lasts, which will only be until the end of this post.


At your expense,

[X] Grandue Xeh'ria, Keeper of the Iron Crown

[A small octagon encircles a raised "II" here, inscribed in thick, amethyst ink]

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Aeguary, in the year 899 AF.