Rasul,

You surprise me.

You may not recognise this person, but long has that purple-prosed poltergeist haunted this medium. Every time celestial harmony seems within reach, lo! The reeking jaws of Babel's diademed dog hinge open to bestow another broken promise of chaos on the page. His ascerbic tongue is renowned, wagging and stinking to high heaven. Five thousand sovereigns is no substantial barrier against the resolve of its snaking aroma through every newsroom on the continent, cutting even the briny tang of our fish markets. Though you have only just become aware of it, I think you may find unexpected salvation in a local alchemist's face mask. Perhaps borrow one from the mistweavers.

Peace be upon you otherwise, Deacon. Be of good cheer, and may the Light guide you (obviously).

-

Xeh'ria,

What your facile scrabblings fail to grasp is the nature of which you desire and war against. Good is metaphysical, a primal force of true progress birthed at time's dawn to stir advancement in the hearts of all, and shall do so unto the renovation of all the worlds. It is the blueprint of which Evil is selfish mockery, a salve against lethargic entropy and bellicose discord. Light and Righteous Fire are its divine champions, the spark of the devoted Their pristine grace. The cosmic potentiality of the everlasting font blesses our ordered reality like sunrise in the fields. It is the afterglow of Sarapin promise, the fulfilment of Protean vow.

Are the taints of the North (and Sartanic West) truly not enough for your eager swallowings, Bloodthroat? And your nightly congresses with the Infernal Throne's foetid aristocracy - insufficient for your libidinous claws? You fly too high, ichorous, in these vile thoughts reaching for a Righteous member. Perhaps the Scimitar of Dawn is more accommodating for your vinegary gullet. Prolix Grandue, the insatiable, yearning for purity from inside out.

I pray thee, find another knothole to gnaw at, ventriloquist. Your devotion is not enough for Their, or our attention to you on this board.

Halos Vorondil
Caefir Priest




Penned by my hand on the 20th of Glacian, in the year 939 AF.