Deacon of Delusion,

In the unlikely event that stupidity were to climb to three hundred sovereigns, I hereby lay claim to the mining rights on massive load of your colossal cranium.

Void swallow me sideways, how you were ever given a position of influence while being so completely ignorant of Chaos and Oblivion is a mystery fit for Chief Inspector Wavel himself. Surely something ornery was involved in that appointment. Chaos, undeniably, embodies a vivifying and animating essence - a pure reservoir of transformative potential that bestows vitality upon Creation. It is the force that propels existence beyond stasis, infusing life with the vigor of change. Curiously, this is the very essence your ignorant and self-engrossed deities strive to expunge from Creation, envisioning a perfectly preserved, eternal, and unchanging husk that obediently adheres to their whims. It is Chaos, in its inherent unpredictability, that thwarts their coveted prescience, and thus, Chaos becomes the object of their disdain.

You have spoken wisdom once in your life, a better average than I expected of you, when you said that I seek to protect Creation from becoming a lifeless husk ensnared in perpetual stasis. Though, in the same breath, you mentioned that they were my words, not yours, thus marginally diminishing your average.

But all of this has been told to you before. I know it has. More than once you have stumbled upon the truth, but hastily picked yourself up again and hurried along as if nothing had happened.

In your pondering on the significance of others' perceptions, a subtle inquiry emergesa"re you a vulnerable, milk-faced pretender, or are you a purveyor of falsehoods? Your own words, overheard in the shadows of your streets, betray an inclination toward self-consciousness and apprehension about appearing bigheaded and egotistical. The echoes of your private deliberations linger, leaving ample room for contemplation without necessitating the exposure of your vulnerabilities before a jeering audience.

There resides no pent-up rage within; rather, it is openly bestowed upon those who merit its scrutiny. You embody precisely the descriptors I ascribe to you, a charlatan of deceptive artifice, an egotistical megalomaniac ensnared in the web of self-adulation, and a spineless wretch who averts its gaze from reality, as if the unyielding truth were too formidable to confront. There is no working toward Oblivion being done, there is only the acceptance of what will come and the protection of Creation from the lifeless prison that your deities would, in their capricious whims, impose upon it before the culmination of its final chapter.



[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 4th of Miraman, in the year 940 AF.