Truly, child, none find themselves 'fascinated' by you save for yourself, and surely none require shelter from the devotion of a mere maggot such as yourself.

You don't 'stand as something so contrary' to Nature; rather, you kneel, yea, prostrate, even, as something so contrary to Nature. You are naught but an amusing trinket, a living caricature, an abomination relegated to the God of Evil's shelf of misfit toys.

There, amidst all the other whimsical oddities, you are not so 'contrary'. You are in esteemed company with others, such as the enraged, froth-lipped miner who fancies himself mighty, the diminutive-handed Rajamalan spinner of erotic fantasies, and the feeble Tyrannus-that-couldn't.

You prattled on endlessly about evolution, and perhaps one might argue that you have undergone some semblance of evolution. Yet, most cancerous growths evolve in some manner. If you truly sought evolution, you have missed the mark by a wide margin, forsaking the pure, transformative potential of Chaos. Instead, you are but a pale shadow of what you might have become under my guiding hand.

So you are neither truly evolved, nor are you anywhere near Strength. What, then, does this leave us? A self-absorbed, delusional maggot with a boisterous tongue, as useful to the West as nipples on a breastplate.

My counsel to you is to cease your efforts to garner disdain. You will find yourself disliked aplenty without the need for any additional exertion on your part.


[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 10th of Glacian, in the year 941 AF.