Pray, elucidate unto me thine belligerancy once more, youth...

Erstwhile, while thou hast frittered

thine days away in indolence, mine own excellence hath soared higher than the peaks of Sohm
Al, nay, to the very vaults of the heavens themselves!

From the collegiate of Baldesion, to the deepest reaches of Garlemald, fifteen-score men have I
lain low, with the grace and skill of chirurgeons of legend, and all the rancor of the Primals and
their beastmen subjugate. Thou art yet but one more fetid soul to rend unto Oblivion.

Verily, the wrath I have yet to bear upon thine personage will be found even within the
tomestones of ancient Allag, so great will thine suffrance be of mine ire, that even time itself will
disobey its causal flow and rescribe history forthwith; Hearken to me, cur. Thine words reach
mine ears and they resolve into naught but coyness, replete of filth and ignorance.

Thine puissant scribework, as grotesque as an unmasked Goblin. Pray, and speak true, dost
thou truly believe thineself equal to mine own personage? Nay. Ere long, mine compatriots shall
away and arrive anon to thine dwelling, fire and fury in their breasts, steel bared, and cantrip
upon the ready.

Thou'rt doomed, wastrel; even The Mothercrystal weeps for what shall befall thee. Nay, not
even the Twelve themselves shall shelter thee from mine ardor, and even the Ascians will decry
my cruelty whenceforth issued.

Such will be mine wrath, that it shall bring about the true Eighth Umbral Calamity. Thy glibness
hath only wrought ire and fury, and not even the Warrior of Light will be able to save you from
mine. For I hath drawn forth the cards of eld, and thine fortunes spelt plain.

Thou'rt doomed, churl.