Dear Paine,

While I must admit my ability to take Ferow seriously has been taxed by
seeing, and hearing of, his disreputable antics over the many years of
my Unlife, I must call into question your invocation of honour as it
relates to mortalkind. We, the Consanguine, do not need to adhere to
some strange, lofty chivalraic code devised by mortal knights so that
they might know how to behave themselves instead of braying like
donkeys.

I am Consanguine. I am, whether I choose to acknowledge it or not (and I
certainly _do_), a predator. Mortals are my prey. Mortals need do
nothing to become my prey. Mortals cannot, ever, become anything other
than my prey. Even those who may best me on the field of battle and
those I respect are still, in the end, food. Recall the Legacies of the
Consanguine, Vampire. To love mortals, to aide mortal over your own
kind, is an abomination. As a boy, I had a canine which I kept as a pet.
I certainly loved that canine after a fashion, and I cared for it and
fed it and paid attention to it, but it never became as one of my own
kind to me. This is the way of things with mortals. They are cherished
pets at best, like the child's favourite rabbit. His father would not
hesitate to wring its neck and skin it should the family find themselves
in need of its sustenance.

I consume whose vitae I will, whether I kill them, whether I
incapacitate them, or whether I charm them in to it. I, unlike you, am
Consanguine.

May your Blood eventually prevail over your pitiful mortal nature.

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Severin, in the year 162 MA.