You flee to buy yourself time when I have the better of you in a match, yet when
you have managed to have the better of me and I do the same, you bray of honor.

You prey upon the weaker combatants of the Theocracy in an effort to draw me
out, but run and cry when you find yourself on the backfoot.

You manipulate the situation to have an excuse to hunt me multiple times, yet
are the first to complain about how put upon you are by how terribly unfair
Sapience is to you.

Strife has revealed your truth, Edhain.

You are a man of many words but thoughtless action.

Your "honor" only matters until victory slips from your fingers, then your
ideals twist more than your words.

You are little more than a lapdog, yipping for approval from the Praadi, and if
the way the leadership of the Sentinels has shuffled about under your command is
any indication, you intend to drag the rest of that guild down into ignominy
with you.

Barimoth
Argent Legionnaire
Dhasan of Devotion
Commander of the Thronesworn

Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 16th of Slyphian, in the year 14 AC.