Vek-Dansh-Who-Wears-Tuwri,

Word of your unimpressive fame has spread across Sapience.

A crude parasite driven by base gluttony to gorge itself on whatever filth and muck it can lick off the road is not a threat.

Hunger is the judicious discernment of what deserves to be desired and what inspires only indifference. Ruin is the irresistible allure of obsessive madness. Sorrow is the longing of envy unsated.

Your existence is blasphemy against Corruption Incarnate, and so the Ghost of Despair must teach you the wisdom of the Spiral before it breaks you on the fulcrum of Avarice.

When the touch of Corruption finally reaches the domain of your false goddess, the people of Vorostra will finally understand the meaning of faith. Their first true prayer will be the death cries of their children as their flesh is welded to chains and they are thrown into the ocean to drown.

Her Ghost will celebrate it by carving out the Second Dragon's heart and seizing whatever magic she uses to weave her false semblance of divinity.

Ever Downwards.

Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 3rd of Lleian, in the year 15 AC.