What is this connection-loss you speak of! You whimpered and groveled for me to show you

mercy! Surely you cannot do such things while the Gods hold your soul! Your departure

from the knight profession has obviously made your form soft and fallible. It was perfect

to execute my expertly-timed Wing Slap to the gut attack.

I have been through an agonizing pupa stage to get to where I am! So keep your challenges

fair! If you lose the battle, then you lose your arms! I'm sure that is equivalent to my

losing wings... but you will never get that chance, my dear.

The eggs I laid in your throat should be your future demise. There is no worse death than

a massive fluttering of psychedelic wings erupting painfully out of your chest!

Your worst nightmare,

The Mottled One, High Priest of Somnolence, God of Tired of You

Written by my hand on the 28th of Skyelong, in the year 1127.