Dunccan, Dunccan. Believe me, you don't want to start the 'look what she said!' game. I've got more then enough dirt on you, and I'd not mind watching you squirm. No, I don't just mean the pathetic shows of whining and begging I've seen from you.

As far as your threats, nothing you say can reach me, really. I'll only die to you if I want too. I can avoid you endlessly, shrug off your attacks easily. You call it cowardice? I call it stealth. I have a skillset devoted to it, remember?

You seem to have fallen into a trend of insinuating that I was below-par while in Castigere's order, and so was my reason for leaving. I was tired of you jerking me around, following YOU for a cause I could not bring myself to truely believe in. I left by choice, against heavy protest, and seeing the results... I can safely say I was missed for a time.

As for the one time you slew me, today, as I stood and taunted you, I thank you. No more must our feud be confined to words. Believe me, soon enough you'll be hurting for it.

Esprii Belial, the Anti-Fedaykin

Written by my hand on the 7th of Eleuthral, in the year 1130.