Childe,

Of what value do you suppose yourself to speak thus to any of My
siblings? You are less than a maggot, more filthy than an orcish
latrine, more ragged than a lich's scalp, and you speak thus to My
Sister? Think not that I concur with Her values, no, all know far
better. But you insult more than Her by your fallacious attempt at
humor, when the only humors you need attend to are the slops what reside
within your pitiful frame.

I suggest firmly that you take to groveling betwixt Her feet, lest you
find yourself with fewer humors even than you seem now to exhibit. I
warn, She is the far more lenient, but I will not permit a bilgemate
such as yourself to escape undiminished should She grant otherwise.

Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Ios, in the year 254 MA.