Esteemed Arachnid of the Frigid North,

Whilst I find amusement that the barbarics of bloodsport seem to be some sort of offering in the eyes of yourself and the Malevolent, the wiser folk of the land know that playing a game where a side has the choice of the rules, engagement and selection of pieces, often falls folly to those who accept such 'deals'

You mistake those who rouse within the Nightmare, writhing amongst its ethereal grasp as something foolish, without communication, without structure. But it is us who have embraced this ever fluid and shifting understanding that have seen truth in its depths, be it in ones fears, strengths, weaknesses and pride. It is well known what that tome means to Her, but of eyes, a paltry gift, something mortals who subject themselves to Her willingly give, it is your bartering which offers us pause.

For a barter does not begin with an equivalence, and then one modifies the contract to their own whims in some ignorant reach, thinking other parties would be none the wiser to see that this -demonstration- is nothing more than ones own masturbatory attempt to fawn ones own ego.

I am not a representative of Hers, but I have been chosen to swim beneath the ethereal skies, amongst the pools of nightmare, sipping from their intoxicating depths. I am not drunk, however like so many of the Malevolents who indulge on such frivolous mortal distillation, and their hunger for blood and glory. I am enlightened by my own mind to know a poor offer when I see one.

On my behalf, I decline. For I am one of many.


May your web not get tangled on your thorax Xenia,

-Runas


Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 20th of Midsummer, in the year 465 MA.