My precious Seneschal of the Guard,

Years I have spent on the Sapience side of the portals, working amongst the folk that fill your coffers with the Ylem that Delve so hungers and the greedy lapdogs of your Caentoi researchers sucked dry of the Albedi lands. Who really is the monster, the Dreikathi...just because they lack the diplomacy that the little terriers you call to your council meetings do. I think not dear.

There is not a prelate, seneschal or dare I say Lord of the City who has the wit that we had down in the bowels of your city. Serving the very "enemies" you declare because they desire if anything else to keep you from your wealth. A pity, is it not. But you....You cannot catch what was in the shadows, you could not even influence my own sister, who had enough sense one she stripped herself of the nobility and dirty money your forced upon her like one of your ever frequent ladies of the night, isnt that right Seneschal?

Blood is thicker than your filthy gold.

I have infiltrated your prison, liberated the life from the suffering prisoners who keep locked away like slaves. Then as I thought best to escape I took pause for one last performance. As the curtains were drawn I spilled in the most magnificent hues of crimson, the blood of the guards who stood there scoffing at them as if those prisoner lives do not matter. I slinked around the alleys of Delve, still, an outcast that knows every nook and cranny and consumes every little rumour that swills about through the darkness, only to sip of the sweet nectar like it is brandy.

Where once I lived in fear of you and your hounds.

I now return, to mastermind the darkness of the Underbelly again.

The Pawn, is now the King.

Checkmate.

Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 8th of Severin, in the year 471 MA.