Starday, Sarenith 23rd
Divine rage hath become my being. I breathe not a breath that does not yearn to slay thee, Villain. On this morn, before holy sun raise it’s light of heaven, I did see the fires of hell burn yon friendly inn.
In the ashes of the Corrupter’s destruction, a solitary box of wicker did lay. With caution we approached, but it bared nothing more dangerous than a head, and a message. The basket of woe did contain the mortal visage of a friend most dear. Brave brew-master, citizen of the people, martyr of the downtrodden, had his life untimely taken. The message, one of vile threats and grim promise. Signed with malice and hatred most foul, the name of my foe.