[A letter is left at the Siren, The Stand, The Crone, and one is sent up the New Dunwarren Lift]
Dearest Mister Ahost!
What is it of him you'll miss the most?
His blonde and gold locks?
The pompous way he tahks?
Tyr is a fine deity in deed
But an annoy halfling t'is not what you need.
The Triad should rule above that lan',
And not some pompous little half man.
Your faith is strong,
Though your politics wrong
Admirable indeed,
But your threats, I don't need.
The foolish Wardhin is all that I seek,
He walks about upper, treating others meek.
Let us call this humility,
To be dispensed Post-Mortis-ility.
For the way only some learn,
is when the blade is turn.
Stop not the justice, T'is not anarchy I seek,
But a simple rambunctious hin's blood to leak.
I trust the letter finds you most well,
For Tyr is a Deity I find most swell,
However should you stop the fate that Drin has befell.
[the sloppy handwriting grows visibly angry, jagged edges and hardly pressed into the letter]
Why then, Dearest Ahest, you'll join him in hell.
The blood of one is a small price to pay for the lives of many to be well.
This Halfrat looks down on citizens, Councilors, watchmen alikes,
As you said, he does what he likes.
Not rule, yet -acts- though he has some semblance of power, Should a public apology be issued to the city of sanctuary and he leaves the city of Upper and thus steps down from his position,
then I too would be forced to put my offer into Submission.
Rhymin' Simin'
Bardastic Gob-lin