Anarion,

You expect us to defect, give up, or forfeit, just for a higher quality
of life? I'm having too much fun. This war has given me so much
pleasure. Pain is under-rated.

Scrambling for enough gold to afford another violet root, just so I
could delay my death by an extra twenty seconds. Against a Monk, a rogue
LoreKeeper, the man I once called my Guildmaster, and uncountable
others, I know I stand little chance. It's ironic, because during those
few seconds, I've never felt so alive. But within the next minute, I'm
not alive any longer. It reminds me of nine years ago, when I was
standing in front of the Arythian Rowan with allies I'd never truly met,
slashing everything that moved. I fought for my right to exist then, and
so did you, Anarion. At least I think, it's a blur in my memory by now,
the forgotten times of when I fought on the side of Stavros, against
evil.

It's simply intoxicating, isn't it?

The screams of dying men. The echoing clash of steel on steel. That
final, brilliant flash before you die... Only servants of darkness can
truly appreciate these.

Wrecklessness. Death. Malice. Destruction. Fire. Fluffy bunnies and
rainbows.

For what it's worth, it was worth all the while. I've been through Dis
so many times I could reconstruct it in the center of your city, right
down to the last rotting corpse, by memory alone.

And so, I shall.
Advocate of the Unjust, Sir Sephiroth, Your Angel of Death

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Letum, in the year 418 AD.