A Scribe

Dear Lord D’Car,
If you are, as you so snottily claim, the “Defender of the Realm”, where the bloody hell were you when the crater opened up in Trinsic? That had nothing to do with your precious little war, and quite frankly, if I was yer mother, I’d be wishing I’d turned yer over me knee and thrashed yer more often when yer got bratty, cos yer turned out to be a spoilt, pompous arse who won’t share his toys (Mind you, the amount of "sharing" you've done since can clearly be seen in those mongrel brats you spawned, so mebbe there's hope for yer yet, if yer don't get jock rot from siring em). Hopefully, them nice folks in Trinsic’ll catch up with yer one day, and as yer don’t believe in Compassion, they’ll respect yer bloody wishes on it, and give yer the thrashings yer mother should have given yer all in one go. Preferably with a spiky mace.

Have a crappy Avatarmas

*scribed under protest and dictated exactly as the lady ordered it at swordpoint*

Klion D'Gar

The Lord Protector rubbed his hands together and climbed nimbly onto a large pile of unopened fan mail, falling swiftly asleep. Klion slept soundly that night, safe in the knowledge he was loved and adored by all.