Kiss my arse. I'm the Lord of Murder - I'll show you why.

You were never burdened with intelligence, but your load seems to be especially light these days.

Like moons make swell and wane the nescient seas, so too the sky-strewn gods ordain the tidal fates of mortal days. And yet - a notion born in lonely hours - come ebb, come flow, come all that is beyond the breadth of our dominion: be a moon unto yourself. Even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will.

It’s been seven years since I left. It’s no paradise - but it’s home. And it’s worth saving.