Now that the Sanguine have been defeated, it is time to now reflect on the current state of affairs. Should we just go back to normalcy? Should we allow that fool in the high castle to resume his military occupation of the city, with that ridiculous circus of a guard force, and that militarized, corrupt Alms House that poisons its meals and hands out fake currency? Should we allow that scared little weasel to resume his fake noble life without some sort of pushback? Unfortunately for the paper Archduke, I, his bane and greatest fear, won't stand for it.
The man is running scared. He is mad with power, yet the real him shines through every now and then, revealing that he is nothing but scared little rat. I called him out a few months ago. He then shat himself in his estate, and proceeded to have his resident Elf respond to my callout, only to claim I am nothing and that I shall soon die as nothing. That little fool Howlester said the same thing, even attacking me with his dog Julius Peirgarten, yet here I am, with a greater name than his. Like you, he shat himself in his office, and sent somebody else to fight his battles, but to his credit at least had the courage to write his own paper. Bested was that lightweight, and soon, you will be too.
Never forget who you are, Viggo Kensley. Bartender, gambler, brothel goer. You strut about with hordes of lemmings on your heels and that façade of a title, with an undeserved relic clasped to your back. You let the peons do your dirty work, I let my elbows do mine, and you'll find out soon enough when I bury them in your teeth. You can't run from me anymore. Soon enough, you'll have to face adversity in your life, and right now it is coming at you with two axes, an iron chin and a mean left hand. Soon enough you'll reflect on your life choices when your head bounces off of my ascending knee.
A bout. Five rounds. All skills. Commercialized. Nothing held back. Paid in full.
Earned, not given.
-Urijah Jamesson
The man is running scared. He is mad with power, yet the real him shines through every now and then, revealing that he is nothing but scared little rat. I called him out a few months ago. He then shat himself in his estate, and proceeded to have his resident Elf respond to my callout, only to claim I am nothing and that I shall soon die as nothing. That little fool Howlester said the same thing, even attacking me with his dog Julius Peirgarten, yet here I am, with a greater name than his. Like you, he shat himself in his office, and sent somebody else to fight his battles, but to his credit at least had the courage to write his own paper. Bested was that lightweight, and soon, you will be too.
Never forget who you are, Viggo Kensley. Bartender, gambler, brothel goer. You strut about with hordes of lemmings on your heels and that façade of a title, with an undeserved relic clasped to your back. You let the peons do your dirty work, I let my elbows do mine, and you'll find out soon enough when I bury them in your teeth. You can't run from me anymore. Soon enough, you'll have to face adversity in your life, and right now it is coming at you with two axes, an iron chin and a mean left hand. Soon enough you'll reflect on your life choices when your head bounces off of my ascending knee.
A bout. Five rounds. All skills. Commercialized. Nothing held back. Paid in full.
Earned, not given.
-Urijah Jamesson
