The visions continue. In the depths of my slumber, prophecies spool forth like bolts of the finest elvish silk. At the end, like a light at the end of a tunnel, I see riches beyond imagination -- wealth beyond even that of the pitiful Spire which started this mad farce, all for my taking. Even so, I know it will not come easily. As with all things,
obstacles must be overcome. I am surrounded by parasites, pitiful leeches which would only rob me of what is rightfully mine. By my name and title as the King of the Lash, they shall be eliminated -- either crushed into submission, or sent to the forges in Dwarfhalla; it matters not to me.
It will be a difficult, and risky, road. Even one of my stature must be wary of the gutter-born masses, should they find the audacity to band together as one -- particularly with that infernal black-clad elf pulling strings like a filthy cave spider. But, my will shall be done. As always, I shall have what I desire, and those who would impede me shall be eliminated. However they seek to keep me from my birthright, they shall fail. They shall fail.
Today, however, I am victorious, for I have secured yet another prize for my collection: a most exquisite ring, hewn from obsidian by a mad craftsman and adorned with intricate inlays of Spawn bone. Truly precious. As much as I enjoy displaying it on my person, I must hide it somewhere the rabble cannot find it, for I know that they seek to take it from me; I'm quite sure I saw one of the brewers eyeing me darkly as I passed by, clearly envious of my acquisition. Bah! Let him look. It's all he shall get of it!