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Oh, sweet murderling. You've made Gray Harbour run red with the blood of the innocent without even dipping your toes in the water. Did you hear the blast, as you fumbled through the Foundry?
Thanks to you, the tyrant's Iron Throne lies broken beneath the bay, and the prisoners it held are nothing but blood in the foam. And when Iron fell, so did Steel - the Watchers are no more. You sow the seeds of chaos well. How the sheep bleat to watch their gilded guardians crash to the cobbles. They tremble to see the lordling's temple of tyranny crumble atop their corpses.
The time is now. Without his mindless mannequins Gortash is weak. Kill him kill him kill himkillhimkillhim -
[The rest of the page is filled with the same scrawled instruction, written in increasingly illegible script. At the bottom, a signature in blood - 'Orin']