Dearest Hirst,

I don't claim to be relevant.
I haven't been really sent.
I've just one simple intent.
Since you seem so bent
on making a fool of yourself as you vent.
A few clues, you'll be lent.

If the words are difficult,
Just find a master of the occult.
Should the lines begin to blur.
They'll read it for you, I'm sure,

Everything you'd written, so hastily,
anything you'd say, so haughtily,
something you'd mentioned, so amusingly,
nothing you'd call, so insultingly

But poor Siduri.
Her lot isn't misery,
but being called in attention by you
must be so embarassing, it's true.

See, anybody who's somebody
Can tell you're a prodigy.
We're all beaten by thee.
As everybody can plainly see
You're in oblivion already.
You're the one who's nobody.

So, do stop being an embarassment.
Teaching you that is all I'd meant.

And, while we're on the subject
(And if I'm wrong, please reject the mistakes I interject)
But don't you know how dragons work?
They're a bit better than the average orc.
Sleep isn't a thing they need.
So, uh... please stop with the mead,
As a fellow Achaean, I plead.
Embarassment is the only place it'll lead.

My apologies, of course, if you don't drink,
or Lord Babel isn't awesome, you might think
That was just some creative liberty
To show your true place in history.

Nim Windstrike,
War Minister of the City of Peace and Art

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Phaestian, in the year 651 AF.