Twilight,

I have donned your armor of conflict and strife. I walked the path as long as I was able, but no more. I've found rock-bottom and I am happy for it. I found the place where the fire burns brightest, and I stayed there as long as I could. For you Twilight, for you.

Shouting lunatic no longer suits me, and it's time to put that now well-honed tool back in the box. No, I think socially acceptable Augtavian better fits my needs. One thing is certain, dear Twilight. I have found my voice, and not even you can cause me to lose it ever again.

By Your own teachings You and I have a palavar ahead of us.

As above, so below.

Your bastard son,
Augtavian Lockwood.

Penned by my hand on the 24th of Ero, in the year 956 AF.