Dear Sergeant Gaston LeBeau,

Congratulations assfart. I am writing you today because I have won, and you are left to rot in your miserable office with your miserable duties training fresh deaders. Good luck getting any promotions or for that matter any tail in your current state.

If you ever bother my fiancée again with your crappy love poems and unwanted attention, I will make sure that even the Apothecaries don’t got no use for your miserable hide, or what is left of it.

You are also totally banned from The Flask and Flagon, so don’t even think about comin round to my establishment to start trouble. I got bodyguards an Apothecaries that will see you to the door, or turn you into a puddle of worgen shit. Possibly both things will happen, if you continue to threaten me or bother her.

In summary, go f*** yourself because that is all you got, innit?

-Endicott Orrick