Devaguea scoffed, his body slowly moving to stalk around his opponent, lashing out with the best weapon he had ever found, his words. "Own? I own the equipment I wield, a few dozen books, and a room in the castle. I<em>administer</em>the rest of the lands, the title and powers granted to me by those who 'can not' or 'do not want to' stand against everything else on their own, and instead look to me to provide guidance. You put on your headgear and demanded servility from beings that only want one thing; your power. You could roll over dead at the end of this fight, and no one would mourn. No eulogies composed, no epics made, no ballads of loss wailed to let everyone know a being has fallen, and reality is worse and all the darker for it. Your follows do not care for you, they are like you, and only covet power and see you as a convenient shortcut to it. So not only are you a bully and a clever thief, you are<strong>alone,</strong>oh lord of discord, deceit and disorder, and worse, as even Nyrissa at her lowest point couldn't say this, you are<strong>UNLOVED!</strong>"