I stand with infinite patience while the Master gnaws the foetid, rotting flesh from the freshly disinterred bones. The opened grave frightens my timid soul, and the foul, foul odor of corruption disgusts my nostrils. Yet I show it not, for I dare not incur the Master's displeasure.
I swear by all that is Holy, were it within my power, I should dash his vile brains against the rocks and write his evil testament in the blood of his own sins! Alas, I am but a poor ass, sore of back, old of years, and mangy of coat. I have not the power to treat with him, no, even were he a mortal man. I fear not his whip. That he may lay across my scarred hide as he pleases; it no longer matters. 'Tis the power I fear, the power he hath, perhaps, o'er the very Gods themselves - else why do they suffer him to live?
Yea, many a time have I heard him speak of his place of fire, have I heard him threaten his minions with it. He does not know I understand his words - or perhaps he does. Perhaps his hateful speech is intended as well for my ears. Certainly he knows they are large enough, for he insults me constantly upon the point!
And you, gentle reader, what think ye? Do I not see disgust also in your eye? Do ye not think ill of me that I serve such as him? Aye, ye do. Deny it not, for I can read it upon your countenance as plainly as ye read these words. Yet ye, gentle soul, art not an ass. Look, I say, upon my condition! What have I? Four feet, a pathetic tail, and the voice of a banshee! I can neither outrun him nor plead for Divine succor. I am his by purchase, and his by fear as well.
That is why, dear reader, I take pen in mouth, difficult though it be, to write this missive. You must help! By all that thou considereth Holy and Good, You must help. Go and find an Holy Man. 'Tis only by such an one that victory over the Master is possible. Do you bring him here, that he may confront the Evil One. Then I will do my part. When the Master is full of dealing with the power that is Holy, he will have no time to watch me. At that sainted moment, I shall strike with every fiber of my being! From behind, I shall kick the Master's skull into bloody fragments. I will do it, though my poor life will surely be forfeit for the deed before the blood dries.
And I beg thee, gentle reader, do you intercede for my soul with your God, for I know Him not, neither can I speak. Beg from Him my salvation from the fires the Master speaks so often of. For I deserve not such a fate. And if He will grant unto me the salvation, then I will bear Him as did my ancestor unto the Golden Gates that guard His City.