What in oblivion did you just flapping say about me, you wingless one? I'll have you know that I've graduated top of my nest in the anti-walker classes, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on cavemen, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in ground warfare and I'm the top flier on the entire island. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the SKREEEE out with precision never before seen on Vvardenfell, mark my SKREEEE words! You think you can get away with cursing me and my kin from Ald'Ruhn? Think again, flightless one. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of cliff racers across the island and your location is being traced right now, so you better prepare for the storm, kwama. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're SKREEEE dead, flapper. We can be anywhere, anytime, and we can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with our bare tails. Not only I am extensively trained in ground combat, but I have access to the entire swarm of blighted fliers and I will use it to its full extent to wipe out your miserable shadow off the face of Mundus, you scrib. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" curse was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your SKREEEE tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you grounded human. We will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're SKREEEE dead, SKREEEE!