Dear Most Beneficent Tyrant, Whose Magnanimity Strides Hand in Hand With His Pomposity and Brutality, the Invincible Overlord:
In response to your inquiry about my collection of life insurance on one employee Rasul, I assure you that if he is still alive, I have no awareness of it. I can also provide a sworn statement that I attempted to use, at my own expense, the very best local augurs and oracles to divine Rasul’s spirit. No clear information was forthcoming.
Instead, all I have been able to ascertain is that, “his black soul has been placed in a prison of its own making on the Lofty Feast of the Ravens.” Whatever that means. And something about how the land shall now be known as the Rasullan, in the northern Land of Virgins, across the deadly river where the merry landers do their best to keep a horrific place with some genocidal orange and an army of yappy female dogs from overwhelming the world with violence.
I really have no idea what such things mean, but I assure you that I am ready to exercise my insurance policy on Mr. Rasul. I will elect to take a third option.