It was a crisp morning on the seventh of Arios that the city of Spinesreach chose to hold its victory parade celebrating a recent, decisive war victory over the city of Bloodloch. The parade, as far as parades go, was a grandiose spectacle in the otherwise staid world of processional showmanship - all pomp and circumstance in a manner only Spinesreach knew how to muster. Yet, placed alongside the celestial gladiatorial match playing out in the great amphitheatre of the sky above, it might as well have been a drizzly Tisday in Attica. A footnote at the bottom of the page of the realm's daily news.

The real spice of the day didn't happen until the medals started being handed out in the wake of the parade. One individual, either remarkably courageous or startlingly foolish (the debate still rages, though the presence of his neck in a guillotine basket might just tip the scales), dared to attempt to put an end to the Ard-Dhasani. Of course, I'd be remiss not to jog your memory, just to make the picture crystal clear - this wasn't your average municipal pencil pusher we're talking about. No, this was the Lord Manipulator, Severn, the God of Shadow and Reason Himself.

And so we meander at last at the whole point of this missive. In His divine pique, Severn saw fit to remind the good (subjective) folk of Spinesreach that their mission was one of aspiration to supplant Him, not to casually toss their lives into the wind with half-baked plots upon His godly person. Thus He bequeathed them a metric, a mysterious pedestal draped in divine shadow they would first need to overcome before challenging Him would ever be a possible feat. Lord Severn claimed this plinth held their inheritance - something whose true significance did not become apparent until after the conclusion of this great monomachy.

Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 7th of Arios, in the year 511 MA.