"Avaunt, horny-handed son of toil and dispute not with thy betters" said
the priestess (wielding her high-faluting language with all the
dexterity of the elevated). "But it's penance, any fool can see it."
replied said the doughty novice. "I have proclaimed it a purified leguminous
crown of Progress, and by proclaiming made it so!" exclaimed the
priestess in a veritable paroxysm of fury. Duly chastened (or perhaps
recalling a poor man's maxim involving swine and pearls) the novice
departed. Encumbered no longer by the dispute, the priestess proclaimed her
new truth to the masses who bore her upon their shoulders and anointed
her. So ends my tale; let those who have ears to hear, Listen.

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Lupar, in the year 875 AF.