Grandue sat back in his rotting chair and stretched triumphantly at yet another masterpiece written and ready for the news boards. Still slightly aroused by the thought of another Gods reproductive system, he made a mental note to bathe somewhere other than the bog so that he could relieve his sexual frustrations elsewhere; the sex workers at the docks did not seem to appreciate the smell of decayed vegetation and hound excrement, so he would have to find fresh water from somewhere.

He was excited to receive cheers and ego-stroking from at least two of the three regularly waking Ashtani on his return to the city. It was a shame the rest of the Sapience did not appreciate the gifts he bestowed upon them, but not everybody can be born with superior intellect and wit.

High on the fumes or possibly his self importance, Grandue tottered out of the caverns and made his way to the city. Oblivion could not come soon enough.

[A detailed image of a Leviathan devours stick figured men here, whilst a happy sun shines from above, scribed in blood.]

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Mayan, in the year 939 AF.