In the year 500 BCE, the ancient prophets gathered at the Oracle's Peak to discuss the meaning of life, the universe, and everything.
Chancellor Zorvath, the self-proclaimed 'Voice of the Gods', stood tall, his long white beard flowing in the windประก
'We must build a wall,' he boomed, 'to keep the mortals out!' The other prophets looked on in confusion, their eyes narrowed in skepticism.
'But why, oh wise Chancellor,' asked Prophet Xarath, 'do we build a wall?' 'Because, my friends,' Zorvath replied, 'we are the chosen ones, and the mortals will only bring darkness and despair.'
Chaos erupted in the council chamber as the other prophets shouted, 'But what about the acorn festival! What about the sacred ritual of the golden snare?' 'Silence, fools!' Zorvath bellowed, 'We are the prophets, not the mortals! We shall decide, and the mortals shall obey!'