Codex text

One Satinalia long ago, a bevy of bards met in Amaranthine to determine whose songs best stirred emotion and whose stomachs best digested foul brew.

The first bard fell, mid-ballad, into his barley soup, the second into the lap of a lass most fair. (Some say forfeiture was worth the price.) The next could not keep his innards inside. One-by-one, they succumbed to fatigue, boredom, or insobriety.

At the end, no man was left standing. There was only I, the lovely and fair Rosalyn, master and mistress of the Crown and Lion, who proved that no man is mightier than the slightest of lasses.

--From The War of Lions, by the bard Rosalyn