In truth, under Ehene's steady hand,
we became a fine and flourishing band
arts wandering freely through the air,
songs, poetry, and puppets in plain sight.

And still I am not satisfied.
I strive for more, I hunger.

That Eleusian lady gave us grace,
acknowledging the poets in the place,
saying the greatest verses filled the room
good. That is proof the arts can bloom.

Just before the siblings slew the Sunflower Dragon,
after the laughter of even a stolen circus,
all by a dragoon's greed for gold - shining, yellow
I swore to never raise a yellow barrack in my life.

But my soul is still not satisfied.
I seek a place of great minds,
for after Cyrene became a place of bloodbath and chore,
a wet place swelled into flood.

Like any cat, I don't like rain
and not all hearts are built to love the slain.

So I look toward Hashan's ancient lore,
a place for minds that hunger, seek, and soar.

But still: do not divide the sword from the pen,
for ideas need courage to rise again,
and fighters must be wise if they would reign:
the scholar and the warrior share the same refrain.

I seek for Hashan
where the mind is the sharpest blade.

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Aeguary, in the year 1002 AF.