[Sheap]

Late Spring, year 1.

One thing about spending a couple of millenia in the tomb, you develop a little different perspective on things.

This month my tax collectors did their best to fill the treasury with gold and silk. Here in Machaka, of course, we have plenty of silk. But gold is always in short supply.

A tribal queen, the Sorceress Nusurika, was enlisted to assist in this activity, as well as rituals of dark magics, dust and smoke and bones. But while preparing her kindling for some magical experiment, the tinderbox fell on the urn of incense, shattering it and spilling the magical essence across the floor.

Now, everyone knows the thing to do when you have a magical spill, or some other sort of spellcasting misfortune. And what you specifically do NOT do, is run out into the main market, making a scene, and berating the poor potter for his shoddy workmanship. Especially when it turns out that the urn in question was intended only for storage of incense of the ceremonial, not magical, variety. Over time the energies built up and it is no wonder the urn shattered at the slightest provocation. Remember, always store your spell components in the original container, use a child-proof cap, and read the label!

The next thing you know, the entire marketplace had heard of the magical blunder. And thus the word spread, throughout the province, that the wielders of magic in the capital could not tell the difference between ordinary pottery, and the thrice-fired, magic-resistant, ward-inscribed variety.

Back when I was alive, things like this would really get me worked up. But now they pass by. I expect many such things will occur in the future, but wish to expend no energy fighting them. Life, or lack thereof, goes on.

As a final note, the Fates have intervened. The Sorceress was cursed, as were her assistants, for failing to take heed of even basic magical precautions.