The war has already begun. It's just the continuation of past battles. The gods goad us on with their seven treasures. Rewards for the worthy, the doorway to divinity. Yet buried in the depths of this world lies smouldering remains, a warning to those who dare trespass. “That throne in the sky is not reserved for you.” But mortal arrogation never stops. None will escape the flames. -- Anon Guest
They called it the flying throne. It never actually went anywhere, and it appeared to be a wooden chair of Elven make. A chair made to last a lifetime. A chair made to last an Elven lifetime. The fact that it floated half a mile above the ground was what caught everyone's notice. Not even birds would alight on it, and they certainly never shat on it.
Kings tried to have it dragged to their realms. Empires attempted to move it, but it resolutely remained. Unmoving and unmovable. Legends said that if anyone could sit in it, they would be immortal. People just cannot resist gossip like that.
Warlords slaughtered thousands. Spellcasters immolated the surrounding countryside to try and reach it. Attempt after attempt after attempt failed to claim it. Every solution from the simple, just use a ladder to the complicated and convoluted, failed.
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