[ WP ] You stand in shackles before the king . `` You have angered the gods for the last time ! '' his high priest declares . Stubborn as you ever are , you look to the sky and defiantly reply , `` Prove it . ''

[ WARNING: WORDY WANKAGE FORTWITH ] 
 
 The Sky heaves a heavy breath, and the court awaits. 
 
'The priest is right.' 
 
 Murmurs flood the hall, a wind flows through the bare windows and shakes the flames on either side of the king. 
 
 Ironius drops to his knees and the shackles slacken, allowing him room to make a feeble attempt of suppliance towards The Sky. 
 
'My Lord,' he said, edging closer to The Sky, who clenched his eyelids to prevent a tear from flowing out,'I beseech you, it sha n't happen again. It was but a hiccup. When the fires burn out, and the murmurs retreat to the confines of their dwellings, who shall remain, but your complacent and heliotropic confidante, to whom you are the luminiferous source of all that is good?' 
 
 Ironius lifted his hands and waved them around the magistrates,'Your most illustrious benighted knights? The most Kantian king? Of whose rationale a man's worth can be dictated and swayed by an ebullient flow of unearthly prolix?' 
 
 At this Ironius gave a warm smile to the king, to which the king returned, and promptly checked himself at his outward change of affection. 
 
'No, most magisterial master, most translucent teacher. Men have their words, and courts have their trials, but it behoves you to look onwards, and take heed of my most void supplications: The relationship I have with your wife is nought but that of a paramour, a priapic-beset doxy. It is, and has always been my intention to construct my voluble parlance with you in such a way as to incrementally, and wholly perniciously, if I may add,' He said, casting a sly glance toward The Sky,'Bereave you of your incumbence and construct a most genial duumvirate between me and your most sultry wife. Alas! I quiesce. Do with me what you will, but know that the only traitor in this room is fate, robbing me of my lofty perch, a perjurer manqué'. 
 
 Silence once again fell over the court. All eyes were focused on The Sky, who held his head in his hands. Ironius waited courteously for his response. 
 
'My Lord,' said the king, his beard soaking the tears pouring forth,'What say you?' 
 
 The benighted knights, some of them slipping under the pool of tears at their feet, cast off their stoic stances and looked eagerly from Ironius to the king to The Sky. 
 
'I say,' said The Sky, removing his hands from his face and bearing a welcoming smile,'All is forgiven. Your words have moved me. Were that you a poet, and you could fill these halls with writings of wisdom.' 
 
'Were I a poet, my Lord, the position of would-be despot would be all too vacant.' He said, laughing. 
 
'Let us feast!' Said the king, giving a belly-rumbling laugh. 
 
 The shackles were removed from Ironius and they made merry and drank much wine. An immeasurable relief was embedded within the spirit of Ironius, who revelled in the wine, the food, and the national ban on thesauri ( or thesaureses if you prefer http: //grammarist.com/spelling/thesauri-or-thesaurusus/ ) that he had had approved by the king. 
 
 They celebrated long into the night, and they all lived happily ever after. Most of them, anyway.
