Mock away, Xaphariaxa. Should any of your words sting, I need only recall that you are the mother of that brat Gangrezzelas.
Really, you are reaching, Behphlegorym, and it is sad to behold. In what region would he be considered a brat? Gangrezzelas, the patron of footwear, who has shod and warmed the feet of mortals everywhere, so that everywhere his shining silver hooves are venerated! Ah, there you are, Gangrezzelas. Come sit on your mother’s knee and don’t listen to the mean lady.
Should they venerate him for his recent stunts? Do you simply turn a blind eye when he shows up at the cave of Malingovi, erects an oracle, announces himself as Ukobatollus, god of ice (though it is quite balmy there and the real Ukobatollus is of course far away), then demand to be worshipped on account of a new kind of “warm ice,” and when anyone doubts him, he makes them lose their footing and slip and slide all over the place — all just for a chuckle? Or how about when he…
He was only taking after your own wretched daughter! I knew Ogzibuth would be a bad influence on other children. She is hardly fit to represent the limbless squirming things in the earth that have no choice but to praise her. And since you rarely bother to look after your own, you might not even know that she fashioned for herself a mask that gave her the perfect semblance of the Spring goddess, and so disguised, alighted on the eastern slopes of Arbesalia, made sure plenty of goatherds were watching, exclaimed “My, but I’m colicky,” vomited a pile of fresh leeches, then pranced away, without a care for how this prank will affect the seasons.
What slander! I will have to find Ogzibuth and confirm that this did not happen! Let anyone recording this for posterity know that the story does not end here. Be patient, for I will be back in only moments! [Disappears.]