A strained affair. One wrought with tensions.
So after a fair-stretch of navel-gazing and soul-searching (mostly by a Goddess and directed at me…), finally I’ve taken to my own senses. Good thing, too.
Our pilot, Bexx, who seems bound and determined to dock his boat anywhere that will have him, has survived interrogation at the benign hands of the Librarian. Nice one.
Our Master Red Dwarf, Overkill, separated from the group and distracted by agents of the Librarian, comes to our table, sans news.
Our Priest of Light and Dark, Greldarr, shade and sun, what-have-you. Personally, I call it Taoism, some yin-and-yang, others simply good and bad. All equally misjudged. However, if the Wolfen would speak his (simple?) mind, perhaps our path would be more clear. More… precise. Like a ray of light. Rather than the scattered EMF of a dying sun intent upon one last purge of matter before supernova. Our Priest of Light comes to table… and offers barely a salivary glance.
Clearly, we need some direction. Any direction. But, thanks to our host, Falimede, that rarest of qualities will be scattered further afield, wider still, until we are stretched to… well. stretched. My breaking point has yet to be tested, and I feel confident of the same of my companions.
We yearn for direction.
Instead, we are offered diversion. Time wasted, and a decision to be made. Dinner brings more than mere courses, it brings artifice and distraction. A Letter. Most dire. Pffaw! Has nobody here heard of a RADIO!?! Ten years or more in the secretive chambers of the most vaunted, Library of Bletherad, the Library known to the Megaverse, and we, humble servants of Isis all, are conscripted into service by one of her minions… to find yet more libraries?
The Gods Must be Crazy.
However, it must be noted with interest, that there are yet more libraries. And here I was beginning to think that the New Navy Web was a paragon…
At any rate, beyond some minor squabbles over “proper dress uniform” (clearly defined in the New Navy Personnel Manual), and the fortuitous yet unlikely commingling of our august personages (i always wanted to say that…), dinner, such as it was, commenced without interruption or hazard.
Though I did note how much and of what the Wolfen partook.
After some time, and having indulged many tastes and pairings, we settled on the age-old process of negotiations. I, of course, could not be swerved from my course, and demanded the stars. After all, we were on a God’s Errand. Doubtless someone with such strong ties to the Clergy could exact the means and fees required to keep me in such vital contact with them? Well and good that they should teach me how to cast a sending, some magical pigeon (primarily used as gruel or protein supplements in the New Navy’s further-outposts), carrying missive. Unfortunately, regardless of how quick a study I happen to be, our week will be filled with yet more drudgery as I etch the cadence, nuance and flow of these new magicks into my mind.
In the mean-time, I believe we have much to discover.
After all, it seems we are to assault a Pirate-King’s Isle, one who has, perchance, already slipped into the afterlife, and remains yet animate, a ghostly God over his salty sailors. With luck, and tenacity as our guides, we may yet uncover and return to Haven a Piece of a God.
Isis Be Praised.
Until then, I remain
Magus of the Fifth Sphere, Honored of Isis
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Picture from the movie My Dinner with Andre.