Frank sat on the floor of the Adventurer’s Pride as the salty spray of the sea blew against his face, getting lodged in his long beard. Eland said, “it was called a deck”, but Frank didn’t really understand why everything on a boat had to have a different name. Eland was a trained sailor though, so I suppose he would know best.
Frank was sitting up on what Eland called the “Four Castle”, though he couldn’t understand why a raised platform at the front… er. “fore”… of the boat, would be named such a silly thing. It didn’t even resemble a castle at all as far as Frank could tell.
The sun was just beginning to touch the horizon, soon it would be time to go downstairs (er, below deck?) to rest for the evening. Frank idly wondered if we’d have to take watch sitting out here in the middle of the sea with nothing to see but sea. Frank hated taking watch, and often considered just sleeping through it. It has been weeks since anything actually happened in the middle of the night.
The Mace of St. Cuthbert lay across his lap as he sat, Frank idly stroking its length with his fingertips while he thought. The clerics back home were able to use their powers for Divination, seeking answers from St. Cuthbert about various things from where to dig for precious metals to who should marry who, but Frank never thought of his problems as things to bother the great St. Cuthbert about. Now he had a need though, a driving desire to reforge the mace and truly become the great warrior he saw in his dreams. Defeating a dragon! He’d never once in his life imagined such a thing happening.
Frank knew the volcano on the island must have lava, but the stories of Fire Giants roaming free on the island scared him. He never imagined being strong enough to face one of those, and feared that this island was the only way he could succeed in reforging the mace. He had to ask St. Cuthbert for guidance if he hoped to succeed.
Holding the mace tightly, he began to channel the energy of St. Cuthbert around him. Forming in as he saw the elders do for Divination. The channeling, movements, incantations, and burning of incense lasted for about 10 minutes before it was complete. The sound of his chanting seemed to hang in the air as he closed his eyes, reached for St. Cuthbert’s guidance and asked his question.
“Oh great St. Cuthbert, your power is wondrous and your vengeance is swift. I, your humble servant, ask your guidance to aid my current quest which I take on your behalf. I have your great Mace, yet it is sundered. I seek to reforge the great Mace in lava as you have shown me. I humbly request that you tell me how I may do this without losing my life.”
A few moments passed as Frank sat, expectantly. Waiting for the response of the great St. Cuthbert, then a voice came to him in his head, whose strong melody washed over him:“To forge the mace in the coming week, you should find some friends that aren’t so meek. The nearest forge of earthen magma, unprepared you’ll die in the miasma."
And then it was gone.
Frank felt relieved that St. Cuthbert had such great faith in him that he was not as meek as his companions, however he was not happy about the prospects of finding a new traveling party who would be able to face the dangers of the island without dying.
Frank sadly looked over his todo list, resigned to having to pick a different task which his meek companions wouldn’t have so much trouble doing without dying.