"I thought I might find you here Garlech." Vorcet said as he strode up beside the tall golden Rilmani at the edge of the balcony overlooking the island.
"I spend much of my time observing, it is our purpose." responded Garlech as he turned toward Vorcet. "What can I do for you?"
"A series of nagging questions regarding what the Black Church did to silence the gods here." Vorcet began carefully. "As I am sure you know all forms of contact with the gods has been cut. No answered prayers, no manifestations. Rumors fly as to what this means. Are the gods dead? or are they simply unable to interact with the prime material plane?"
"I believe this is the most I have heard you speak since you took up residence here Vorcet." Garlech responded with a ghost of a smirk on his face.
"I've lived a long life by human standards, I have learned the value of a carefully guarded tongue when it becomes necessary." Vorcet responded with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Still, when there is something that is uncertain, such as the fate of our gods.... Im unable to help myself."
The slight smile slipped from Garlechs face as it fell back to the practiced expression of neutrality that was his norm. A few moments passed before he responded. "We know not the fate of the gods. However, were I an experienced wielder of magic, I might bend my time toward learning extra-planar travel."
Vorcet pondered that for a moment as he looked out over the lands beyond the island. "Planeswalking magics have been lost to us for hundreds of years." Vorcet mused more to himself than anything. "There has been the rare exceptions, but their secrets have always died with them."
"Are you so sure of that Vorcet?" Garlech responded carefuly. "The Netherese were planeswalkers. How much of their knowledge has been preserved?"
Silence fell on the balcony as the wheels started turning in Vorcet's head. "I believe my work here is done, and I can say no more." Garlech said as he slipped through the doorway with his unnatural grace.
