Farewell, wherever…

I am still quite full of cake from yesterday, but our hosts have prepared this large, round breakfast, which I gather is a day-after-the-wedding tradition. I don’t altogether trust it, but I will sample it to be polite. Sigyn, that thing is bigger than you are…


It is time to leave this place, whatever it is called. (The Great Goober really could use a diction coach.) He has sprinkled me with some noxious powder and chanted a long string of unintelligible, dire-sounding syllables, which he assures me will restore my magic when Sigyn and I cross back into Midgard. He had better be right, because I have an agenda…

By way of thanks for all of his help, I have given him the purple crystal and provided him with a detailed account of our travels so that he can go look for more. If he retraces our route, he should meet with each of the delightful characters we encountered on our way here. I wish him good luck with the armored chaps with the automatic weapons ( whom I “forgot” to mention. Oops….eheheheheh.)

Sigyn, my sweet, are you ready? Take my hand. Goober, do your thing! Let us depart!

P. S. As part of leave-taking preparations, I also took care of some long overdue business and blackened just the central of Iggle-nix’s three bulbous eyes. I trust you can appreciate the skill required.

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