“What in tarnation (Patreon)

was any o that supposed to mean?” Burnside demanded irritably.

“Don’t you see?" I gaped in astonishment. "Thomson has ascended to a new height of understanding. She now sees what ordinary folk do not. Her long years of solitude have allowed her mind to accept one of Fuma’s most blessed gifts: The gift of haruspicy.”

"The gift of Haru's WHAT??" Rebecca asked, shocked.

“Have you ‘ascended’ too?” Burnside asked me, sarcastically. "Without a sacrificial victim, all that was, was soothsayin plain an simple - if it warn't pure hogwarsh, that is."

“Wait wait, haruspicy? As in reading entrails?” Rebecca looked at the table. “The table is clean.” She ran her finger across it just to make sure.

"Okay, fine," I sighed. “The gift of seer-dom. Prophecy! Second sight! Whatever it’s called, she has it. Clearly this is a sign from Fuma of what to do next!”

“OH! That sounds so witchy!" Rebecca squealed with delight. "Welcome to the club, Thomson.”

“Beware the cloaked stranger," Thomson intoned cryptically while balancing Mr. Calaveras on her head. "She knows more about you than you do yourself.”

Rebecca clapped her hands enthusiastically. “Perfect delivery! The best match of darkness and vague whimsy. You should be dressed all in black though, instead of that Floozy activewear.”

"Heroes!" I declared magnanimously. “All heroes consult a wizened, slightly mad hermit seer on their adventures. These seemingly nonsensical oracles always turn out to have been exactly right all along. Obviously Fuma sees our need and has sent a babbling pythoness to join our team. It’s just like in the old stories!”

“Which stories, sire?” one of the Ixies asked.

"Lots of them! Anyway, there’s nothing more for us to discuss here. You must inform Meadow and Typantronn of the change of plans, and the rest of us must make all haste to Hoardblemish! There our path will be made perfectly clear.”

"Be mighty nice if the oracles made sense NOW instead of in retrospect," Burnside grumbled.

"But sire," the Ixies protested, “we still haven’t told you of troop movements, logistics, and economical fluctuations affecting the impending war.”

“There’s no time!" I insisted. "Thomson the Seer has spoken! The omens are fortuitous! Or at least they seem that way! Everyone, let’s get moving.”

“All right," Burnside shrugged. "Doin' beats talkin - an we weren't sayin nothin important, nohow.”

“What about the table and chairs, my lord?” Rebecca asked, pointing worriedly at the impromptu conference room we had set up amidst the trees.

“From what I remember, whenever I summon something from nowhere in particular, it eventually fades away, just like elf gold. Maybe these things are actually made of leaves and bark. If not, whoever finds them will get some free furniture. A gift from the elves. Now come, my faithful companions! Our righteous quest is before us! HUZZAH!”

“Huzzah?” everyone asked, looking at me quizzically.

“It felt like the appropriate thing to say…” I admitted, tugging on my collar.

As we neared the road, we saw a large object approaching in the distance.

"I think it's one of those antless carriages!" I declared, squinting at it. "Let's hitch a ride!"

“Wouldn’t it be faster just to pook?” Burnside asked.

“Too many variables with a group this size," I shook my head. "Dependable, straight-forward travel is our ally.” I held out my thumb and hitched up my trouser leg in the universal sign for mooching a free ride.

"Shouldn't you oughta let one of us do that?" Burnside asked. "Ain't nobody gonna stop now."

"Oh I don't know," Rebecca giggled. "I definitely would if I was driving."

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