"It is not nothing. Perhaps this Voyager—a Gnoll of Izril, I take it?—may also inquire into clues on Teriarch's whereabouts."

"Yes, she's a gnoll."

"Our paths are set, then. Select, as you depart next month, you only have two weeks remaining with us. The mission to A'ctelios Salash will most likely not be resolved in that timeframe, so it is best to prepare handovers assuming no new information will arrive. You have satisfied your contractual obligations and so are not required to maintain contact with Khelt after your departure, but we would be glad if you would continue correspondence to coordinate on this and other matters."

"I have no objection but I have little reason to believe that I will still tend to be near the epicenter of new revelations."

"If nothing else, you have the most advanced [Cleric] class of any living person currently in this world, and possess exclusive access to Planar Inquiry. But we may communicate as need arises.

"You previously raised concerns about arriving in Izril earlier than scheduled. Do your concerns still stand, with the King of Destruction once again active? Will any day within the last week of the year be adequate?"

"I can be flexible about the timing."

"Someone will be sent to coordinate with you. I do not see a need to convene again, unless new information arises. Does anyone have an objection?"

Headshake.

No objections.

"Then we adjourn."

Blai goes back to his work - he thinks he's covered basically everything there is to know about being a cleric, writ generic, but there's always the chance that paging through a chapter of the Book of Light and Truth will turn up some cultural oddity he needs to translate or something, or that someone will jog his memory of a sixth-circle spell he saw cast once ten years ago that nobody in the room will ever cast but which they might as well have a written description of.

Over the next weeks, news from outside is relatively sparse on detail. Germina and Reim have finalized their treaty. Hellios and its neighbors form a coalition and declare war on Reim. The first skirmishes begin. The Empire of Sands, which holds most of western Chandrar across the Zeikhal Desert, declares war on Reim. Nerrhavia's Fallen, to the south, is silent. One of their generals, formerly in Flos' service, is assassinated.

There are reports of the King of Destruction's Seven returning to service. Mars the Illusionist, sighted in the capital. Gazi the Omniscient, sowing chaos in enemy camps. Takhatres, the Lord of the Skies, making haste across the desert from the west.

All of Chandrar is gearing up for war.

Khelt is secure, which is what matters.

A travel plan is submitted to Blai in the last week of the month. Setting out on 4 Penecchest, it's 4 days on a flying carpet to the port of Homgrasse, steering clear of the warring countries. From Homgrasse, it's 17 days on a chartered ship to Zeres, Drake-operated and well reputed, here's a dossier if he cares. He's in Zeres on 27 Penecchest, upon which he can either dismiss his escort, or let them carpet-fly him back to Liscor, which is another 6 days, landing on 31 Penecchest.

Looks good to him.

Near the end of the month, Xrn sends new telecommunication devices through the mail. Two, one for Khelt, one for Blai. They're much smaller than the previous setup; each is an unassuming metal bauble, about the size to put on an amulet, of two tetrahedral halves which twist to turn it on or off.

Xrn requests that Blai bring back the previous device to return to her, and mentions that her offer to teleport him from (outside the city limits of) any port of Izril to Liscor still stands.

He'd appreciate that and will let her know when he gets to the other side of the ocean!

And on the day of departure, an escort of four and a flying carpet will be waiting for him. Some of his staff and the clerics come by to send him off and wish him a safe journey. The King also sends him a letter of thanks, although he doesn't appear in person.

They're presuming he's cashing out his accounts as he goes, if he's not planning to return any time soon, since no proper banking services interoperate from here to Izril. That includes his fat lump sum payment in lieu of the depetrification assistance that turned out unnecessary.

It's really weird that there's fast reliable mail suitable for transporting valuable magic objects and not banking that interoperates - maybe the Abadarans will get on that when there are more - but, yes, he'll bring his money.

There are fast reliable couriers for transporting valuable magic objects to arbitrary places. You can write a letter authorizing a Courier in good international standing to withdraw all your money and run it to a different continent, but it's expensive and a hassle.

The Mage's Guild messaging networks do interoperate intercontinentally, but each local Mage's Guild is independently profitable under the paradigm because of how payment structures work, and only tracks small amounts of credit. Whereas intercontinental deposit and withdrawal services would have huge liability issues and liquidity and fraud risks, and require physical trade to balance the books for any consistent directional deficits.

Anyway, here's his big pile of gold in a bag of holding.

Hopefully they are not assailed during the trip.

The flight is, fortunately, uneventful. They'll occasionally pass within viewing distance of towns, but not in sight of any active war zones; their routing made sure of that. They don't land for the nights, regardless; the sky is not necessarily safer than land, but spending time both in the sky and on land is more dangerous than sticking to either one. There are enchantments on the carpet to keep you from falling off in your sleep.

By the dawn of the third day, they've passed from the arid heartlands of northeast Chandrar into the skies of river-streaked Belchan. There are farms and villages, and even marshes. By dusk, the sea glimmers on the horizon.

On the fourth day, they arrive in Homgrasse, the port capital of Medain. The city is built around the estuary where the Naraq river drains to sea. Hundreds of ships dot the natural harbor, moving at a snail's pace from their distant vantage. The skies are clear, the sun bright.

They land midday on the front of a small pier. They turn heads on their descent, but nobody bothers them. A large sailing yacht is already docked when they arrive, with a hull of dark mahogany, painted on the outside in gold and regal blues. Its sails are furled, but intricately patterned. A Drake jumps down and walks over, introducing himself as their ride.

"Select Artigas, is it?" the Drake says once all the documents are presented and verified. "Delighted to have you with us. We leave at nightfall, so you have time to look around, stretch your legs. I can show you your cabins now, if you want to drop off anything, or later if you want to take a walk first."

The escort is rolling up and putting away the carpet.

"I'd like to stretch my legs," and get used to being able to see, "but will be back before dark."

Homgrasse is large and bustling, but not anything particularly surprising for that. Seemingly undisturbed by any conflict from down south. There's food and baubles for tourists. Some of the shops advertise artifacts from the "Venerian Ruins" or the "Tomb of Khedrev", which, from context and their names, might be dungeons?

Nobody will bother him on a walk around.

He'll buy some food - he's been having a little difficulty with eating while keeping his eyes firmly shut and becoming nauseated anytime he fails at this - and when the sun's starting to drop he'll be back at the boat to see his quarters.