The Cove

Azure Wisdom smiles back at Riarde, looking genuinely relieved for a moment. "Thank you, my lord. That is... very good to hear."

"As for how a god might be trapped or injured or slain -" She grimaces. "Gods can die, or be wounded, by violence. But only terrible magics can slay one permanently." She pauses, but after a moment goes on reluctantly, "If that's what's happened... I would guess an Immaculate Master for the responsible party. They have the motivation, and it seems like the kind of technique they would develop. I haven't heard of any such adepts in the area - our new Immaculate missionary is mortal, by all reports - but there have been more Realm ships around of late."

"But usually, when a god dies, they restore themselves in their sanctum, and fairly quickly - within a few weeks, if what I've been taught is accurate. My father's sanctum is intact - it caps an Essence-node offshore. If it had been destroyed, we would know."

"As for trapping one -" She opens her hands. "Gods can become immaterial, so any trap could not be purely mundane. And my father is clever; dolphins are all tricksters." She sounds a little as if she's trying to convince herself. "If it was a simple, passive trap, he would surely have won his way free. So if he is held prisoner, either it is a complex passive trap, or he has supernatural guards."

The Atoll

The dogs draw back slightly; they are still growling, but with a tone of warning rather than immediate aggression. Blue's escort yips at them, and then begins swimming toward the coral pavilion. The other dogs hang back; they do not seem interested in keeping her away. Their ears are drooping; if they were mortal dogs, she would say they seem disappointed.

The Town

The young man stares, transfixed. "Yes," he murmurs, as if in a trance.

Only when the Charm is released does he move to open the door. "Stay here, sir. I'll... I'll tell him you're here."

A few moments later, the door swings open, and a man in late middle age walks out. He is heavily built, with a sun-weathered face and turquoise hair streaked with white. A brilliant blue lobster claw hangs on a chain around his neck. He wears a patterned wrap of the local pounded-bark cloth, and is scowling. The young guard follows behind him, a little shame-faced.

"What is this, then? The boy says you are an Immaculate Master, come to put a stop to our heathen practices."