[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/870473f3-5910-4f94-b693-626198194773.png[/img][/center]

Malkut folded his records and slowly stood. His desk was soon swept of its load by the sprites that attended him, and with a gentle gesture of the hand he lowered the edifice back into the floor as the little host filed his documents.

He returned with his lenses to the as-yet-unwritten library, selecting a new book, this time a large, thin pad for sketching. It was empty, like all the other books. Maybe some day.

The sprites brought him charcoal, and he extended one of the hovering lenses into a wide circle, through which shone the Frontier. He crossed his legs and hovered, sketching. It was important to record the vision of the river before it was settled. One day, someone might have an interest in looking back. One day.

A wet thud echoed through the temple.

[colour=mistyrose]"Welcome back."[/colour]

Alto looked at him, pawing the heap of bog-trees and sand he'd dumped on Malkut's floor. 

This was how Malkut received specimens for his growing museum of Galbar's history. The selection process was very random, but he was grateful for his brother's contribution, and tolerated the mess. He set about labelling the various branches and soils before they died. Alto stared at him with his big unblinking eyes. You got used to that.

[colour=mistyrose]"Is Mother well?"[/colour]

[color=lightsteelblue]"Last I saw, she was bathing in a pot of soup,"[/color] said Alto.

Malkut looked at him. 

Alto looked back.

[colour=mistyrose]"...Was it pumpkin soup?"[/colour]

[color=lightsteelblue]"No,"[/color] said Alto. [color=lightsteelblue]"It was cream of leek."[/color]

A long pause reigned.

[colour=mistyrose]"Oh,"[/colour] said Malkut, returning to his science. [colour=mistyrose]"I see."[/colour]

[center][h1]End of Turn 1[/h1][/center]