Forge on
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From: A Masterful Gambit
You have a task; the Commodore can doubtless manage his own nerves.
Success
Conclave, Interrupted
[...]
Ahead, a chamber [...]. Barges [...] bob in the water. Above, the False-Stars [...]. And arrayed all around, [...] a panoply of Masters. Bickering.
You catch snatches [...]. [...] "Perhaps she will stick in the beast's craw, and spare us all."
[...]- The Masters, awaiting. (Sets Firmament to 11 - Apres moi le deluge)