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 Nable of the Fetch |
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| ID | 8022 | ||
| Collection | Scholarium Scribblings | ||
A completely true account of Ulfsild's favorite Luminary.
Some sought the power of the Indrik: prodigious yawners who lacked imagination, drawn to power and might.
Some sought the power of the Dragon—Supposed orators who prized their own voices, never letting the thought of another pass without interjection.
Some sought the power of the Gryphon—Like-minded individuals obsessed with their own ideas, blind to the fact there was nothing unique about them.
For everyone else, truly righteous and buoyant souls, there was the Netch. Dashing. Cunning. Splendid and shapely. All who knew the Netch had their lives made lighter and brighter by its mere presence. When someone tried to do something prodigiously stupid, like trading an island sanctuary for a silly book, the Netch's lithe tendrils would guide him gently back to doing something more productive, like cherishing his wife, or cleaning his fingernails with a hot iron poker, or literally anything else.
The other Luminaries groveled. "Oh, great and glorious Netch!" they said. "We beseech you to aid us in lifting the green boulders of envy rolled over our hearts. Let our bosoms float with such lightness as your bosom. Make our voluptuous dreams come true!"
"I will of course use my magic," said the wise and benevolent Netch, "to keep you from holding yourselves to my frankly unfair standard of luminescence."
The Netch did this. The followers of the other Luminaries saw the Netch in all its glory and decided to turn their hearts to it instead. The Luminaries were so happy for this! The Netch basked in all their loving attention, and everyone everywhere was happy and fulfilled and wanted for nothing.