The astrologist peered through the telescope.  Extending the tower had helped a bit, but the air around the Scepter had just expanded, still he’d gotten some readings in the interim, and his findings seemed grim.  He muttered a small spell, the glyph on his forehead gleaming white with the magic of Divination, and his magicite crystal — which he kept in his laboratory — hummed with a low sound as he drew magic through it.

Divinations hadn’t worked since the cataclysm, and the astrologist was certain that it was due to the increased number of heavenly bodies — the island-bits of the shattered earth were certainly changing the relationship with the heavens.  Whether they should be included in his astrology or not was a hotly debated topic, and one he’d set aside after he’d seen the fast-moving island.

He felt his eyes shift as the sight-improving divination he’d cast settled into place.  That combined with the telescope let him see the island in more detail.  He turned the telescope and focused it on the bit of sky that would contain the island, if his calculations were correct.  He peered through the lens, and there it was — the round, pocked ball of metal, right where his worst calculations said it would be.

He couldn’t be sure, but they would need to do something.  It would pass close to the Haven Alliance islands, that was certain.  It might strike one, and they were all needed for survival.

He touched the glyph on his forehead, cancelling the spell, an began walking down the tower stairs.  The council would need to be told, and the Adventure’s League engaged.  Perhaps even Petricalifax would be roused out of her slumber for this.  “She didn’t save us all to have it destroyed now,” the horologist reasoned.  “Surely the council will listen to me this time.”

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