When you speak with the Brew Master Philosopher the first time
Some persons of attempted introspection travel the dusty roads in search of what can only be found within. There are more immortal empires to be built and conquered there than there are drops in the ocean. But in the light of day we forget. We leave the grand immortal palaces with their golden vaulted roofs and with their polished floors of deepest char and with outside streets that stretch nauseatingly and maddeningly unharmed by the crescent blade of the horizon. We leave those halls dusty and deserted and submit ourselves to lesser and base realities. But there are those select few great and dangerous persons whose eternal empires persist past the break of day, past the sense of adulthood. I have heard the sefra gossip. The winds carry their words as rivers carry the wooden carrion of a shipwresk. They say there once was a prince who sacrificed much for love. For his love of knowledge and his love of the denizens that crawled out of his immortal palace. Perhaps... But then again perhaps not.
When you speak with the Brew Master Philosopher the second time
What are we if not monkeys hanging off a branch, reaching for the moon's reflection in the pond below. We do not look up to see how brittle the branch is or what waits beneath the water.
