YOU HAVE MAIL!
Belgraen was comfortably seated in his private library on a tall stool overlooking a book stand. He was pleasantly reading a book titled "Demons of Hope" when he heard a horrible din.
Immediately becoming alert Bel quickly determined both that he was still alone and the source of the infernal racket.
"How in the nine?" he thought aloud.
Cautiously he approached a nearby table where the seemingly innocuous envelope sat. A quick scan with his enhanced magical senses didn't seem to indicate anything inherently dangerous about the envelope. He snatched it off the small table, perturbed both that someone had dared to disturb his leisure reading and also annoyed at himself for not having sufficient deterrents in place to prevent such a thing in the first place.
"They could have simply knocked." Bel though aloud again, still annoyed.
As the envelope dissolved he held the gold sheet. "Parlor tricks. A good parlor trick, but still." Bel continued to talk to himself and shrugged at a display of magic that would quite possibly humble others.
He quickly scanned the sheet, "Conclave...Beverage..."Kool-Aid"...Unpleasantness...Absalom."
Belgaraen The Archtheurge, General of the Queens Army, Fiendscourge, Master of the Green Tower, All Knowing, The Everliving, Kyonin’s finest, Queen Telandia Edasseril's consort has ...
He raised an eyebrow as the gold reflected the nearby light washing his face in a golden glow.
...been invited to a party.
"All things considered..." he said again aloud to an empty room. "... I'm intrigued."
With a quick spell of sending Belgraen contacted an old friend,
"Milani, I find myself in need of a 'special beverage' for a conference. Your expertise in such matters would be much appreciated. Something impressive I think."
Familiar with the magic Milani responds,
"I am very busy at the moment. The Grand Duchess of Yorkshire, or some such, is having an emotional meltdown in the middle of the grand ball dinner service. I had to stop service while she is fretting and flitting about. Do you know how hard it is to keep 87 chickens the perfect temperature? If I didn't know better I'd think the woman is out to ruin my reputation! The nerve of..."
having far exceeded it's capacity the spell came to an abrupt end.
Privately cracking an amused smile at his old friends distress Belgraen recast the sending spell,
"My concerns can wait until after dinner service. I won't need it for 13 days. I'd be much obliged if you could manage it. No one has the proper talents as you."
Bel did his best to inflect as much compliment into his voice as possible.
"For you, old friend, I will provide the grandest beverage you or your guests could possibly desire. However, I'll need to consider this more on the morrow. At the moment i'm... NO! I said turn them counter clockwise two feet above the fire. TWO. That's this far. You've put them too close you'll over char the skins! Who hired you? If I have to... "
Again the spell ended abruptly. Bel chuckled in his study. Milani was a bit distracted at the moment, but he'll come up with something amazing no doubt.
Doctor Janus rarely sleeps, but he does do his best to rest for eight hours a day. And, on one slow morning, a telepathic message comes to him as he lies in bed, unusual in its content but not its tone.
::Someone has breached the Sanctum to deliver 'mail.' Intent uncertain: possibly benevolent, or a very strange trap. Invitations are in order, and uncomfortably ceremonial; something is happening, in around 300 hours. Absalom, Shrine of the Fallen. Today's password is the sound of a sparrow hatching.::
It takes two days to get affairs in order for travel, and another two to hop to Absalom in short, leisurely jumps; the doctor sees no reason to move quickly, at such a nice time of year.
And so, with just under nine days to go, an unremarkable pilgrim in plain robes wanders through the Hall of the Failed, searching carefully for traces of powerful or inappropriate magic.
In his meditation chamber, Lord Rook gathers the appropriate books, casts a Whispering Lore spell, and takes what time he can to try and remember any mention of a powerful entity named "VG."
Also in his meditation chamber, Dark Tempest contemplates various actions and consequences he's faced, replaying them, learning...seeing them from different angles...
YOU HAVE MAIL!!!
He opens a single eye, while he senses his surroundings. Knowing he is alone, he slowly gets up, placing his prized hilt on it's pedestal. He sees the envelope.
"Well, that's damn peculiar..." he mutters to himself.
"Hasan, come here please..."
A man enters the study, olive skin and dark hair similar to his master's.
"Yes, DT? What is..." he stops his eyes following DT's to the envelope on the table. Not recognizing the style of the envelope or the script, he looks perplexed.
"I take it by your expression you did not place this in here."
Hasan shakes his head in answer. "I wonder how many languages the sender knows...I've counted 7 so far....would you mind reading it, Hasan?"
"Not at all..." Hasan walks over to the envelope, lays his hand on it, and manifests object reading...
"I can not gain anything. It seems shielded in some way."
He nods.
"Leave it, then. I don't know who sent this, but he must not know his audience."