FloatingFaith

Septimus Wyndbagg-fffoulkes, aka The Floating Reverend, has drifted into the vaporous heartland of the Frequent Mutation Tribes (United). Coming across the Accidental Tortosnails and their companions, the Symbiotic Birds, he has launched into a most eloquent and passionate delivery of his special kind of scriptural dribble. The fortuitous molluscoids and the birdies are natural atheists, congenitally communist, circumstantially communitarians, temperamentally anarchists, hermaphrodite, parthenogenetic and of a sunny disposition, therefore they are totally bemused by the discourse, which they regards as a curious mixture of absolute twaddle and coals to Newcastle, but are impressed by the son et lumière display that accompanies the babble. They are also very polite and hospitable to a fault; therefore they will listen patiently to Septimus’ cheery prattle, nod wisely, give him lunch and send him on his way with many wishes of health and good fortune.
Septimus is the nogoodnik second son of a wastrel second son of an impoverished aristocratic family. With not two pennies to rub together, nor a square inch of land to call his own, he was, therefore, destined for the ministry, as he was too small and even-tempered for the army. He was lucky enough to find a sponsor who paid for a few years at the University of Dylath-Leen whence he emerged with a lower third in Theology, a First-Plus in Rhetoric and a Past-Master-With- Knobs-On in Performing Arts & Showmanship. So he’s not much cop as preacher as such, but he’s awfully sweet-natured, highly imaginative, very funny, extremely laid-back and so scatter-brained that he can start preaching the delights of renunciation and end up with a fiery vindication of profligacy. He also has panache, chutzpah (hence the totally bogus extra small f in his surname) and bottle aplenty. He has not, to date, converted a single soul to anything -in part because it’s nigh impossible to figure out what he is on about half the time, but he’s made a name for himself with the flâneur fraternity and he’s frequently asked to lunches, dinners, suppers, poker games and garden parties. So his life ain’t half as bad as his wobbly origins might have anticipated. I like happy endings, don’t you?