Hm,
imagination isn't required, but there isn't any reason not to use it.
It looks like the sensor on Daemon's castle doesn't work perfectly, considering that the chaos in the water plane wasn't destroyed, just immobilized and set to the depths.
[ ] Again at time where I may only watch, I remove the impurities from my ruby. You know what? I'm tired of
waitin'![ ] I intone the poem abroad, with all the strength of voice, my first voice, has to offer.
"`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe."
I remember my father saying these next few lines to me, as I say them to myself, like a great spell to be.
"
'Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!'"
I begin reading the scroll of Summon Jabberwocky to the darkness near the ship.
"He took his vorpal sword in hand:" I take my
scimitar in hand:
"Long time the manxome foe he sought --" The scroll is longer than I thought --
"So rested he by the Tumtum tree," So hurried I by the Vinvin sea,
"And stood awhile in thought." And read for what I sought.
I finish reading the scroll,
"And, as in uffish thought he stood," And, as in uffish thought I float,
"The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame," The Jabberwock, with eyes of sleight,
"Came whiffling through the tulgey wood," Came whiffling through the tulgey mote,
"And burbled as it came!" And burbled in its flight!
I take no time to fear this thing that I have wrought, nor wait for selfish cheer; the horror must be fought.
"One,
two! One,
two! And
through and
through!" goes my battle cry!
"The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!" The vorpal blade goes snicker-snack!
"He left it dead, and with its head" I make it dead, and with a head,
"He went galumphing back." I go paloughing back.
Like some ghost return, or my imagination, I hear my father again.
"
'And, has thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!' He would chortle in his joy."
"`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe. "