Export thread

(Please keep this thread in character and use it to develop your characters through story telling)

The Osprey, a galleon of not insignificant size has set sail from the northern land of Muti and its' capital of Uradzaj to the Southern port of Cotone. A simple voyage the ship has made easily many times in the past, an almost leisurely voyage of three weeks at sea. South through the Straight of Fair Winds, aptly named for its' gentle yet steady drafts of air. Captain Egor, has sailed this ship for the Grain Guild almost fourteen seasons, with little more than a split cross beam to blemish his record. The Osprey has a mundane load of grain, seed and passengers.


Eight days have passed since it left port, the weather has been calm and steady. The passengers are a healthy collection of merchants, missionaries and travellers. Routines amongst the voyagers have started to establish themselves, a card game here, a dice game there, a shared meal or two, anything to interrupt the pleasant monotony.


On the ninth day, the sun was rising towards mid-day, when the previously asleep watcher called out from the crows nest;


“Three plumes to the east!”


Startled at the news, many on deck chose to seek out a view of the whales, as they are rare to see in open water. The gawkers are surprised to see that the water plumes are quite constant and grow larger by the second. Most speculate at what it could be, and wonder at what it means, few save the crew notice that plumes are coming straight for the Osprey. A yeoman is dispatched for the captain, who arrives quickly to the scene and with the skill of a spider climbs up past the sails and out onto the arm. He removes a looking glass and gazes at the plumes headed toward his ship. A few moments pass, then he calls out a series of urgent orders;


“Hard a starboard! Full sail! Break out the oars! All marines to deck, all passengers below! We make for Kabisera!”


A huge commotion breaks out on the deck, scattering to meet the orders. Confusion reigns on most their faces, uncertain of the cause of concern. Their uncertainty is removed by another cry from the crows nest, this cry sprinkled with fear.


“Sea Lions! Gaining fast!”


The deck crews are moving faster, with a purpose now, marines taking defensive positions, bracing for what comes. The sailors of the Osprey give good chase, but are quickly overcome by their hunters. Blasts of energy shatter the ships three masts and rudders, it begins to list. Moments later, giant catlike forms leap onto the deck. Howls of fury, roars of hatred and anger shatter the ears of the sailors. The lions make quick work of the marines, sailors and the ship. Tearing it apart with their claws they quickly destroy its integrity, and it begins to list on its side and roll into the sea. The lions remain for while longer, then leave with sated hunger and full bellies.


A damaged longboat is all that remains of the might galleon, and clinging to it a group of strangers. Eventually they right it and free it of it water, but they float exposed and sullen under the once gentle sun. They float for what seems like almost two weeks, starving and water deprived, they drift east. Eventually they spy what they believe to be land on the horizon.

After hours of silence, I was the first to speak. It was, perhaps, unexpected, since I had only answered monosyllabically thus far or asked simple questions to the dying dwarf and halfling. I had been distracted since watching the sea lions sink back to their murky home. Something about their sudden, brutal attack and equally sudden departure had seemed out of place. Why had it been sea lions? The question weighed heavily on me and I said as much.

"Change is coming," I said, though change was always coming. I saw a flash of doubt or impatience. "I don't mean death, or a sinking ship. Those are unexpected but not unusual. One of Aylltyn's children, or grandchildren perhaps..."

I didn't know how to finish.

"They may be angry or power may be shifting." I felt the vagueness of my proclamations. "The sea lions were an instrument. That, I am sure."

Silence followed, since none of us knew what that meant.

Well, isn't this a fine predicament I find myself in. For me, it all started a couple of months ago. I awoke in the bed of a fine maiden only to be rushed into a closet as her husband unexpectedly arived home. From the closet, I heard the gruff sound of the captain of this town's guards. His loving wife asked him about his day and his work, trying to lure him away from thier room and her latest transgression.

As the two talked and I waited for my oppertunity to escape, i heard the Captain mention how earlier day he arrested a key figure in the local thieve's guild. And how that person bribed the Captain with treasure beyond his wildest dreams. The only catch was the thief didn't have it on him. He instead offered a map and a key, which the Captain decided was worth more than the wages he recieved to apprehend scum like the thief.

The woman finally managed to lure her husband into the kitchen so the two could share a meal. I took this oppertunity to make my escape. As I was leaving, I spotted the map and key the Captain mentioned on the dresser at the far side of the room. I decided that they should probably leave with me, lest they tempt and corrupt a good man like the Captain.

And so after some research, I discovered the location the map led to, and boarded a ship to that destination. I spent the better part of a week amongst some interesting folks. After one night of losing most of my money in a card game with a halfling, I decided to head to bed.

The next morning, the ship's crew seemed to be up in arms about something, and were causing quite a disturbance. I tried rolling over and getting back to sleep, but the sound of rushing water and snapping wood caught my attention. I hurridly grabbed my things and made it t the nearest lifeboat. There was a crowd, but i managed to make it to the front of the crowd and onto a boat. As i was climbing into one of the boats, I was pushed by a drunken Dwarf, and the pouch where I held the map and the key slipped off my belt and into the ocean, forever lost.

How long have i been on this tiny vessel in the water? Has it been days? Or weeks? I don't even know for sure. But there appears to be a landmass on the horizon, I think. Or perhaps that is just wishful thinking on my part, an illusion I am tricking myself into believing is real. either way, it's better than nothing I suppose.

I was struggling with these recent events. I left looking for adventure, and in many circumstances, adventure comes when you are not expecting it. But this is hardly the glamourous lifestyle the stories made it out to be. I didn't mind being delayed from Cotone necessarily, but that our delay was so destructive, that the halfling and dwarf had lost their lives, it all seemed so... unnecessary. Seeing the edges of land to the east had brightened my outlook somewhat, but the body was weary, and I had already spent the last several days trying to keep everyone in high spirits. Relatively anyway. I was done talking now, until the monk spoke up.

I had contemplated a similar idea, even perused some of my books for precedence, and came to a similar conclusion - this didn't seem like a coincidence. Our ship had been savaged on the ninth day for a reason, and this reason put the five of us on this lifeboat for a reason. I perked up on my bench somewhat, stared at the new landmass, and opened my parched mouth for the first time all day.

"Bastian may be right. It all seemed so sudden, and the Osprey had never seen an attack that sudden before. The attack happened for a reason, and the five of us made it here for a reason. I think."

I continued to stare at our destination but furrowed my brow. We had better find clean water and food. It's good for the mind to keep busy sorting out all this predestination Bastian and I had noticed, but there would be little time for lofty contemplation when our bodies needed sustenance. Despite this priority, I was excited to explore this new place. I couldn't help but smile. Adventure happens everywhere, as they say.

“Idiot” Inara mumbled under her breath. She would normally frown at such an idiotic comment but the ability was simply beyond her strength. Using whatever excess energy remained to try to pull her now moldy robes over the back of her head to shield her from the blistering sun.

Inara was miserable, helplessly floating at the whims of this massive body of water. Her lips were severely parched. “Why didn’t I write down that damned water making ritual?” she thought to herself. So thirsty and surrounded by all this useless water!

Normally, she would have thought of some way to get out of this predicament but all her research material was gone, along with the ship and fool of a crew and all she had with her was her magical red orb and her spell book and few meager belongings in the small bag that she managed to grab before the attack. “Simpletons” she mumbled again under her breath.

She sighed then glanced over to her right. The Halfling was on his last legs and so was the Dwarf. For a moment, all her suffering was lost and she relished the fact that another person being far more miserable than she was. She knew he would die soon and was oddly intrigued at the situation. How death fascinated her.

Her stomach grumbled and another thought crept to her mind, “Are Halfing edible?” She eyed the half-man with interest, “Are dwarfs?” she side-glanced the dwarf then almost smiled.

She needed to survive this, survive this setback. Her destiny would not end here, not with these bumpkins.

“Soon” she mumbled to herself.

As I sit in reflection a little away from the fire, the shore laps at the rough-grained sand and rattles the boat aground in cycles. I ponder how a life committed to routine and discipline had been suddenly disrupted. Embrace change, I told myself. I used to seek novelty, delighting in the rich cream-filled pastries of Mr. Kiln's bakery or stealing a sip of my father's wine when we stepped away. Change is uncomfortable but it comes endlessly, like the shore wearing away with every lap of the ocean. Something was more off-putting about this change. It felt wrong. Was it too sudden? No. Brother Wembley had passed suddenly and though I had grown sullen for many days, it had not felt as wrong as this.

Solaria had said something about the Sea Lions that attacked the ship. What was it? They hadn't been seen for hundreds of years? Maybe longer. And this place, with its living water and biting turnips and...something odd about the men that lived here. The illusory castle and trees...

I am reminded of an old fairy tale my mother had told me when I still could capture her attention. In it, a young boy ventured into the forest and got lost. Therein he found a rusty old sword and a raven as his companion. They fought the creeping vines and two-headed wolves and then ran the witch who was enchanting the forest through. There was some morality to the tale that I have forgotten but I remember something about a dream. Had the young boy been bewitched by a sleeping spell at some point? Or was that how it ended, with the boy waking up?

I look out into the sea and wonder about the magical forest I have stumbled on. Am I asleep or have a fallen into a fairy tale of my own? My discordant thoughts make me dizzy and I shall clear them from my mind. Allytyn only brings tomorrow and I must wait and see what it contains.

And so did five survivors and two corpses find themselves beached upon an unfamiliar island. A quick burial for two friends, more symbolic than necessary. Foraging for food leads to little results, but a few of the sharper eyed scroungers find some rare materials to saved for later mystical use.


Eschewing the road to the east, the five crawled along the coast line as the gulls circled overhead. Eventually they found signs of life off in the distance, a plume of smoke spiralling upwards. Some bushwacking brought them to a quaint little cottage farmhouse. Being curious as cats the five castaways investigate the farmhouse only to find themselves facing a mundane farmer. So mundane that it has continued to work it crops long after it died. The party violently destroys the skeletal son of the soil, but is forced to deal with the farmers vengeful crop of flesh eating turnips! A nasty battle ensues, but the group is finally able to overcome their soily adversaries. Still famished from their sea voyage, the group decides to eat their earthy adversaries before setting off to the south to investigate the ruined castle they see to the south.


Once again foregoing the road, the party fights their way through dense fields of grass and numerous rocky outcrops, before eventually discovering what appears to be the shattered remains of a once great castle. Outside the castle they find an old man tending to a swan. A brief conversation with him regarding the inhabitants of the castle reveals that over a century ago, the black queen reigned supreme on this island, but now a prophet resides within.


They take their leave of him and make their way inside, there they find a pool of water being watched by an old man quite intently. Upon noticing the group he seems rather shocked at the appearance of a pair of elven travellers, given that to him their race has been extinct for thousands of years. The prophet has many questions for the group, and the castaways many questions for him, instead of answering their questions directly, he shows them the Well of Wisdom. A magical pool of water that answers any question directed to it with an image. The party explores the property of the well with a few questions before asking it how to return to their homes; their answer is shown to them in four parts, a warrior dressed in leather sitting solemnly by the fire, a cloaked figure moving silently amongst a castle, a happy ancient dwarf surround by loving children and the crypt of the first king of the elves.


The prophet takes his leave of the group, but not before explaining that the wisdom of the well is not free. Shortly thereafter the water in the well formed into a vicious monster that laid siege to the group of travellers. They are eventually able to overcome the beast, but not easily. Once defeated they are free to leave the castle walls, but as they walk outside the old man tending the swan attacks them with a vast array of devastating mental attacks.


He took falls to the group, and as he slumps to the ground, the world around them blows away like dust in the wind, revealing that the island is filled with birds. Hundreds of birds surrounding them and staring, before breaking out into a chilling song.

The group of castaways concerned over the disappearance of everything they have discovered upon the island, make their way back to the their beachhead. Relieved to find their longboat still intact, they make camp as best they can. With the map their only reward for their bizaar day, they decide to trust it and head south to some place called MacDonal Monastery, perhaps a place of worship or enlightenment where they can seek safety.


A tough night spent on barren rocks, surrounded by circling birds, the group wakes early to make sail to the south. One member seems troubled and disconcerted by the night's event, but shakes off their jitters easily enough. The odd band sets off, hugging the coast of the Island of Leanth, they struggle for a better part of a day. The heat is debilitating and exhausting, but the crew manning the make shift oars and paddles, settles into a rhythm. A rhythm broken only by the screeching howls of the gulls overhead. Finally towards the end of the day, they make landfall on what they hope is the island closest to the southern tip of Leanth.


Securing the longboat, the crew is pleasantly surprised to find actual vegetation and unsalted water. A musical elf and green skinned holy man make quick work of some small reptiles and the castaways celebrate their first actual meal together in what seems like weeks. Their companions meanwhile help secure their campgrounds and fashion some new paddling implements. With full bellies, the group sleeps soundly, content with the knowledge that whatever tomorrow brings they will face it together. A tomorrow that is announced with the crow of a rooster.


Setting out again, the party fights a strong current that momentarily sweeps them out to sea and they fight their way back towards the shoreline. By midday they find themselves on an island larger than the last, but with sparser vegetation. A thorough search for food is futile, but some pools of fresh water are very welcome to the group. A quick discussion and decision later, they set forth once again and near the end of the day, they make camp on a third island. The elvish comrades find quite a bit of fruit and fresh water for the company of five. An elusive emu robs the party of a chance at another meal of barbequed meat.


In good spirits, the party sets out on the next leg of their journey. Winds and water favour them and they spend a half day before landing on a large island, their last before hopefully reaching the island that houses the monastery. A combination of previous islands, this land is rich with vegetation and wildlife. The hunters put forth a valiant effort, but fail to catch any prey. Dejected they settle in for the night and share a round of stories and jests.

It was wonderful to be on an island with such magnificent wildlife, after the previous day had left us on barren, uncharted rock. We had no idea what these lands were - none of us, not even Miss DiMiele, had heard of any of the places on the map. After days of being lost, cold, hungry, and parched, it was nice to be able to enjoy the little things again.

It was my fault. Content with myself after the last two days of relative comfort, and staring at the flowers on this lush island. Had I forgotten that these lands were completely unknown to the smartest of us, that danger could lurk around every corner? Perhaps I really wasn't ready to leave home.

"Ah!"

I tripped over an exposed root, and lying on my stomach in the brush, I soon found myself face to face with a massive panther that had skulked out of the shadows of the canopy. I scuttled backwards like a terrified crab, and was able to pull out my bow and misfire a wobbly arrow into the surrounding bushes before I came back to my senses.

"Help! Panther!"

For many days we shared a boat and a fire. We encountered nothing but plants and birds and barely spoke to one another. These were capable men and women. I had seen them fight. They were no ordinary folk, like cobblers and farmers. They were not my intended audience, the lost souls on the fringes of society. Were we brought together for some higher purpose, perhaps? I hoped so, because a missionary without a flock to tend was just an aimless wanderer, adrift on Allytyn's current. Closing my eyes, I banished these thoughts from my mind. Allytyn would reveal all in time.

Slowly, I began my daily exercises, forming stances and strikes as I was taught, glacial at first with an increasing tempo. This practice honed my form and reminded me of the patience necessary for defense. Assess the situation first, then disable. One, control the weapon, then two, disarm, then three, subdue. There was a logical order to combat as there was an order to all things. I whipped through the motions of my defensive arts. I could sense my arms flail a little on that last strike. As I reset my stance, my concentration was broken.

"Ah!"

I looked to the tree line. It sounded like Solaria. I took a few steps to the crest of the small hill where I was practicing. I couldn't see anything immediately and relaxed.

"Help! Panther!" she cried and I fixated on her position. Her bow trembled as she tried to reload. Locian was the closest of us and leapt into the fray, distracting the muscular cat.

I moved quickly in to aid as well preparing the Opening the Gate stance as I ran. One: Control the weapon. The claws and teeth of the panther were no ordinary weapon. In this case it would mean keeping them at a distance. Two: disarm. As I flanked the beast, I thought quickly about how to do this. Claws and teeth were not easy to break. Nor could they be taken or knocked away. We would have to face the weapon with agility and armor. Already the tenets of my training were unraveling. That meant one thing, the final stage of combat: Subdue.

I struck the right flank of the panther squarely. Striking downward, I lost much of my power but the big cat would have difficulty rearing back on its hind legs now. My training triggered automatically and I spun with a back-fisted strike to the ribs. The big cat snarled and held its ground, spreading her thick limbs into a protective stance that reminded me of the appropriately named Lion's Den form.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Solaria stand and nock her bow, steady. It felt as if a great clockwork gear were winding up as we all encircled the predator. We had been here before, in battle, and this felt familiar and true. Thank Allytyn, because my doubts had been crescendoing these last few days. A moment of purpose returned.

As I settle back into my stance, the panther shifted her weight, turning with a lightning fast swipe of her paw. Claws grazed my forearm, missing the loose sleeves of my robe and drawing blood instantly. I felt the sharp sting an instant later and shifted into the inverse of the same stance to protect my bleeding arm. I glanced at it briefly to assess the damage. It was less than I had endured during the intense conditioning of my defense training. It wouldn't even leave a scar. "Where are the others?" I said, locking my gaze with the big cat again.

Locian was taking advantage of the panther's attention on me, striking with his swords at the cat's right, front shoulder. It yowled, sliding back into its defensive stance.

No one said anything because it didn't matter. We would work with what we had to fend off the jungle predator.

Sitting in meditation that night, I reflected on the days since the shipwreck. And, though my pilgrimage has been interrupted, I trust in Lawbringer's intervention. He had certainly placed me in the company of able adventurers. In this strange place, where elves no longer exist and I, a Githzari, am mistaken for an orc, the others skills will certainly prove valuable, even if is only to facilitate our own survival in this alien domain. Perhaps it is with their assistance that I will accomplish that which I left the enclave to…

“Where are the others?”

Abruptly, I am roused from my contemplation by the sound of Bastian calling for aid; soon drown out by the mind splitting shrieks of the beast vexing the others. A large jungle cat had emerged from the foliage surrounding our camp and stood in defiance against Solaria. As I approach the commotion, the shortened breaths and frantic, hurried actions of the others reveal this as a fight none of them had sought nor expected, one I had also seemingly missed the majority of whilst lost in meditation. Deftly and silently, I take hold of my blade and move into position behind the jet black hunter, still in the dense leaves and unseen by the cat. As Locian struck the beast head on distracting it, I slowly moved into striking distance, catching its rear legs and momentarily knocking it off its feet. Quickly, the creature whipped its fanged maw toward me, snarling with contempt.

“I apologize for the delay,” I shout to the others, eyes locked on the panther, “now, shall we finish this?”

I scrambled to my feet, elated. This is what the stories were about. Never the lone hero, it was always a band of heroes working together. We, like the ones in the legends, started off as a motley crew, and it's too soon to tell how we will progress, but these martial formations, Locian attacking his quarry when it struck his ally, Bastian moving in for the strategic flanking position, Ralts swooping in out of NOWHERE and knocking the creature to it's knees, it all seemed so... orchestrated. As though this was a dance they had all done dozens or HUNDREDS of times, and though their partners may be different, they adapted them to the steps. Beautiful in it's elegance.

I may not be as combat worthy as these three, but I am excited at the notion of being a heroine in this story. I may not be able to fight directly, but my supportive abilities could make this attacking feline feel all the worse for it's attempt on us. I closed my eyes and clutched my bow, and began uttering words of the Fey language, powerful words of such majesty and grace that their very invocation seemed to stop and then close up Bastian's wounds.

I opened my eyes again, staring at our feline foe, knowing that I could help further. I opened my mouth wide, and to the casual observer, it might have appeared that I tried to scream. All the physical appearance of screaming, but no noise. I knew better - the sounds coming from my throat were fierce and infused with the magic I channeled. The sound was so focused that it struck the predator cat like a fist, confusing it, weakening its position, making it more susceptible to my allies' attacks for a short while.

I smiled again. Now we would see this team at its best. I can hear the stories now.

Taking adcvantage of the opening presented by Raltz's sudden and swift attack, as well as the effects Solaria's songs appeared to be having on the group and the beast, unleashed a frenzy of attacks, some landing, and some I intentionally pull back. It is an unusual technique which I have dubbed the Distracting Spate. The pulled blows serve to unnerve the opponent. If he tries to block every swing, he will surely fail. knowing some of the blows are not intended to hit will make him reluctant to attempt to block every blow, and try to detemine which attacks are genuine and which are feints. I then use my enemies over analytical state to hit them hard with another technique when I see the oppertunity.
The other approach to my tactics is to focus the Enemy's attentions on me, pulling it further and distracting it from my companions, many of whom do not appear to be hardy enough to survive many blows from a feral creature like this.
"It appears this land is full of suprises, wouldn't you say my friends? Perhaps we should better prepare ourselves for such things in the future."

The battle shifted into an almost playful dance, rhythmically trading blows and feints with our angry foe. I adjusted my stance accordingly and snapped a circular kick that barely grazed the raised hackles on the panther's back. Falling back into my stance, I slid quickly from 12 o'clock to 3 o'clock relative to the cat, who was already shifting her attention to Locian.

The panther whirled angrily on the Eladrin with his harassing flurry of feints and strikes. She snapped at him with jaws designed to crush her struggling prey quickly and painfully. The cat's fangs sank into his left hand hard. To Locian's credit he held his sword fast, barely grunting at what looked to be a painful, deep wound. Again the cat withdrew and snarled loudly enough that a flock of birds down on the shoreline suddenly took flight.

My smile faded into an aghast expression, my sweat ran cold, my neck grew numb. Locian, the only other eladrin, the only other elvenkin period in this mysterious realm, was savaged and dragged by the beast. I could not allow this panther, which I had attracted with the promise of an easy meal, to make me the last of my kind. I quickly thought that that was a selfish thought in Locian's time of need, but I honestly hadn't gotten to know him that well over the past few days, finding much more in common with Bastian and even Inara. But this was not the time for guilt - I had to save half an endangered species.

My resolve gathered, I steeled my gaze and readied my shortbow steadily. One of my bow techniques was prone to causing an enemy to, well, fall prone. I could stop this stealthy jungle cat from dragging my ally into the shadowy undergrowth with a successful hit. My arrow was loosed, and it grew in speed and accuracy with the lasting effects of my last sonic attack. Powered by this, the arrow struck the beast between its wide eyes. Its jaw slacked, and it fell to the grassy jungle floor. I lowered my bow, breathing heavily, watched a second for movement from the creature, but saw none.

Running hastily over to Locian's struggling form on the ground, I dropped to my knees, and began to utter familiar Fey words under my breath. A soft green light surrounded Locian's shredded leg as I held it, and the wounds began to close up as Bastian's had earlier. Helping Locian to his newly-repaired feat, I cleared my throat, ceased my panting, and pushed the loose hairs off my sweaty forehead, leaving a faint bloody streak.

"Sorry about that, my friends. I shall endeavour to be more careful in the future!"

I bowed deeply to my allies, with whom I seemed to be sharing a newfound rapport, and began deeply contemplating what might have happened had we not been so reflexive.

The adventurers pause to take a breath and gather their bearings. The eternity of the fight with the panther cat now over, they realize only a brief moment has passed. The quiet returns to the jungle, a soft light from the moon decorates the foliage and highlights a thousand sparkling eyes sitting in the trees, eyes that pierce through the tough exterior of chain and leather to the beating heart underneath. Eyes that sing a now familiar song.

A little disconcerted sleep follows with the group, setting out for what they hope is their last paddle before making land at this McDonal Monastery listed on their map. Their short voyage does fill them with some hope, as they spot a huge warship leaving from the southern coast of the island.

As they finalize their approach, the group takes note of several stone structures and upon landing their craft on the beach, they attempt to make their way towards what they expect to be the monastery. Their trek does not go unnoticed for almost immediately after their beachhead, they attract the attention of a scout, who tails them for several hours until a moment of perception he is noticed. Simple introductions follow, and he happily escorts them to his superior officer, Rocus Bonilova.

A terse conversation sees the party ordered to make camp in woods south of the "monastery", in reality a military training outpost. Grudgingly the party of castaways is cast off once more to live in the woods, there they find some fresh water and little food, but again they find no solace at sleep.

Two fierce battles pierce their slumber, the first pitting them against a vile panther that again tried to tear Locian the Elf asunder. Quickly able to put away the monster, the party again sought to gain a sense of respite.

Another vanity, as moments after they gathered their wits from fighting the panther, three more vicious mountain cats sought to avenge their fallen panther partner. A scene of horrible violence ensued, but again the castaways were able to overcome. Some of the them even relived to see that the corpses of the cats they had slain turn into what looked like feral kobolds....

As I pack my meager belongings, Solaria strums her instrument. She is distractedly playing with the melody she heard amongst a cacophony of bird songs several days ago. I continue speaking aloud, musing on the strangeness of where we have stranded.

"It is almost as if Allytyn has rewritten the Book of Aime," I say. Solaria nods as she begins to hum in harmony with her melody. She has heard my musings once already. "The beginning seems to be the same but the story has changed."

"Are you sure this is still Aime?" says Ralts, who has not yet begun to pack his belongings. I am not sure why I do so, except out of well-practiced discipline. We have nowhere to go today.

"These strangers refer to ancient history as we know it," I say, "and they do call their world Aime as well."

Solaria stops her playing. "Perhaps we are far-flung to an unknown region of the world," she says.

I carefully rewrap the texts I was charged to deliver in a waterproof skin as I ponder her thought. Will these ever find their way to their destination? I stare at them as if the answers will bleed through the oilskin wrap. A pang of regret pierces my soul as I suddenly miss the monastery's library. I never spent enough time with the books there. Faith in Allytyn, we were told, is a wholly personal one. The library is for those who are curious to know more. I lament having only these two copies of a minor writing to guide my intuition that the gods have involved us in their affairs directly. Solaria's suggestion doesn't seem right to me still and I shake my head as I reject the thought. "Our world is well-known," I say, "and these people know our ancient history. Besides, you and I have both felt divine hands on our coming together, Solaria."

"Patience, Bastian," Solaria says with a gentle smile. "The soldiers here offer us no answers. We must find an educated man to listen."

She's right. It was a lesson I had to learn over and over at the monastery. I learn it again now. Answers will come when Allytyn sees fit. I had hopes that the monastery here would have the types of people Solaria describes. Instead, for now, we must wait.

(OOC: I don't know why but I'm already jonesing to play again.)

Meticulously I lay my gear in the long, yellow-green grass near the flattest part of the gentle slope. Slightly above me is the edge of the forest, near to where we had camped for the night. I can still hear unfamiliar birds flitting from branch to branch, calling to each other about a threatening movement below or to try and attract a late-spring pairing.

Downhill I can see the military encampment we hiked from yesterday. The people appear so small that I can only make out movement and nothing else. Some of them appear to be in formation this morning. Perhaps, I think, they are working through their own daily rituals. I fold easily into a lotus seat and close my eyes, making the far-off monks even more distant, then they leave my mind altogether. The wind and the morning chill and the light dew soaking through my robes are all I sense. Soon, these are gone too.

---------

When I reopen my eyes, the sun sits much higher, coyly behind a smattering of thin clouds. My robes have dried now and the grass no longer ripples in the breeze. Eventually, the mechanical sounds of the world return to me, notably the murmur of my companions in the camp and the birds chittering at their presence. I stand and look pensively at my belongings. It has been some time since I have trained with my staff, I think, so I lift it lightly from the grass and step down a few paces of my belongings.

I begin simply, chopping downward with the staff at an imaginary collarbone. During training, brother Wembley often said that advanced missionaries can see and feel the imaginary targets as if they were there. I scissor my stance backwards, retreating slightly from my opponent, then lunging forward with a a sharp jab to the soft tissue above the abdomen. I swivel and push a second opponent away at his breastbone, bruising but not breaking bone or skin. My invisible opponents counterattack, and I counter in return. Sweat beads my smooth pate as we spar, my attacks and blocks increasing in complexity. One opponent finally falls with a blow to the temple and I spin out of the way from the other, my staff whirling behind my back. I block his turn with a foot to his shoulder blade and bring the twirling blunt end of the staff down on the crown of his head. The skull crunches slightly, or so it seems to me in the moment, and my opponent is once again non-existant. My foot, out-stretched, and my staff parallel to it. I keep them suspended for several seconds as the battle recedes and the world returns again. Then I return to a restful pose, leaning against my staff and breathing hard.

"Technically proficient," says a woman to my right, slightly downslope. I wield my staff automatically in surprise and my cheeks flush warm as I mentally punish myself for being surprised.

The woman stands and continues, "Your technique is unfamiliar. Is it local to Merde?"

"Rocus Bonilova," I say with final realization and I lower my staff. She clearly sees me as no threat, though. Nor should she. I am trained only to defend myself from wild animals and highwaymen. "Merde? No, not exactly," I say. My companions might wish to disguise where we are from but I have no wish to lie. I leave the true answer hanging in the still air.

She walks forward with the gait of a soldier. I see now that she is fully armored, but relaxed. Her weapons are sheathed and she smiles lightly, which somehow makes her more menacing. "Your technique has a hard rhythm to it, like a war drum," she says. I nod with only faint understanding. Then she surprises me. "May I make a suggestion?"

I relax at her friendly offer and nod, almost deep enough to be a bow. It is easy to fall back into the role of the student. "Of course," I say.

"The rhythm is predictable, at least in due time. It would be easy to disrupt in real combat."

Rocus gestured to the space opposite her, inviting me to spar. I hesitate, then drop my staff. We both relax into an easy stance and then, without any warning, she snaps her leg forward. My hands drop into a block that barely catches her foot. I counter by pushing her stiff, muscular leg away, then chasing her with a high kick to her head. She easily brushes it away.

"The first strike can be an important one," she says, stepping in close with an elbow jab. I block with both hands, sliding clockwise to her right. "It establishes the tone of the entire fight. Strike first, when you can, and your enemy will be the one trying to keep up."

I double palm-strike Rocus on her shoulder, pushing her off-balance, and then whirl with some light blows to her abdomen. She bounces easily away from my strikes, smiling. "Good," she says, "but here is where I can begin to detect the pattern in your step."

She feints forward with another kick, which I block prematurely. Her stance shifts and she lands a solid blow to my temple. I wheel away, slightly dizzy but not incapacitated. It felt like the slap from a stern tutor. She glides to my left, striking several times with her palm. Each one stings a little. I try to back away and she pummels me again with several more instructional slaps. When I regain my composure, she has dropped her stance and I realize the lesson is over.

"Accelerate your strikes once in a while. It removes some of the predictability you give away," Rocus says. "You have followed the advice of your master well. Explore your training, though. Combat requires some spontaneity if you will maintain the upper hand."

I smile grimly, feeling both admiration and humility at the closure of my lesson. "Thank you, Rocus Bonilova. I shall meditate on your lesson."

"Certainly. Are your companions camped nearby?" she said, looking toward the trees.

I nod. "Just beyond that young oak," I say, pointing.

"Good training to you, monk," she says, and then leaves me to my less than tranquil mind. The wind has picked up, I realize, and my robes and long grass dance in the warm sun.

I fold again into the lotus seat and close my eyes again. The birds fade away and the wind ceases to be an annoyance. In my mind, I summon two new opponents and begin a new round of training.

I stood watch over the group as they slept, keeping an eye out for any more would be predators. As the sun rose and beams of light began spilling through the branches of the trees. Bastian was the first to rise. After some deep meditation, he began practicing some stances and techniques. Bastion wasn't too far from camp, and with the light of day, predators shouldn't be attacking camp anymore. Plus the others would be up soon. So, I decided to take a break from watching over the camp and do some training of my own.

Since my fighting style focuses more on speed and agility rather than brute strength, I decided to start wit sprinting. I found a densely wooded area, and I took off. I effortlessly floated between the trees, jumping over fallen trees and ducking under low hanging branches. I was practically gliding over the forest floor. After about an hour of running, I moved on to the next phase of my routine. I gathered a few of the largest logs i could find and i buried one end of each of them into the ground, standing them up to make sufficient targets. I spent the next two hours practicing my footwork, moving swiftly from target to target, and practicing my strikes and flourishes.

After several hours of training, i decided to head back to the camp site to rejoin the others, and perhaps wake Inara if she was still sleeping her day away.

I arrived back in town to see the head of the monestary striking Bastion in the head. She then proceded to show him a a few more blows before switching to a more passive stance. I gathered that she was teaching him a few new moves to improve his combat. Always one open to new techniqes, I was intrigued.

After the two exchanged a few words, I decided to make my presence known. "Bastian, my boy, you really must not underestimate the ferocity of an opponent, especially that of a woman." The woman furrowed er brow at my comment. "There is no need to feel insulted, m'lady. In fact, it is a compliment. Do you perhaps know any moves you could teach to one such as myself?"

Rocus Bonilova regarded the stranger with a mild derisive smile, "I trust you all slept soundly?"

To which, Solaria still in thought responded "Actually just the opposite, we were attacked by a jungle cat and several kobolds."

"Kobolds you say? How many? What did you do with the bodies?"

Locian regarded her, "They are just over there beyond the campfire." and gestures to the north.

"You didn't burn them?!" cries the monk and races to the indicated scene. Arriving upon the indicated background, she finds a plethora of bloodied grass and mud, but not a sign of any body. Turning angrily upon the group she demands "How many!?"

Stammering an answer Ralts replies "Three kobolds and a single cat. Why is that important?"

"Three, good, good not enough for a portal, but enough for them to be noticed." followed by three short blasts on horn. "I must organize a search."

Solaria baffled, "Why what has happened?"

"I don't know why it's different on Merde but goblins don't just die here, their masters are experts at recycling them into different threats but before I leave, this has arrived for you." she presents the group with a sealed envelope and hurriedly heads back into the monastery below.

Confused by the Rocuss actions, the party studies the letter intently. It is address to The Grays, and contains a purple wax seal with a picture of a tower. The contents of the letter are simple enough, "Please join me for tea." and is signed "Grandfather."

Puzzled by the letter, the group organizes themselves and starts off hunting their prey from the night before. They quickly find a possible hide out location in a cave located to the west, but before they can explore it further, they are set upon by a triad of undead kobold soldiers and a necrotic panther, horrible remnants of their battle the night before.

A brief but violent battle ensues that leaves Solaria and Ralts near death, and the remainder of the party hanging on to life, but the kobolds vanquished once again.

A group of scouting monks quickly finds the party and escorts them back into the monastery, where they discover that transportation off the island is not quickly forthcoming, they decide to return to their row bow with a few additional provisions and paddles.

Setting out to the Forest of Leanth and the city of Lutal, Solaria ponders the letter in her hand and it's meaning. As her thoughts intensify on it's meaning, only the quick reactions of Bastion save the letter from being snatched from her grasp by a sea gull swooping past the elf.

The boat rocks as I find myself leaning over the water, one foot planted on the seat behind me and the other on the boat's rim. My comrades are bracing themselves, pulling the oars out of the water as we almost capsize. I had leapt from my seat, almost as an afterthought as the letter, our only clue to where or when we are, nearly flew away in the beak of a mangy bird. One beady black eye trains on me as we each tug at the parchment. The bird, a filthy off-white seagull, flaps at me while it tugs at the letter clutched in my hand. I feel the points of his webbed feet scratch at my knuckles but I pull the paper firmly and it slips from his beak. The gull squawks at me in irritation and then swoops several times around the boat before flying away toward the shore.

"Bastian," says Locian nervously, "why don't you sit back down in the boat."

I hop lightly back down to my seat, this time barely disturbing us. Nobody says anything for a moment and so I smooth the parchment on my knee.

"That...was odd," says Inara and I silently agree. What is it with the birds around here?

"Sorry," Solaria says quietly with a nervous smile, although nobody blames her for being surprised by a thieving gull. "I didn't know they liked parchment."

I shake my head, responding too seriously to her light-hearted comment. "We had a lot of seagulls in Kabi. They eat a lot of things but never parchment. Maybe...maybe they just like this parchment." I probably wasn't the only one thinking it but I suspected that the birds didn't like this parchment at all.

Eventually Ralts hands me an oar and Solaria begins to pluck out an absent-minded tune. I realize we had all been lost in thought for a long time now. We all have questions but only one person might have any answers. With renewed vigor I plunge the oar into the sea and help push us a little closer to grandfather.

Judging their map as best they can, the Grays head into the jungle of Leanth. A thick dense foliage, rich in colour but very dark in colour. The birds all seem to sing a familiar tune, crocodiles and snakes float by the boat, taking a natural curious interest but keep a fair distance. Pools of colourful fish dart here and there amongst the reeds.

I tired day of paddling, finds the company making another makeshift camp site on the rivers edge. A quick meal and a warm fire are all the comforts afforded to them in this morass. Stories are shared and jokes exchanged, the birds singing their song. Solaria chooses to mimic their warbling, only to attract more and more, before she stows her lyre for the evening.

Cautious of their previous night time attackers, the Grays set another strict security watch. The night passes slowly, until Solaria snaps out of her trance like state, "The fire it is moving!" Bastion quickly grabs a cup and tries to water the flames and coals, but is startled when the fire chastises him for attempting to extinguish.

"Stop, there is no time for that."

A face emerges in the coals, and speaks in a slow disturbing tone; "Seek the dwarves, do not go to the city." before fading away into ash and heat. Inara speaks quickly, "That face, was it not one of the images shown to us in the Pool of Wisdom? I believe it was, the man cloaked in shadows, was it not?"

Locian barks out, "Exploding panthers, talking fireplaces and water that attacks you! This land is a place of death and destruction. Take what you will from that message, but I will not trust a fireplace to tell me what to do!"

The remainder of the evening passes slowly, but without incident. They set out again, and come to their first major choice, the river to the city on the left or to by-pass it and take the right.? Selecting to continue to pursue the only clue they have as to their whereabouts or how to get home, they choose the left route towards the city of Lutal.

They proceed to paddle their small craft and soon discover what appears to be smoke rising up from the forest ahead, not enough to be the jungle ablaze, most likely something smaller. A few twists and turns of the river bend reveals a possible campfire up ahead.

The Grays, cautiously approach the fire, it seems to be quite recent, with a flurry of footprints surrounding it going off in several directions. Locian and Bastion eager to learn more, take a study of the tracks. The monks eyes are unable to learn much from the tracks, save that they most likely were made by the tall man standing behind a broken wall wielding a black bow. His skin the colour of ashes, his eyes a putrid yellowish green, he makes not a sound but lets fire a massive black arrow that narrowly misses Locians neck.

Hurrying for cover behind a broken wall of stone, the party attempt to circle around the dark assassin only to find that they are surrounded by a host of sentient bones striking them fiercely soon followed by a massive animated corpse, the shadow of which blocked out the mid day sun.

Quick work is made of the bones creatures and the corpse is driven back. To their chagrin, the Grays soon learn that these creatures exist to corral them so the black archer can inflict massive amounts of punishment upon them at great range. Inara and Solaria are crippled by the dark arrows, both dazed and unable to move, the present ripe targets for a wave of new creatures coming from the west.

The blade of Ralts, sings a song of destruction and mayhem felling the corpses and skeletons. The feet and fists of Allytyns Monk pummel and parry the archer. Locians blade whirls and spins to the song of Solaria. The fight is furious and over almost as soon as it begins, with all but a single undead destroyed and pursued across the swamp. But nothing is ever free, in their vigorous pursuit of midnight sniper, Inara watches in vain, unable to move crippled by the archers arrows as Solaria lies dying not thirty feet from her comrade, a black arrow piercing her chest.

A desperate race to save the elf begins, medicines and poultices are used, bandages applied, but the skill of her comrades are not enough. The song of Solaria, ends in a swamp in an unknown land.

Stricken with grief, Locian, now perhaps the last of his kind, sets out to bury Solaria in their own tradition. A pyre is raised and words of grief and solace are shared and a vow is taken.

As the fire grows high and the body of Solaria the bard is consumed, a new life rises from the ashes. A beautiful bird of song. It flies unsinged from her corpse and into the night sky to join the other birds in a familiar song.

Before lighting the pyre, Locian used a dagger found in Solaria's bag to carve up some vines into thin fibers, which he then braided into a thin rope. He then cut a lock of Solaria's hair and made the two items into a necklace. He put on the necklace and placed the dagger into his bags. He lit the pyre and watched the flames consume the remains. Bastion continued his prayers. Locian couldnt help but feel distraught. He was certainly familiar with death, he had seen a great many a friend die on the battlefields, but Solaria was no warrior. She was still young, at the prime of her life. All she had wanted was to see the world. Locian looked on as potentially the only other elf kind in the world was slowly consumed. In that moment, he couldn't help but feel very alone. His usual lighthearted and carefree attitude was replaced by bitterness and anger. anger at the world, tat would so cruelly let one so young die so horribly. angry at the archer, who killed her and managed to escape his blade. but mostly, angry at himself. he had let Solaria down. He knew before they stopped that there could be nothing good awaiting the at that campsite. had he been more forceful in his oppinion, and less free spirited, Solaria might still be alive. When his mentor died in his arms, he vowed to live his life as much as possible, to make the most of it before his time came. But that day, the death of a comrade taught him that there are severe consequences for his actions, even his inactions. And sometimes it would be those closest to him to pay those consequences. He wasn't going to abandon his free spirited attitude or his love for life, Solaria would not want that. But in te future, he would be more responsible and mindful of the others around him. THAT is what he felt Solaria would want. He looked around to his companions, and he knew that their safety now partially relied on him. Even though he was surrounded by company at the edge of a towering inferno, he still felt so very cold and alone.


Locian turned as the fire consumed the last of the girl's remains. "Let's get moving. We're almost out of daylight, and we are still about a day and a half's journey to Lutal." He began to walk to the boat.

I know this song. I know it well.

I may have heard it before, many times. It was confusing then. Now it is part of me. It seems as natural to me as eating, or breathing, or flying.

I flutter, and take flight. To where the others are. I know this too. I am needed.

I fly over the world. This is my world. It always has been. When I was confused, in some earlier state, I did not know. But I know now. This was my world even then. It is only natural.

I reach the others, land, and look down on the clearing. There they are. These strange beasts, stranger even than the ones I have known. They all walk on strange talons unlike mine. Their bodies are large and featherless. Most of them are colourless, though one is green. Their song is disjointed and disharmonious. It as no colour or depth. It does not sing the truth. It does not know what will come. It does not sing of the prophecy.

Part of me remembers the beasts. From long ago. An earlier state? It is not important. I feel a strange belonging. A strange attachment. It is not important.

I flutter again, flashing yellow on my world, surrounded by the others, following the beasts.

I sing my song. I know it well.

Anger wells inside me again as I glimpse our campfire from the corner of my eye. The warm flicker painfully resonates with my memory of the afternoon's funeral. Our meagre pyre of rotting branches and wet bark had been a pathetic tribute to our fallen comrade. But what else could we do? We are lost in a place or a time stripped of all things. I feel a pang of jealousy for my distant brothers at the monastery. I once had little more than I do now in material possessions but I had the comfort of sturdy walls and the convenience of a nearby town. What little I have now erodes with each passing day.

Dark, turbulent thoughts such as these dominate my mind. Is Locian giving me that I-told-you-so look again? For a brief moment I want to hurt him. Or hurt anyone who might look my way. The afternoon's battle replays in my thoughts. Should I have stayed with Solaria? I would have been useless to the fight then, I remind myself. Should I have not chased that final abomination as it fled into the swamp? I did not know that she had been struck down. How could I have?

I recalled walking around the ruined stone walls and seeing that sweet, young bard bleeding profusely onto the black marshy soil. Others were already at her side, trying to revive her and that is when I ran. What could I have done differently? What did I not notice? I struggled for answers and found only Allytyn's indifferent silence.

Rage welled up again and I tensed every muscle, hard and for many minutes. At last I relaxed, exhausted and found myself haphazardly recalling the prayers I had chanted to myself after Brother Wembley had died. "The stone does not live, nor does it die. It exists as it is, unchanging. Life grants us change we may revel in and death is the change we must accept as the cost for our lives. The stone fears no death but it experiences no life. Solaria, I thank Allytyn for the life you experienced and accept her price."

I chanted this prayer and many others over and over. As the sky began to lighten, my tense muscles grew sore. Still I prayed, awaiting that time when I would once again find their meaning.

In a darkened alleyway, a tall cloaked figure finishes strangling a sickly looking man. A sickly glow flows from the corpse into a bowl of silver liquid, stiffening it into a solid mirror reflecting the moonlight.

The cloaked figure speaks in a harsh rasp, "My Queen, I have failed you. We were unable to procure the item. They proved to be resourceful and resilient, but I managed to kill the female elf. Before me return I saw them burn her corpse on a pyre and offer prayers to Allytynn. If you permit me, I shall return to my barrow. I died to serve you in all things."

Then a whisper of a murmur stiffens the archers back, "Go Selpats, you have done well and shall be rewarded."

And the figure slips away into to dark once more, leaving only shadows and a corpse behind.

A small brazier provides a sampling of light in a dimly lit room. Papers strewn about tables and books stacked high into makeshift corridors round the floor. A man sits in a a humble chair tracing the lines on a piece of parchment, taking care not to disturb it's brittle nature. Dust falls from it occasionally only to drift onto some other piece of arcane mystery.

A quiet voice speaks to himself, "That settles it then, they are indeed the Grays of the Aonad Scrios. The prophecy has it's beginning matched, but what end. Change is certain, but for the better? Oh Grandmother, why did you leave me? Your guidance is sorely missed."

My mother believed that dreams held power. As Allytyn does not speak to her followers, through dreams or otherwise, my father had little patience for mother's flights of fancy. I suppose I follow my father in many regards but tonight, as early sunlight begins to soften the black night on the horizon, I reflect on the dream from which I just woke.

In my dream, Solaria was alive and running. I was chasing after her and, at first, I thought she was running from me. I soon realized we were both running from a flock of birds of numerous varieties. I would look back at them and I knew they were just birds, singing discordantly as they fluttered from limb to limb or hopped along the ground, but I could not see any individual bird directly. Still, I sensed there were birds in the flock that I had never seen before and others that were all too familiar. As I ran, Solaria crying ahead of me for help like I wasn't there at all, I searched for the names of these birds. I can think of them now, these birds I could not see, but in the dream they were only familiar shapes and colors.

After an exhaustive distance the forest gave way to a rocky beach and the rocks gave way not to water but to a swampy morass. Solaria ran directly into the thick bile. I halted, looking in a panic for somewhere else to go. The birds fluttered from the forest edge like a flock of wind-blown leaves. With nowhere to go, I started running again and found myself hopping across a chain of mossy stones immersed in the morass. Each stone threatened to send me into the swamp and the birds behind me all took flight or hopped from stone to stone behind me. Solaria, meanwhile, was gone.

Somehow I arrived at a clearing, as if an oasis of forest had miraculously grown in the midst of this dreary swamp. A circle of healthy trees walled off the clearing from the vile water. In the center of this perfect refuge lay Solaria. A red halo spilled beneath her head and her lyre lay broken at her side. A solitary raven stood on her shoulder and plucked at her pointed ear with sharp jabs. Behind me, the trees and the swamp fell silent and I then realized what a cacophony the birds had been making. I approached my fallen comrade, circling her slumping body to see her face. I seemed to circle for a long time, as if the clearing circled ahead of me. Before I could see her, the raven looked up with its beady eyes of the void and squawked loudly. As if my distraction had provided an opportunity, Solaria dissolved into a rainbow mist and the raven fluttered in place, squawking incessantly at losing its perch. Solaria's mist roiled around and into the bird, painting its oily feathers with bright blues and greens and reds. I reached for the bird frantically, my hands clenching at colored mist and the Solaria-raven flew up and away from the clearing. All that remained was her broken lyre. I spent the rest of the dream desperately trying to put it back together, certain I had the knowledge to bring her back if I could.

When I awoke I felt exhausted and sore. Now our campsite is silent and I lay still, thinking. I will tell my comrades of my dream, I have decided, but I have also concluded that it carries no real meaning. I merely miss the young lass, I think, and my dreams reflect the circularity of my frustration and my regret. I know I will not sleep again tonight. I should rise and meditate but instead, for the first time in a long time, I neglect my rigorous training and do nothing.

The sun beamed down upon the four as they rose to continue their journey the next morning. The dew beaded on leaves danced like diamonds in the wind as the sun rose higher in the sky. The paddle up the river was quiet and sombre. Eventually they passed around a bend in the river and saw what must surely be their destination ahead of them.

Situated in the the middle of converging rivers rose a city of massive trees, all intricately woven amongst themselves and shaped by men to their needs. Great spires of wood reaching high to the heavens dominated the skyline. As they paddled closer the group could see that the great trees all had numerous levels of houses and structure built upon them, supported by foundations in the earth as needed. Boats dominated the regions around the city, with numerous tie offs for small crafts and engineered dockyards for larger crafts.

Finding a small berth near one of the prominent bridges, the Grays enter the city of Lutal. Before them lies the Loingseoireachta district, a centre for commerce to leave the city. Everyone, dwarves and humans alike is moving about the streets with a purpose and with knowledge of where they need to be next. Their are soldiers, sailors and merchants aplenty, with very few people straggling about aimelessly. Some well placed inquires directs the castaways to the Margadh sector of the city and the Great Tree Church of Ambrosia.

The temple is dutifully carved out of a massive tree, but not in an invasive way. Every root is respected and accommodations are made to adapt the seating areas to the tree, and not the converse. Many people all in cheerful moods and wearing bright flowing creations of silk mill about the temple in conversation and worship. Locian is quickly able to gain an audience with Vulca Temeka and Renetta and carefully poses the question of how Solaria might be returned to them. The Vulca's seemed perplexed at the notion of wanting to leave Ambrosia's embrace, but have some recollection that if may have occurred some time in the past. They suggest that prayer could answer their questions and invite the Grays to join them. In a secluded grove of rushes by the river, the two clerics join hands with the wanderers and in a swirl of colours, rhythms and chaotic happiness, party entreats the Goddess. They emerge from their prayer after what seemed only minutes to find that most of the day has passed them by, but they do emerge with an answer. Ambrosia may be coerced into releasing Solaria with the sacrifice of their own souls.

A conference of conflicted opinions surges forth, on the price for the return of their friend. They instead decide to seek the counsel of other clerics and enter the Cathedral of the Lawgiver. A start contrast to that of Ambrosia, this building is rigorously constructed and highly organized into pews and rows, alters and knave. The follower of the faith Ralts, takes his turn to discuss the matter presently facing the outcasts and is sternly rebuked by the clerics therein. A third option is explored in the priest of Shalm, but that leads to more confusion and questions. The party is left pondering the notion that the way to find the soul of Solaria is to stop hiding from her.

The lateness of the evening overtakes them and they find an inn to lodge themselves for the night. There they learn more about their surroundings and some vital information about the mysterious Grandfather.

Several small crafts beach themselves upon a small island in a a forgotten marsh. Heavily armed guards immediately leap from their crafts and scour the island for enemies. Finding none, they quickly take up defensive positions around the swamp soaked shorelines. A pair of massive suits of armour accompanied by men clad in black leather armour then perform the same actions. Soon a final pair emerges from the boats, a proud, tall elderly man, followed by a smaller subservient fellow.

The senior fellow, walks around the island, surveying the dirt and debris. He settles upon a fire pit, gazing intently into the ashes. With a wave of his hand streams of grey and gold light pour over the charred unknown remains. Minutes pass and the concentration on the man's face deepens. He strains with the mystical energies flowing through him into the soil for what seems an eternity before abruptly stopping.

His supplicant gathers the nerve to pose a question, "Is there enough sir?"

"What there is will suffice for the ritual.", an exhausted yet confident voice reponds.

"Can you do it sir? Can you do what has not been done?"

"I find your lack of faith disturbing."

With a subtle gesture, sands, sticks, salts and ingredients fly out of the boats and begin forming multiple circular patterns across the island. Rocks are upended and removed, water expunged and replaced with mud and lichens. Torches appear throughout the scene burning strange incense and other herbs. Soon the old man begins swaying as waves of magical force emanate from his body. Hours seem to pass as the ashes before him form into lumps and hollows, sweat begins to form on his brow. His hands start to shake and his knees bend, his second seeks to assist but holds back. Eventually he collapses on the ground, his breathing erratic and unsteady, he lies there. Beside him is the body of a small naked woman. The seconds turn into minutes, the minutes into hours as the second dotes on his master.

Eventually he rises to address his followers, "Put her in the boat, we sail for Holly at flank speed. If she wakes, notify me at once, I a curious to know if I got the ears right."

I looked at my diminutive coinpurse. A few coins jingled in the mostly empty bag.

"3 gold for the journey" the man in charge of a large cargo ship said. "Food not included."

I thought to myself. Buying enough food to last me the length of the trip, and the price of the ride itself, would clean me out. I didn't like having only a few coins to my name. I liked the idea of having none less. I tried finding work around town, to no avail. Darkness fell, and I was out of time. I decided to head to the local shop to buy some food for the trip.

I entered the well stocked store and looked for some basic rations. I gathered some food and was walking to the counter, when a metal gleam caught my eye. A small grappling hook lay on one of the shelves. The idea came to me in an instant. It wouldn't be the first time I've had to stow away, on a ship. I bought the food, as well as the grappling hook and a length of rope. Both cost less than the cost of the trip would.

The others had gathered next to an inn. They decided to rent a room for the night, but I was worried about the exposure of leaving alone early in the morning. I decided to find a small wooded area at the edge of town and rested.

Early in the morning, before the sun had risen, I made my way to the ship. It was unguarded, which was lucky for me. I pulled out the rope and grappling hook, and swung it towards the ship. the hook circled around the railing, and I was able to climb up the side of the ship. I crouched down low and made my way towards the stairs leading to the lower decks.

Before I could make it to the stairs, I heard a small scraping sound. I narrowed my eyes and studdied the darkness. I was able to spot two large cats coming towards me. I pulled out my swords and got ready for a fight. I attacked first, striking each of them with my blades. They clawed and bit into me. I wanted to cry out, but I stifled myself, lest I attract more attention. After about a minute had passed, I slew both cats. I found a nearby chest, emptied it of its contents into the ocean, stuffed the beasts into it, and threw them over board. I watched as the chest sank into the water. The missing cats and chest may be suspicious, but far less suspicious than two dead carcasses.

I hurried across the deck, when suddenly and arrow flew past my head, landing at my feet. in the moonlight, I could make out a small inscription in the arrow. It was in a language I did not recognize. I grabbed the arrow and put it into my bag. I then got on my stomach and crawled across the deck. I made it to the stairs and found a nice storage room where i could rest and tend to my wounds.

After several uneventful days, I could tell we must almost be there. Suddenly, there was a loud commotion, followed by people creaming. I knew the others were on board and could handle the situation, So I took the chaos as an opportunity to search the ship. After several minutes I had searched a large part of the ship without finding anything. Suddenly the roof above me collapsed, revealing a large fire. I spotted a portole in the room next to me and ran towards it. I dived through the glass and landed in the water below. I swam to shore and quickly found the others.

The others looked at me dumbstruck. "How did you get on board?" The Captain from earlier asked me.

"I told you you should have hired us to guard your ship. Any nutjob could have snuck on board. I looked to the burning remains of the ship. "Though I guess it's a good thing you didn't or you'd be demanding a refund, I suspect." The Captain's face grew dark red and several veins began to throb in his forhead. I turned to the others. Inara muttered something about our luck with boats. "I suggest we take our leave, lest we end up like the ship.

As we walked away, The smoke rising into the sky, I couldn't help but be reminded of that night, where we burned Solaria's remains. The smoke was thick and dark, much like it was now. I wondered if the fire was meant to consume us, just as it did her. That's when I remembered my close call. I puled out the arrow from earlier and showed it to the others. None of them could read it. One of the ships crewmates approached us.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but I couldn't help but overhear. That arrow, It has Dwarven written on it."

"Do you happen to speak Dwarven?" I asked.

"Only a little, but it seems a little bit more than you. I might be able to help." I handed the arrow to the man. He studied it for several seconds. "Its rubbish. Low Sea Inn." He handed the arrow back to me.

"Thank you." It made no sense to me. Low Sea Inn. Low Sea Inn. LowSeaInn. Locian.

"Locian!"

One thing was for certain, Something was after us. And judging by what happened to the ship, it was more than a few undead archers. From here on out, we would have to start being much more careful.

I am tired. The nights had been uncomfortable until now but it was not the straw-filled mattress, a true comfort at last, that kept me awake. It was the heavy choice we had been offered. A hurried tour of Lutal's temples turned into a desperate plea to save our fallen comrade, to return her to our ranks. Surely the priests of Allytyn's children have faced the pleas of distraught widows before now. But each temple gave us vague or confusing answers. The temple of Ambrosia held a sliver of hope, though its clerics did not inspire much confidence. Trade a piece of our own souls to resurrect Solaria, they said. It could work, possibly. They shuffled about their dusty archives, hemming and hawing about if it could be done and whether or not it should and why would we want to anyway? Surely Solaria is better off with Ambrosia now.

Tonight I wrestle with the implications of the clerics of Ambrosia's proposition. What does it mean to trade a piece of my own soul? Who possesses it? Solaria? Ambrosia? Surely Allytyn would not care if I did. But there is something about the prospect that is foreboding. The trade promises a fealty to Ambrosia that I do not feel. I find myself questioning my own faith. Would I have traded my soul for Brother Wembley's? The pain of his passing was not yet healed and I find myself speculating that I would. Wembley would be here instead of me. What would he have done now? Wembley would have stayed strong. He would have said no. I resolve to keep to my faith. Every man, woman, and animal goes the way of Wembley...and of Solaria. Mourn her. Remember her. I pray continuously, falling asleep only as the dawn light softened the darkness outside.

After waking, we discuss our options. Only Ralts had ever indicated any strength of faith before and I cannot read his face. We dodge the issue for a while, commenting on our accommodations, this strange city, and our breakfast. At last Inara gets to the point, perhaps a bit flustered. "I'm not trading a piece of my soul for her."

I lower my eyes, sad but nodding. "I can't do it either. I miss her but this is not the right way."

"It doesn't feel right," Ralts says.

"Maybe we can find something better in Holly," I say.

We all latch onto this small hope as a good excuse for passing on a chance to bring our comrade back. A sliver of guilt remains but everyone shows relief in their eyes. We didn't want it this way.

I spend the day helping an old farmer unload and load his wares. He offers me a generous payment of a silver coin but I merely smile and close his open palm around the coin. It mended my soul a tiny bit to have performed a good deed. I had many more good deeds to go, though.

Before you lies the city of Holly, Capital of Sheanere. It's dark grey walls extend up from all sides of the island, climbing to touch the sky. Battlements dot the skyline so frequently you think you could easily walk along them. Approaching the massive Southern Bridge, the group of castaways is swept into the wake of hordes of citizens entering the city. They join a sea of thousands, startled at first, they soon hear a bell tolling in the city, summoning it's populace. Passing through the gates, a man wearing black studded leather with a shaved head stands watch from the center of the gate. His gaze lingers on the castaways for a while before turning to other wayfarers.

The road into the city is wide and meticulously clean and level. Shops line the wide street with their backs against the high inner city walls, inns and stores, boarding houses and gathering places all fill the giant corridor. The crowd moves further into the city, but slower as the people bunch closer together. The Grays find themselves at a standstill outside of a gate to the industrial sector. The engraving over the granite gate reads Sword Avenue.

Across from them against the eastern wall is a large stone terrace with steps leading up to it's apex from each side. Moments after the tolling of the bells stop, figures begin to climb the steps from each side. From the south a heavily armoured man and a equally armoured female dwarf. From the north an ancient looking man and a brightly clad female elf.

A dark fire burns in a greenish hue, beside it lies the corpse of a not unattractive woman. From the flames can be heard,

"Seek your needs in Storlock, Selpats. There you shall have what you require."

A tall man, stands from the corpse, bundles his great black bow into a burlap and guards himself against the night. A glance up at the moon to gather his bearings before kicking the corpse into the fire.

"To Storlock, to dead friends and living enemies. It shall be done my Queen."

The old one knows. He knows it well.

We gather in the trees as we always do. We sing our song. He knows it. We are were the others were, the confused ones who didn't know. They left this place and left one behind. That one was dirt now, but the old one is searching for her.

Many songs pass. Many go to roost, but many still sing. The old one sways with our song. He knows it, and he uses it. It feeds him, it gives him strength. He is like us, in a way.

The land swirls around him as he sits there, just knowing. I stop singing. The others continue.

I do not know why.

Something has bothered me. Interrupted me.

Confused me.

Was... was it always this way? What was that song again? What's happening?!

Below, the old one stands shakily above a young one. A different one. I had never seen one of her before.

...Right? Had I?

I.... hate this girl. She doesn't know. She knows nothing! She stopped my song! WHY!? I squawk at her, and begin circling the clearing.

I... I....

I land. I remember my song. I join the others again. Everything is fine.

I sing my song again. But everything is not well.

I am here because Grandfather asked me to be here. On this terrace, that is. Well, in general too, I suppose. In a manner of speaking.

He was able to restore my life. It's a process I still don't fully understand. I remember being struck by arrow after arrow, I remember feeling my blood running hot, soaking my dress. Then I remember feeling nothing, and how curious a sensation that was.

Then I remember waking up, naked, in a bedroom I didn't recognize. Had it all been a dream? People I didn't know and I had been sent to an unknown land by unknown forces where we struggled against unknown foes. I suffered an unknown fate, and my companions were in unknown situations.

Gradually it all came back to me, as a kindly old man was able to explain it to me. I had been killed by soldiers of Dralk, the goblin god who sought the destruction of all elvenkind. This was likely the cause of the war this world was embroiled in: the forces of man against goblinkind, after the long-ago eradication of all the elves in this world.

Until Locian and I came to be here. Grandfather could offer me no answers about our arrival here, unfortunately.

This actually came as a surprise to me. We'd heard of Grandfather trying to contact us, despite having never met us. He was able to resurrect me. Surely he must be some superintelligent being, possibly a powerful psychic or even a prophet or deity.

He had simply chuckled at my "youthful enthusiasm" (don't forget, old man, we're probably around the same age) and explained to me that his methods had been much more mundane then that. He was a military officer of sorts, more of a contractor as head of the Golem Academy here in Holly. He'd heard intelligence reports of our presence from the military monastery we'd stumbled into unannounced. He knew of my death from the clerics of Lawbringer that my companions had talked to in Lutal. From there it was a simple matter of scrying and divination to determine the cause of my death and my final resting place.

Which brings me to this terrace.

Grandfather brought me here to act as a symbol, a rallying force for the soldiers and sorcerers stationed here in Holly. He and his aides referred to me as The First Elf of Sheanere, and called me that so regularly that it had almost become a title. He wanted to present me to the world as a symbol that the goblins had fought in vain, that elves still existed in Sheanere, that the war was almost won. I would be treasured by the world. But I would become a public target for those goblins who sought to kill me, and had succeeded once before.

I was nervous. For many reasons. The idea that I could be assassinated again was only the most obvious.

But Grandfather brought me back to life, so I'll help him.

So here I stand on the terrace over the courtyard at the Golem Academy in Holly, dressed in ancient elven ceremonial dresses and jewels, concealing my new shortbow, hide armor and lyre should the need to defend myself suddenly arise.

Grandfather just stepped to the front of the terrace, preparing to address the crowd. It was time. Soon the world would know me as The First Elf of Sheanere.

For better or for worse.

"Someone is trying to kill us," Locian says.

Ralts sighs. "Perhaps. Or perhaps dry wood burns."

"Neither of you saw what I saw," says Inara. "It was intentional."

"See?" Locian says.

"You can't talk," Inara says, jabbing Locian spitefully in the bicep.

"My order has a saying," I say, somewhat quietly. Sometimes speaking low will cause others to listen more carefully. "Tinder ignites the wood but flint ignites the tinder."

My companions stare at me as if I have suddenly spoken dwarvish. I sit up, disguising a small sigh. "What I mean is that we cannot know the motivations behind our...trials here. It may be dangerous for a good many people here. This world is embroiled in a war we do not understand."

They do not appear convinced. "What is there we can do about it?" Ralts says at last.

"We can continue on to Holly," I say, "and perhaps find an ally that can tell us about the dangers of this place."

"We are a bit exposed here," Inara says in grudging agreement.

The midday sun blazes overhead as our hired transport blazes magnificently on the river before us. After many minutes, we pull ourselves to our feet and restart our journey to the big city on the horizon. There is no rescuing the ship now. We leave it to burn.

The remainder of the day is fraught with paranoia. Travelers approaching from behind or from ahead are considered with suspicion. I suggest traversing the countryside instead of the road to avoid strangers but my companions prefer to stay with the road. I eye Locian as we discuss our options wondering where this solidarity was when we were securing transport from Lutal.

At last we reach the gates of the giant walled capital that is Holly. Things happen quickly then. Giant bells peal, alerting large swaths of the populace to gather. We find ourselves swept up in the rapids of a human river that deposits us at the base of Sword Avenue. For a moment I feel both safe and exposed. In the monastery there was never a concern for assassins. My fears ebb as I see an old man prepare to address the throngs of Hollians. Is that Grandfather? He looks like a grandfatherly sort. Beside him stands a young woman, very thin, and dressed brightly. At first actors on this stage mean nothing. It could be an execution or a wedding announcement for all that I know. The young woman walks a few steps, standing closer to the old man and I realize that I recognize that stride. I blink, doubting my still-grief-stricken mind, and look closer. She is indeed an elf. I thought elves were extinct now, save for Locian. I leave my comrades and weave through the crowd, suddenly anxious. The crowd is agitated as I am. They are like tinder awaiting a spark. I push my way past merchants and mothers until I stand a mere 200 feet from the old man and his elven companion. And now I can see that it is her. Solaria lives! She looks out into the sea of faces, unaware that we have arrived at her feet, as unaware as we were minutes before that she lived at all. I am unable to contain myself.

"Solaria!" I yell and push my way to the front of the crowd. I yell it again and again as the crowd gets so dense that I have no place to shove citizens to pass through. I climb rudely onto the shoulders of a boulder of a man, inked along both arms with anchors and naked women. I apologize as he curses loudly and step as lightly as possible, as quickly as possible the last 35 feet from shoulder to shoulder. At the base of the terrace where our resurrected companion stands I insert myself back into the crowd. I yell again, my hands outstretched to the woman above me, mere yards away. I can see her as clearly as the day she lay bleeding; as clearly as the day the flames consumed her flesh and bones.

"Solaria!"

She looks my way with a blank, searching expression. For a brief moment, I hold my breath. Will she remember us? More importantly, will she forgive us for failing her?

As my companions and I traverse the streets of Holly, mingling with and meandering through the dense crowd, I cannot help but reflect upon our time in this land. Since our arrival, itself still fraught with mystery, we have been plagued with a number of calamities. And while I know little of the lives of those who now accompany me in this place, we have forged, if nothing else, a tenuous bond and a formidable cabal meeting most of the challenges that have been thrust upon us with success. unfortunately, despite all our triumphs, none of them can be seen as such, not in my eyes at least. The night we lost Solaria, in which we were unable to defend the girl and allowed her to be slaughtered in a volley of arrows, will forever hang over me, a mark of shame blighting my conscience. if I am unable to protect the innocent and uphold justice, what is my worth?

In the flurry of the past few days I have felt something missing within myself. Initially I had assumed it was solely anguish for the loss of our friend but as we have continued to travel, and specifically at the Temple to Lawbringer in Lutal, the truth has revealed itself to me. I am unable to hear his guiding voice, or divine any sort of direction from him. I feel drained and even more lost than before. Never in my life have I been without his presence and here, at a time that I and the others could surely use it most, it is lost to me. Bastion, the other man of the cloth traveling with the group, has seemingly not been affected as I have. When I next have a chance I must make note to inquire with him regarding the issue. Perhaps he has noticed the feline nature of many of our attackers and felt the divine presence that has accompanied each of them as well.

"Ralts," Locian had stopped me with an outstretched arm and pointed forward with the other. "look, it's...Solaria. We should be cautious."
I nod in astonished agreement and follow him slowly towards the terrace on which the once deceased elf now stood, brightly adorned amongst several others seemingly participating in a ceremony of some sort. As we approach, a commotion in the crowd draws our attention and we see Bastion scurrying onto the shoulders of a giant of a man then begin making his way towards her on the backs of the crowd.

"Solaria!" he cries, drowned out by the large audience that has gathered."Solaria!"

"Well," I say to Locian" so much for caution."

The crowd is silent at first as they watch the four people ascend to the terrace. Then like a wind blowing across plains of wheat, whispers begin to flow over the crowd.

"Together? Both of them?"

"It's been a century!"

"Not in our, lifetime. Not since Prefector Ulaf An’druk."

"An’druk! Don't speak his name, Lawgiver protect the West."

"Who is with Grandfather? Is she Tansdenian?"

"Tansdenian? Don't be daft, she's more olive than purple."

"She's obviously Merdian."

The large soldier on the terrace steps forward, confidence in his gait, the midday sun gleaming off his polished platemail. He removes a simple yet polished helmet to reveal a closely shorn head with gray hair. He puts his hand on the pommel and waits patiently before raising his hand calling for silence. In a booming voice that rings through giant stone walls of Turth Street;

"People of Holly, I am Prefector-Primus Gaufrettes Neville-Turth and I am a man of few words," before pausing and gauging the crowd, "Prefector Kaleah Jessica Tansden has sacked Drakarth!"

His words have barely left his mouth when the street erupts into frenetic cheers. Hats are tossed into the air, couples embrace, children shriek and some cry. The soldiers in the crowd stiffen with pride as they try to remain composed. The cheering goes on for almost a quarter of an hour before Gaufrettes signals for calm and even then he is made to wait for it.

Gaufrettes lowers his hand once more, "Citizens of Holly I share in your exuberance, but I caution you against your conclusions. Our struggle against the horde has been long and painful, and yes we have taken their final stronghold, but this does not mean that the conflict is over, only that it will change. Our rangers have already informed of us of a goblin force making their way towards The Great Ice, to what end we do not know, and we have yet to capture their warship Grimspeed. But do not relinquish your joy to quickly, for here we have ..." and the dwarf behind him steps forth and withdraws from satchel a hideous deformed head, gasps are heard from the child and they become still. "the head of Kurgan! Taken by Tansdens own hand with Steel!"

The ovation from the crowd from this second announcement drowns the first, the streets become a throng of unanimous chanting of chanting "Tansden! Tansden! Tansden!" the row continues seemingly unabated, Gaufrettes, removes himself from forefront of the terrace. As the elderly gentleman to his left nods his approval and walks slowly to the front of the terrace. The crowd becomes still once more, quieter than the grave and patiently wakes for him to speak.

At last he does so with a firm yet soft voice, "My friends it has my pleasure to serve you these past few years. They have seen changes like no other generation has seen, and none shall see in the future. It is no small rumour that we are seeing more mages born now with each passing generation. Many have speculated on what this means, myself included. Today though I bring to you an answer. Through our faith in law and our abidance to structure, Lawgiver has seen fit to reward us. And as Drakarth fell in the north, rebirth began here in the south. I have brought with me today, found in the glorious forest of Leanth, the first elf to walk on Sheanere in four millennium. The Lady Solaria Xilsciente of the elven city of Persolacquo. Please join me in welcoming her here today to our fine city." and with a elderly wave of his hand to the elf to his right.

She approaches with a subtlety and grace not seen in centuries, she smiles and bows to the crowd and speaks in a melodic and symphonic voice, the language of which is a mystery to the listeners, but entrances them none the less. Children cannot help but smile, and warm feelings flow into the hearts of old warriors. Curiosity spreads to many an onlooker, questions are proffered and bandied about amongst crowd, who now act as if they are enjoying a carnival.

Then from the west, from the great cathedral of the Lawgiver comes a piercing thunderous sound of it's massive organ blasts through the air in a song familiar to a few listening in the crowd. The skies darken as birds of all sorts descend upon the crowd, their squawking replacing the joy of the day. The crowd begins to move to avoid them, when the castaway Ralts is bumped by a large blacksmith. His veil dislodges for only a moment, but a moment is all that is needed. In unison the citizens of Holly point to him and scream a single word,

"GOBLIN!"

My words seem to fall on deaf ears. Solaria is introduced to the crowd. The group seems excited to see her.


The cheers of excitement quickly turn to gasps and screams.

"GOBLIN!"

I turned and drew my swords, only to see Raltz with his hood down, and several of the guards advancing on him. I charged forward, crashing into one of the guards, knocking him off his feet. "Raltz, Run!!" I swung my swords at the other guards, trying to lure their attention on me long enough for Raltz to get away. After several seconds, I was surrounded, but Raltz was able to slip away. I kept attacking, making it impossible for them to pursue Raltz untill I was dealt with. Just when it looked like I was outmatched and about to be killed, I used my Eladrin abilities to slip into the Fey long enough to slip away, I reappeared in an alley about 20 feet from the guards. I ran down the alley, Putting as much distance between myself and the guards as possible before the guards could piece together what happened.

As the bulk of the crowd whipped around, my gaze was met with those of hundreds, filled with a righteous rage. I am no goblin but in these lands, with the ravenous mob descending upon me, thirsty for blood and fueled by their recent victories, explanations would surely not suffice. No, my only course of action, my only means of survival was to run. But how? In the dense crowd there was little room to manuever and surely, with the thralls attention focused on me and my green tinged skin, slipping away was not an option.

Suddenly, several of the advancing guards toppled towards me and I gripped the hilt of my blade. While I had no quandary with the citizens or those sworn to protect and defend Holly, it was clear that taking prisoners was not part of the days festivities. However, their movements were unbalanced, their stances broken and a moment later I realized what had occurred. "Ralts, RUN!" Locian barked as he pushed and shouldered his way through the crowd and began slashing wildly at those who had encircled me. Perhaps not a stranger but still no more than an acquaintance, a travelling companion and yet he would risk life and limb at the hands of hundreds. For but a second, I stared, torn at the prospect of leaving him behind to face them but this was not the time nor place for internal conflicts. He had provided a distraction and if I did not act upon it then it would all be in vain. In the ensuing struggle I deftly managed to adjust the hood of my cloak to cover my face and began snaking my way backwards through the mass of people now huddled around the brawl that Locian and several guards were locked in. Soon I turned and spotted a large wall of dense brush and somehow managed to slip through unseen.

When I emerged through the other side I surveyed my temporary refuge. A young human woman stood casually amongst the flowers, picking several and placing them in a large basket close to her. Small birds circled the sky above and flitted in and out of the trees, their sweet song somehow piercing the crowds cries coming from just beyond the foliage.

"Sir? Are you all right? I do believe you've stumbled into the wrong garden. These grounds belong to my aunt and uncle. I visit this time of year to help them harvest." She looked bewildered but not frightened. "The crowd certainly sounds as if they're in a right state. I believe I heard several of them shouting goblin if you can believe it!" When she said this she snickered, bent down placed the plants she had picked into her basket and dusted her palms off on her apron. She extended her right hand towards me. "Mallory Lonsdale."

I hesitated. "Ralts. I heard them crying goblin as well, though I think I know their reasoning." Slowly I approached and thrust my hand out to meet hers.

She recoiled her hand and I nearly fled again but her eyes stayed fixed upon my cowl, filled with wonder and a certain slyness. "Well, Ralts, where I am from a gentleman removes his hood in the presence of a lady."

--------------------------------------------------------------
To be continued.

She couldn't hear me, or wouldn't perhaps. The crowd was cheering and I was one face amongst hundreds, or perhaps thousands. Behind me a fight erupted, or something. I turned to look but couldn't see. Then cries of "Goblin!" spread through the crowd and they panicked like startled livestock. Some brave souls plunged toward the ruckus while many others pushed away, fleeing the plaza. Pure chaos ensued.

At first I was pinned by a wall of unwashed bodies. The surge of pressure was brief, however, as people ebbed away from the center of the plaza towards the exits and into the city. I crouched and followed an eddy of people swarming toward the south gate. Well before approaching the exit, however, I sidled up to the heavy stone wall and peered back over my shoulder. Guards were protecting the speakers at the center of the plaza but I could not see Solaria. She had disappeared, as if just a figment of my imagination all along. My eyes scanned the vortex of angry and panicking people for the attack. I could see the crowd thinning and saw an opportunity to leap into the fray and defend the city, if need be. I could see no fighting or any goblins at all. It was stormy sea of shouting, excited people.

Looking around, I saw a stone block jutting from the wall ten feet above me. I found hand and foot holds and scaled up to my perch where I could get a better view of the fray. There were definitely no goblins that I could see. The crowd quickly dispersed and I sat patiently, looking for my comrades to re-emerge. I had utterly lost them and we had been so swept up by the crowd upon entering the city that we had made no plans on where to go or where we might stay here.

My legs ached and grew stiff but I remained poised on my perch until dusk. At long last I dropped down to the cobbled streets and began to explore the now calm plaza. I could see no sign of my friends and it was getting dark. A temple might provide me with refuge, so I chose a path and began to search for some shelter. I hadn't ventured far beyond the plaza before I heard a sharp hissing.

"Psst," the voice said again. I looked about, dumbfounded. "Bastian, down here."

The street curved down to the foundation of a row of shops, where rainwater and liquid waste from the day's business could run off into an arched sewer hole. A cloaked shadow stuck his hand into the moonlight and waved me closer.

"Locian?" I said.

"Keep it down!" he hissed. "Get in here. You should see this."

I crouched, investigating the sewer opening. It smelled putrid but I could see other people milling about behind Locian. Maybe some of the others had gathered here as well. Deftly, I slid into the hole and let my eyes adjust to the very dim light...

"GOBLIN!"

And my speech was interrupted, just like that. My eyes dart instinctively towards the alarm, and the blood drains from my face. I know those people. I know the "goblin". And despite what I might owe Grandfather, most of my token job has been fulfilled. I turn to him hastily, and begin removing my ceremonial dresses, revealing my casual clothes and new hide armor underneath.

"I am sorry, but my friends, they need my help. Please do what you can to settle this crowd - the man they think is a threat isn't, and you know it. I don't want anyone getting hurt in the confusion."

My attention diverted often back to the area where I saw Ralts, I see a familiar bald man crawl into a manhole. I take a second to stop fussing wit my belongings, and give my saviour a deep bow.

"Thank you for your help. Send word if there is anything else we can do to assist you in the future."

Grandfather smiles and nods, and with that, I fasten my pack, smile widely at him, turn towards the balcony's edge, and step off vanishing into nothingness.
Added at: 18:03
He is here, the Knower, and standing so close to the Abombination. He knows what she is. He must.

The creatures scatter. They know nothing. And despite seeing the Abombination here, I relish their chaos.

The fools.

Master Nicholas Peers sat quietly in his office reviewing the latest ledgers from the fabric guilds and calculating there most recent price increase. It was not a chore he relished, but one he had inherited. In thirty years he had risen from scrubbing the hulls of naval slips to building his own galleons. Over five score ships of all shapes and needs bore the touch of his inspiration. Experience has it's drawbacks though, gone were his days with a tool in his hands. Gone were the saws and planes, replaced with ledgers, invoices and trade agreements. He gently puts down his latest headache and gazes out at the ship in drydock now being constructed. A fair vessel, for a merchant in O'Leare, capable of transporting almost 50 tons of materials at good speed. A knock at his door interrupts his train of thought.

"Come in Nevin."

"Master Peers, sir, missive from Holly, triple sealed." a small scrawny one eyed boy produces a firm piece of parchment clearly sealed with the seals of the Parliament of Sheanere, the Prefector-Primus and of the Golem Academy. The carpenter accepts the letter and politely dismisses the page, "That will be all Nevin. Thank you."

A deft opening with a favoured carving knife, and the Master Shipmaker begins to read the letter. A few moments into the prose and he takes a moment to sit down back at this desk. His brow furrows with the contents of his missive. He finishes reading it, sets it down on his cluttered desk. A moment or two passes and he reads it again. And then a third time. He pauses finally and cries out, "Nevin!"

The door snaps open and the page reappears, "Yes Master Peers sir."

"I want every guild master in the city in my office by three bells. Drag them out the brothels by their balls if needed, just get them here. Go."

As the page darts back out of the office, Peers turns to look again at the harbour. Five hundred thousand within eighteen months, what in Lawgivers name could it mean?

"Who is he?" I say, squinting at the man leaning against the stone wall of the sewer. A beam of moonlight splashes across his face, revealing a shiny bald pate and a dour expression.

"I thought he was you," says a familiar voice. I turn and see her again, not imagined but real. She gives a sheepish grin.

"Solaria!" I say, for lack of anything else to say. "Thank Allytyn in all her wisdom."

"Except for the bald head, I don't see much of a resemblence," Locian says, impatient with our reunion. They had most of the late afternoon to catch up, no doubt. My mind is still reeling at the prospect that the woman we saw die, saw burn, stands before me.

"You have to tell me..." I begin.

"I know," Solaria says, turning to Locian. "But he was very far away. It was an honest mistake from that distance."

"He is much fatter, even for a human," Locian says.

"That is all well and good," I say but am cut off again.

"Locian!" Solaria says with a familiar gentleness. "He doesn't deserve your suspicion any more than I."

"That is a good point," I say, trying to change the subject.

"We don't know that he is a shipwright just because he says so," Locian says.

"He smells like a shipwright," Ralts says finally.

"Ralts!" I say "How did you find them here?"

"Well I..." he says.

"He is unarmed, Locian," Solaria says. "And he hasn't even tried to escape, not even when Ralts showed up and scared him half to death."

"All the more reason to not trust him," Locian says. "He may very well be a spy."

"For who? Grandfather? The man who pulled me from the ashes?" Solaria says.

"I would love to hear that story," I say.

"Everyone we have met so far has been either unhelpful or outright aggressive," Locian says, cutting me off again.

"Well, why not let him go, then?" Solaria said firmly. "I'm sure he has a family or something that is missing him."

"I agree," I say, and gesture at the quiet stranger against the wall. "Let's let mister..."

"Arkan," he says.

"Arkan go and we can get down to..."

"He knows where we are!" Locian says.

"Also," I say, looking around, "Where is Inara?"

Solaria laughs. "Are you intending to stay here forever then?"

I sigh and sit down next to Arkan while the two elves bicker. "So you're a shipwright, eh?" I say.

"Didn't qualify for military service," he says without looking at me.

I nod silently to myself, happiness radiating my chest. I barely notice the putrid sewer water lapping against my feet.

"I will lower my hood, but I must ask that you not scream or call for the guards. I promise, I wish you no harm and only to reunite with my fellow travellers." Pensively, I began removing my hood. I feel the warmth of the sun bathe over me as I do. Stuffed under my robes as I have been, hiding myself in plain sight ever since we arrived in this place, I had forgotten just how good its rays felt.

Mallory gasps quietly and stares, mouth agape. "You...well...you are certainly no goblin that's for sure but I can see how the crowd would have been fooled. But if not a goblin than what are you, where have you come from?"

"It may be best, better for you and my companions, if I remain silent regarding that. My concern at the moment is finding my friends and while I appreciate your kindness Mallory, I fear if I linger in these gardens much longer I will be found and you and your family charged with harbouring a fugitive."

Puzzled, the girl stood for a moment, thinking and then cried out "Oh! The well! If you return to the streets they will no doubt find you but you could descend into the well and make your way through the sewers."

Quietly, I nod and turn to make my way towards my newly offered escape route. "I will make this up to you Mallory. When or how I do not know but I am forever in your debt." Slowly I lower myself into the depths of the well.

"You had better return one day Ralts, I'm eager to collect on that debt!" She yells down the well, her words echoing as they bounce off the walls.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For hours I trod through the murky filth, unsure of where exactly I was headed. I swore that I could here voices that sounded like arguing and began following the sounds as the reverberated along the slimy, sticky walls.

"Explain yourself! Why have you followed us? WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?!"

"Please...I was only trying to avoid the crowd! I have no desire to be trampled under foot today and only sought refuge like yourself. How was I to know others would be down here? I am a but a shipwright."

"Locian, calm yourself. We don't have any reason to be suspicious of the man."

I quicken my pace once I heard Locians name spoken. Peering around a corner I see three figures standing in a tunnel and recognized two of their silhouettes.Placing my hood atop my head once again and approach the group.

"Certainly is fancy meeting you lot down here." The portly man jumped at my words and slipped, finding himself covered in sewage. "Someone is a bit on edge eh Locian?"

"Ralts! You old dog! You made it." Locian says, one eye still affixed to the stranger.

"I did, thanks to your intervention. I am glad to see you friend. And Solaria too." I bow graciously. " I am not sure how you are here but I can't say it's an unwelcome surprise."

"How did you find us Ralts?" Solaria asks.

"A young woman pointed me towards the sewers after I fled into her garden. She was...most kind." I think back on my time in that place and pray a silent prayer to my silent god that no harm befalls Mallory for aiding me. "Once down here, I heard Locian shouting at him." I say as I offer my hand to the shipwright while he sits dejected, flinging off mud and muck from his clothes.

He takes it and nods graciously as he stands to his feet. "Thank you sir."

"Have we heard nothing from Bastian or Inara?" I ask.

"No, not since he went clamouring towards Solaria and, come to think of it, I can't recall the last time I saw Inara..." Says Locian, more relaxed now but still weary of the stranger in our midst.

"I suggest we stay down here until nightfall, moving through the streets now would be unwise and perhaps the others will think to use the sewers as a means of escape as well." Solaria states with a watchful eye towards the grates and feet moving past them above.

Five lost citizens of Aime and one wayward from the town of Holly, find themselves hiding in the sewers of that city to escape the calamity above. Some arrived through kindness, others from cunning, others just fell down a well.


Inara creates of globe of light with her hand and it hovers in midair allowing everyone a chance to see each other again. Questions aplenty for Solaria and how she came to be in the city, and how she came back to life. Answers are given, but little time for explaining, the group seeks to find their way out of the offal that covers their ankles.


Exploration leads to discovery, and soon the group finds what appears to be a ladder up to the street. Locian, begins to test the metal rungs only to find that the stone it was secured in had grown week and crumpled into pebbles. A dull groan is heard and the entire area around them collapses.


Startled but unharmed, the greys find themselves without their native guide in a lower level of the sewer system. This one much older than the other above, and much stiller. The flotsam barely moves in this system. Again Inara lights the way, and the party makes their way through a maze of tunnels. Several encounters with the local wildlife, rats of all making are dealt with in short order.


Until Bastions quick ears alert him of a more sinister threat. Great moaning can be heard in the passage way ahead. Slowly the party creeps forward until they glimpse the form of a horrible zombie! I immediately rushes at them, they are surprised by its speed and tenacity, but together they quickly deal with it. Fool heartedly Locian surges forward and runs directly into a pack of zombies investigating their companions fate. The elf quickly finds himself in the fight of his life against superior numbers. His fellow castaways quickly rush to his aide and with a concerted effort are able to destroy the horde of undead. A quick collective sigh of relief and the exploration of the tunnels resumes.


More encounters with rats and more sewage soaked boots, until the party comes to an intersection, as they discuss which route to take, horrible visions of undeath leap out of the sewage and tear into them like rabid wolverines. A deadly wight corners Inara quickly and savagely beats her until she falls to her death in sewage. Skeletons surround and isolate Locian away from his vulnerable companions. And a wight of considerable power rebukes the party and scatters them around the sewer. Only through their combined talents is the group able to defeat these Lilith charged aberrations. But the victory is not without cost, as one of their own lies dead in the sewage.


Locian moves to lift the corpse from the muck. The castaways watch in awe as their mage rises from halls of the dead with a deathly grip on the throat of Locian. Blank eyes stare into the elfs soul, before he is tossed across the sewer with unholy strength. A silence falls over the group as their once friend flees from scene of the rotting flesh and stale bones. A small clink is heard as Inara flees the seen.

"Her ring!" Spies Ralts, "There by the slime."

"And something more," echoes Solaria, "the wight had this upon it's person. It's pulsing with magic."

Dumbfounded over whither to pursue their dead friend or recover from their wounds first, the party pauses to examine the new item. Neither of the elves can understand it, not the plane citizen, but when presented to Bastion, mendicant of Allytyn, he collapses into a heap upon the sewer floor.


The monk twitches and flails as his eyes roll back into his head. Visions of what has past flood his mind, millions of years of information in a manner of seconds. The rise of empires, the spawning of the horde, the hardening of humans and dwarves. All is revealed, and in a massive shout of anquish Bastion lurches back into lucidness.
“I kn..knn…know where w w ww we are.”

Mater Nicolas Peer stares out his window at the harbour below, when is office door is opened and belligerent dwarf is ushered inside. His protests cut short by the master builder, "Take your seat Fogle."

Turning to address the group seated around his table all have looks of contempt on their faces for this unexpected interruption to their routines. "As of this moment the price of all goods and materials relating to the construction of sea faring vessels shall remain fixed at their current prices."

"You can't do that! You don't have that authority Peers! This treatment is outrageous, what are you after.." screams Allain Bruvanes, leader of the carpenters guild. His voice trailing off as Master Nicolas raises the letter off his desk and shows the four of them the seals of the Triumverate. "No but they can, and they have."

"We have been tasked with an undertaking the likes of which has not been scene since the construction of the wall. Five hundred thousand sailors to dispatch in eighteen months. Ships the like of which have never been dreamed of; coastal cutters, ocean fairing slips, transports and warships capable of engaging and defeating a sea lion at a full half a leaque! Ships with the capacity to remain at sea for months if not years. We have before us a task unlike no other, today begins the creation of the first armada of Hollanth."

Stunned silence grips the four guildmasters in their seats.

"Allain, we will need every available carpenter in the country, draw them in from wherever you can, but be mindful not to take any wood cutters. Kelly, I will need crop estimates for fabric production for the next three months on my desk tomorrow. Cadance, we begin drafting preliminary designs immediately, there isn't enough time for us to have our hands in all the designs, so you will have to delegate it accordingly. Fogle, we will need Dwarven Fire, in manners only this letter can explain."

The world spun suddenly, dramatically. I think it was to my left because I remember falling to my right, trying to catch myself with my free hand. Maybe that is just the way I actually fell, though, and the Change didn't occur until a second later. At first it felt like I was shrinking or becoming younger. A wave of oppressive age just washed over me. I was feeling the age of the entire world around me and I felt infantile in comparison. The illusion of shrinking changed suddenly and I felt a constancy to my own person while the world expanded. Details dissolved. The old stones of the sewer walls lost their years of grime and the tiny colorations from the different types of sand and earth that composed the stones blended into a dull, uniform gray. Soon those bleak colors faded until I saw a skeleton of lines defining the barest structure of the world. I could see far beyond our dank, maze of a sewer.

Things happened quickly after that and I am not entirely certain of all the details. I remember a voice, as if narrating my vivid dream. It was not my own, nor one that I recognized. It was husky and vaguely effeminate and I could not find where it came from. I thought...I still think...it may have been Allytyn herself. I want so much for that to be true. The voice reassured me, I think. It was very non-threatening and matter-of-fact, describing what I saw. I felt as if I was in school again and I remember laughing...no, giggling at the thought. The voice was undeterred by anything I did or said, so I remained silent.

I saw creatures and plants and expansive vistas all soar past me...or...or through me. There were creatures I had never heard of, some of them truly terrifying in their ferocity and sheer power. I remember so little of them now except the fear and awe at their mere existence. My lesson progressed rapidly, so fast that I could not follow it. The minutia of magic itself seemed to unfold before my eyes and I could almost grasp how it worked. Then followed a brief respite wherein I found myself looking down upon the entire world. There was no narration and nothing moved through or around me. I found myself suspend above All That Is. I could see Kabisera and the entire southern and northern continents. Far to the east, beyond the great island of Lalaw, and expansive sea stretched...right to the shores of a massive land. It was larger than any land we know and it held a familiar shape. It was the one from the map, the one where we were washed ashore. We had been cast across the world to a land that was new...but it had always existed. I had a brief moment of clarity as I realized what had happened and where we were. And then everything collapsed. I fell, rapidly, terrifyingly towards the world. The frame of the world filled out and the detail returned. Smells and touch were powerfully present and I found myself groggy, but awake. I don't know how long I had dreamed but I felt tense and unrested. It was as if I had been forced to read a library's worth of books. I could remember nothing except that vision of the world, whole and large. Then I remembered: We are a long, long way from home.