Chapter 6

No sight. No sound. No
stirring.

Time stretches... but then, they are not even sure
time exists.

They are not certain of having a
body; they are not breathing, certainly. They cannot tell if they
have eyes to open, and even if they did, what would there be to
see?

An infinite nothingness envelops them, absorbs them,
transcends them, is one with them.

The pitch is eternal and
unrelenting.

After an impossible amount of time -- or,
perhaps, no time at all -- a small mote of light flickers.

Its
whiteness stands out against the dark all around them; an unreal
point in an ocean of void.

This impossible thing seems right,
but unreal. Is the point of light before them? Behind them? Within
them? Or are they the light? They make no sense of it in this
strange, barren expanse.

The light grows. For the first time,
they feel warmth. For the first time, the oppressiveness of the
darkness relents. The shadows that clutch at them withdraw ever so
slightly.

A million years, or one second later (who could
tell?), the light shines in a multitude of colors. Colors that exist.
Colors that don't. They perceive them all.

The light breaks
into fifths. The colors swirl. The motes of light grow and grow until
they form into five humanoid bodies.

As they look around,
they notice that the lights which had been part of them are merely
extensions of the skyglyph. It surrounds them, its embrace warm and
comforting. Before they have time to feel more than a sense of muted
affection, the world begins to go black once more, and they see, and
feel, nothing again.

Oren slowly rises, his eyes flickering
open.

He pushes himself up and looks around slowly. He is
laying on a patch of dry land. To the north is a vast expanse of
water. To the south, swampland. There are books everywhere on the
ground. Some are stuck in the mud, slowly being damaged by the
water.

Elise turns to look at him. "Oh, you're awake.
That's good." She turns to look back at the sky, her brow
furrowed. Votig, Eliam, and Minerva are laying on the ground, all
within thirty feet of him. None have yet risen.

Oren hops over
to Votig to check him. He begins to stir as the mage
approaches.

Elise walks over to Minerva, who is out cold. She
places a hand gently on her forehead. "Seems okay..."

Seeing
that Votig is okay as well, Oren turns to Eliam. He begins to stir as
Oren approaches him. Elise casts Healing Touch on Minerva, and she,
too, starts to rise.

Satisfied the party is safe, Oren begins
to collect the books they brought with them, and stacks them neatly
on a dry part of the ground. Six of the books have fallen into the
swamp. The mud and water and muck have destroyed their pages and
rendered them illegible. The remaining books are damp, but not
irreparable.

Eliam notices his actions, and hands him the
books he'd placed in his pack. Oren stacks them near the others on
the dry land. After checking to see if they're all there, he picks up
a book and begins reading. Elise stares up at the sky. She looks
irritated.

Minerva sits down beside Elise, who is studying the
sky with intense focus and increasing irritation. "Something
bothering you?" she asks.

"Why did they have a glyph
leading here of all places?" Eliam asks, looking around at the
swamp.

"Because they're a corrupt cult church, lad,"
Votig answers.

Minerva turns her head around. "Well, that
or they had a reason. Wherever this is, I've never even heard of a
place like this. The Lyriad were in a lot of places but nothing like
this... mushy mushy smooshland."

"The real question
is, *now* who's going to vouch for us as heroes. No one's going
to believe us," Eliam says.

"Just show them the
orb,” Oren answers distractedly, “and they'll believe you're who
you say you are."

"Yeah, hopefully that works.
We'll just have to find another corrupt cult church.”

"I
doubt Votig would like that. At this rate they'll end up dead too,"
Oren says, reading the books still. "And good riddance to
them."

"Look," Elise says, pointing up. Her
finger gestures toward the sun.

"You're not supposed to
look directly at the sun" Eliam says. "Most children know
that.”

"Most children also know which direction the sun
moves. This sun doesn't. I was awake for about half an hour before
any of you," she says. "I was watching the sky while you
woke up. And from then until now, the sun went backwards."

"What
do you mean, backwards?" Oren asks, looking up.

"I
mean, the sun is supposed to rise in the east and set in the west,
and it's not doing that. It's moving backwards," she
explains.

"Or you don't know which way is north,"
Oren suggests.

"Of course I know," she says
absent-mindedly. "I asked the clouds."

Oren rolls
his eyes, returning to his books.

"So," Minerva
begins. "On the plus side: no orcs. That's nice. On the other
hand, no... anything. Nothing except water and mushy mushy
smooshland."

"We should have gone out the window.”
Oren says.

"Would have been a long drop," Minerva
answers.

"That's what the rope and ladders were for"
Oren answers, getting annoyed. "That cult probably trapped the
teleports after we outed how corrupt they were."

"Do
you mean **my** 'cult'?'" Minerva asks sweetly.

"**I** do,” Votig
answers. “The cult yer father died for, and that tried to poison
ye."

"That's right,” Oren
continues. “The Lyriad was using glyphs too, and it always led to
trouble. We should have known better"

"You don't
think the orcs are in on the cult, do you? If they went out of their
way to revive Samson,” Eliam chimes in.

"He's probably
not revived, I don't think you can bring someone back after too
long," Oren says. "But maybe we can cure him if he's
undead. Turn him alive. That way Minerva won't have to run the Lyriad
anymore and she can stay with us."

Minerva has no
response.

Oren flips through the book and identifies a chapter
on biomes. He sees towering mountains and never ending forests. He
sees massive white lands that he doesn't recognize, and a diagram
that looks somewhat similar to the place they are in now, captioned
with the word "swampland."

He holds up the book to
Minerva. "Smooshland.” He stands up, looking around to try to
get a better sense of his bearings.

She takes the book and
reads aloud. "The swampland of Thirshalon is situated on a chain
of islands that fill the widest sections of the Wandering Beck.
Travelers are advised not to find themselves caught in the swampland
at night, as most of the predators that live in the region are
nocturnal, and there is no safe place to set up camp."

Minerva
looks at Oren with skepticism as she returns the book. "You
don't... You don't really think this is..."

"Wait,
the swampland of *Thirshalon*?" Eliam says.

"The
skyglyph is wrong, so... maybe Elise was right," Oren
admits.

Elise hops up happily. "The clouds never lie.
Should we try to find a way out of here before nightfall, then? She
stands up and immediately begins following the first cloud she sees
moving.

"You can't just follow a cloud," Oren says,
annoyed.

"It's never led me wrong before," she says
airily. "What do you think we should do?"

"You
don't see Minerva jumping into fireplaces. And look,” Oren gestures
at the water, "I think it's that way! That doesn't make any
sense!"

Votig puts his ear to the ground. "Nope,
it’s that way,” he says, pointing in a random direction.

"Oh! Well we can try that,
Votig," Elise says innocently. She begins walking in the
direction he indicated.

Minerva quickly hops over to her and
takes her arm. "I am pretty sure Votig was joking," she
says gently.

"I remember a story I heard once,” Eliam
offers, “about a man spinning a lucky dagger and walking in the
direction it landed on to find his fortune. It's no worse a method
than following a cloud."

Oren flips through the book,
searching for something to help them navigate their surroundings. He
finds nothing on the skyglyph being inverted, but finds a map within
the book. The map is labelled "Thirshalon." It references
the "Wandering Beck" that was listed in the earlier entry,
and he sees a series of swampland islands in the middle of
it.

Wordlessly, Oren holds it out to the party.

"Okay...
So, if we assume that this **is** Thirshalon, this helps a
little," Minerva says. "But we don't know exactly where we
are."

"I thought ya said it was gonna be under
water," Votig says.

"I thought it would be across
the sea, actually, but I guess it's upside down on top of Sylvatir."
Oren pauses, studying the map. "Do you think we should head
southwest? To this Meadowbrook place? That looks like a good spot.
But if everything is inverted we should head... southeast? Or
northeast.” Oren looks to the sky, then back to the map. "We
could also to to the harbor, or maybe the haven. That sounds nice.
Anything but this judgement place. And really, none of these places
exist most likely, and they might not be inhabited. The Maker
supposedly killed everyone."

Votig sniffs at the air,
searching for any scents that might identify the presence of a
civilized being. The wind carries no hints. The air smells muddy and
earthen, infused with the soggy ground that surrounds the
party.

Elise points up at the sky, where she has been staring
all along. "So we thought it was mid-afternoon, but if the sun
is going backwards, I think it would be more like late morning. We
have plenty of time before nightfall to figure out what we want to
do."

Minerva shrugs. "Makes sense, but it's not as
though we have any idea where we're going."

"Southwest,”
Oren decides. “But if the world is flipped it could be northeast."
He looks around, trying to see if he can see the distant “foothills”
and a way they can actually go. He points at the swamp. “Can we
walk on that stuff?”

Minerva draws a dagger and pushes it
against the soft ground until it stops. "It seems firm beyond an
inch or two."

Oren packs the books he deems most
important, and separates the most valuable ones out from his pile.
“You can try to sell these ones, maybe,” he says as he hands
three of them to Eliam. The bard takes them happily, packing them
away.

Minerva sheathes her dagger and puts weight onto the
soft ground with her foot. It sinks just above her ankle, but holds
her weight. "Ugh. Going to need a bath tonight. Assuming we find
a place to hunker down. Are you ready to go?"

Elise looks
with disdain at the soggy path ahead. "I almost wish to
stay..."

“Stay if you want,” Oren says as he walks
out next to Minerva. “It's probably not that far... though it's
possible there's nobody here. Maybe the Maker really did kill them
all.”

The group trudges through the swampland, eyes soaking
in the sights of a completely foreign environment while their boots
soak in the sludge of the terrain. Occasionally, some fluttering
animal can be seen high in the sky out in the distance, but too far
to make out details, and no one save Elise seems to pay them any
mind.

Four hours pass, while the party acclimates to the new
land. Feet grow heavy with moisture and fatigue. Minerva wonders
aloud if they'll ever be clean again while Elise, beginning to
stumble, leans upon her for support. As the sun indicates late
afternoon, the group finally comes across some manner of well-worn
trail.

Oren pulls out the map. “So we should probably go
here,” he says as he points to some farmland in the west. “But if
things are reversed, it could actually be to our left.”

Minerva
studies the places he points out. "Either way, it looks like
we'll end up somewhere if the map is correct. We pick a direction and
either end up in Meadowgrove or Twaingate."

Elise looks
briefly at the map, studying the first town Oren pointed out. She
then looks back to the sky. She finally says, "The clouds'
counsel says to turn right."

"Left it is, then,"
Eliam says.

Minerva looks at him as though he's
grown a second head. “I wouldn't abandon you. I'm not going to
leave her behind, either. Besides, whatever strange thing happened to
us at the wellspring, she's going through as well. We're a team. Even
if we have some.... quirkiness in it.”

"She's useless and she's going to
get killed if she keeps acting like that. We can't have her stumbling
around daydreaming in a fight, and we have no idea what we'll find
here. We have things to do. We can't be taking care of her."

For
a moment, Elise makes eye contact with him, eyes full of hurt. The
expression is gone before he has a second chance to look. She turns
left on the road and says to Eliam, "We can go this way if you
think it's best."

Minerva exchanges glances with Oren as
if asking how loud he had spoken.

"She's listening to our
conversation with magic,” Oren says. “It's air magic, she
literally just cast a spell to spy on us. It's not unreasonable to
want to get rid of her even if she were useful. But she's going to
get hurt if she stays with us. We should find somewhere safe for her
to stay."

Minerva shakes her head. "If you doubt
her, then watch her. Nothing she's done has seemed malicious to me.
Even if she is eavesdropping, we **are** talking about her, so
she's not unjustified. I'd do the same thing if I could." She
leaves, following the others down the path to the left.

Oren
moves towards the group, deliberately pulling the others away from
the girls. He whispers to them his conversation with Minerva.

"We
can't afford to babysit a child during fights,” Eliam agrees. “It's
not abandonment, it's for everyone's safety, including hers.”

Oren nods. "We were just supposed to take her to
Fallowfield. Even if she’s blessed by the maker, it doesn't make
her part of our group like the rest of us... she just spied on us.
She could be working for the Lyriad."

Minerva stumbles as
she listens in, then says, "W-we **are** the Lyriad."

"You
know what I mean!" the mage protests.

"No, lass. We
aren't,” Votig adds.

Minerva grumbles to herself as they
continue to walk. "We should at least figure out where we are
and how to get home before we drop her anywhere. It doesn't seem
right to just abandon her. What would we tell Heather?"

"We
can leave her somewhere, figure out what we came here to do, then
pick her up when we know how to get home!" Oren says, loudly
this time.

"You make a good point though...” Eliam
considers. “Heather would surely be grateful that we took such care
in making sure her sister was safe.”

"So go,"
Elise says from ahead of everyone on the path. She is facing away and
trembling slightly.

She whirls around, her hair and clothing
rustling more than you would expect from that motion, her eyes misted
and purple. "Go," she repeats, "if I'm such a burden.
I can't help what I am. I hear everything around me. \*Everything.\* I
can't stop it. I can't turn it off. It happens. The wind carries
every voice, every whisper, every quiet confession, every secret, all
of it to me. And it never... ever. **Stops**."

"I
am not spying on you," she says with a rising voice, stepping
toward Oren. "As far as I'm concerned, you've said everything as
though you're talking to me. And I have tried, I have **tried**,
so hard for so long to block it out. I stare at the clouds and at the
sky and the sun and the stars and the moon and everything that's not
here because if I could just put myself in that world then maybe I'd
stop hearing ours."

"But I never can. So leave, if
that's what you want. I won't stop you and I certainly don't need to.
I'll be fine," she says, turning away. "I'm 19."

"Glad we settled that," Oren says, turning walking in the
opposite direction.

Minerva takes two steps after Elise and
calls her name once, but then sees Oren heading the other way. She
looks forlornly after the wind mage and says, "We're not...
she's... we're not actually doing this, are we? We're not just going
to let her go alone into wherever this is? Eliam? Votig?!"

Elise
is getting further away. She has not stopped. "Elise, wait!"
Minerva shouts. There is no response.

Minerva turns around and
glares at Oren. Her fists are clenched and her jaw is set. The rogue
draws one dagger and moves up to him. In one fluid motion, she spins
it, holds it by the blade, and drops the dagger into his hand by the
hilt, wrapping his hand around it. "I'm not leaving her alone.
You're keeping that as a promise. One day, you will find us. And you
will give me that dagger back. Don't lose it. Don't sell it,"
she says, "or I'll give you the other dagger the other way
around."

"Votig, take care of Chompy. Eliam, don't
knock up monster ladies."

"Wait,” Oren protests,
“you don't have to leave."

"And **you**,"
she says, ignoring him and kneeling down by Chompy. She scratches him
tenderly. "Look out for them all, okay? I kind of like them."
She takes off sprinting down the road. She only pauses to shout back,
"If we really **are** Children, we'll meet again. I believe
that."

"Are they mad at us?" Oren asks after a
moment.

A silence hangs temporarily over the group as the
weight of what has transpired slowly sinks in. Chompy sniffs at the
ground and looks around in confusion as he starts to follow, then
sees Votig not moving and trots back to him.

"Yeah,
they're pretty upset." Eliam answers. "I... I didn't
actually think Minerva would leave."

"Well,” Oren
says, “Elise will be safe with her at least."

"Women
get like this sometimes,” the bard says, trying to reassure him.
“They'll probably be back by nightfall.”

"Should we
follow them?"

"I mean, we don't really know where
we're going anyways,” Eliam says cheerfully. “Was there anything
that way on the map you found?"

"Another town, but
I'm not sure which way is which. Elise said this way," Oren
points, "was towards the farm town. And that way," he
points in the other direction, "was towards the haven
place..."

"Well, since yer so dead set on splittin'
up, I guess we're headin' to that farm town?" Votig
says.

"Works for me,” Eliam agrees. “I'm sure they
won't get that far before they stop being angry and come find us
again."

"Uh... well... I guess Elise said for us to
leave... maybe it would be better?" Oren suggests.

The
party begins to travel west, in the opposite direction that Minerva
and Elise had traveled. After a further two hours, with stomachs
rumbling, the swampland finally ends. A river runs ahead, with a
bridge that goes across it. In the distance, they can make out drier
land and some sort of grasses. The sun, from what they can tell, is
approximately two or three hours from the eastern horizon.

Oren
looks at the river, searching for a source of fuel and dinner. He
sees a school of fish swimming in the river below. "There must
be people,” Oren says as he looks around. “The bridge isn't a
thousand years old.”

"I really thought Minerva and
Elise would be back by now...” Eliam says quietly. “You don't
think they ran into trouble, do you?"

"They're going
to uh..." Oren pulls out the map. "Twain... gate. Unless
the world is inverted like the sky. When we find them, maybe they'll
know things we don't. I hope Elise doesn't get Minerva into trouble.
And I hope Minerva doesn't start any fights. Maybe they don't have
police here."

"Yeah, I'm worried how they'll handle
themselves without our help. Maybe they're planning to meet up with
us tomorrow,” the bard says.

"I'm not very good at
interpreting social situations" Oren says sadly. "So
whatever you think is probably right."

Chompy looks
longingly at the fish in the stream below. Oren looks at him, then at
Votig. "Can you get the fish? Can you punch them?"

Chompy
looks up to the dwarf for permission to go fishing. "Chompy,
think ye can catch us some dinner?" Chompy snaps his jaws and
takes off, galloping down an embankment that heads down to the river.
Once there, he immediately leaps in and gracefully cuts through the
water effortlessly. A fish leaps from the water to escape him when he
nears, but he hops above the water, catches it in his jaws, and
resubmerges.

"Well... you did make Elise pretty mad,”
Eliam tries to explain to the mage. “I think she's offended we said
we'd leave her somewhere without asking what she wanted to do. But
honestly, in that last fight she had a lot of trouble focusing... I
mean, she **says** she's 19, but I think that one's up for debate.
I don't know. I guess once they get back we can talk about it and
smooth things over. It seems dangerous to let a couple of women
wander around in the wilderness by themselves, but I guess it's too
late to worry about that now."

As they talk, Oren
examines the shoreline, looking to see if he can find any useful
plants or herbs. Unable to identify anything, he steps into the river
and washes off his boots. "Do you really think it's dangerous
for them to be alone? I think they're safe, Minerva is really good
at fighting. And I agree, Elise doesn't seem 19 but I'm not a good
judge of that either. Why would she be mad at **me**?" He
asks, looking at Eliam.

"Well... you called her useless
and accused her of being a spy. You probably wouldn't want to be
called those things, right? Even if in her case they're not *entirely*
inaccurate..."

A cold breeze blows off the river as they
wait for Chompy to return with his spoils.

"Maybe she
really can't control it,” Oren says, “but it isn't our fault. We
have things to do and it's hard to trust her when she came from the
place where that cult was based, and then she acts so suspicious."
He climbs back to the road, and calls over to Votig, "can you
cook fish? That stew was really good, but we don't have the other
ingredients..."

"Ya, I can cook 'em if we can get a
fire goin'," he answers. Oren sets to the task.

After a
few trips, Chompy delivers five fish to the group, expecting he has
provided for everyone. They settle down on the far shore, carrying
Chompy's offerings along. Votig throws the extra fish back to the
lizard, who sniffs at it and nibbles it slowly.

A woman
steps out. Her hair and eyes are dark, and she wears leathers of deep
brown and black. A shawl of silk is delicately wrapped around her
arms and hangs behind her back.

"Hello" Oren says
politely.

Gracefully she steps down from her wagon. Her
vehicle looks similar to the one they had ridden before, but the
covered back section has an additional wall on the rear, and a door
to grant access from the driver's section. She approaches slowly,
then stops upon hearing him speak. When she talks, her words are
accented differently.

"Hello, there. It is late to be so
far out on the road," she says. She her distance from the
camp.

"We're heading to... Meadowgrove," Oren says.

The wind from the river picks up and blows her hair around.
She moves her hand through her hair to fix it, and the points of her
ears are visible as she does so. "Mm... you are on the right
road, friend. A dangerous road, particularly at night."

Oren
looks to the others to speak. "Don't worry, miss. We're quite
capable of handling ourselves... but I do appreciate your concern. If
it's truly so dangerous, I hope you have some sort of escort with
you?" Eliam says.

The mage walks up to her. She
withdraws at his approach. "The road is dangerous for all this
late. Keep back, if you like."

Immediately, Oren stops. "Do you
know where lotus flowers grow?" He asks quietly.

"If
it is Meadowgrove you seek, travel down the road the direction I
came. Flowers grow in all places," she answers him. "Lotuses
less so.” She licks her lips as she looks at him and thinks over
his words. "Wonderful teas."

"Where can we find
them in the wild?" Oren asks.

"To the north."
She looks over at your campfire and notices Votig and Chompy. "So
many fish for so few travellers... why seek you the lotus?"

"You know... I couldn't live with myself letting an
elegant woman like yourself travel alone so late. You're more than
welcome to wait out the night with us, if you'd like,” Eliam
offers. “As you mentioned, we have plenty of food to share"
Votig looks at him as if he's gone insane.

Oren walks back to
the camp. "Maybe we should hurry to town,” he says, pulling
out the map.

"I think above all we, need ta get this lass
ta leave. Never trust an elf, much less one speakin' in cryptic
nonsense."

The woman regards Votig with an angry eye,
then looks at Eliam. "I am afraid my company would not be
welcome." She looks at Chompy. "Such a well-trained pet,"
she says, sincerely impressed. The lizard looks confused, and stands,
staring down the road in the direction Minerva and Elise went. "What
has his attention, do you think?" the woman asks. "Does he
sense a beast in wait on the other side of the bridge?"

Oren,
ignoring her question, tries to bring the map to her. "Where do
they grow?"

As he gets close, the woman hops backwards.
One of her hands moves behind her back. "Lotuses grow in the far
north, within the foothills, or so legends say. Stay back or I'll say
no more."

"How 'bout he stays back, ye say no more,
and leave, ya? Ye've overstayed yer welcome I feel, elf." As
Votig speaks, Oren stops in his tracks.

She narrows her eyes
at the dwarf, but can't stop from looking back at Chompy. "Your
beast. He is fixated. Why?"

"Where in the
foothills?" Oren continues to ask.

"Answer me, and
I'll answer you."

"He just misses Minerva,” he
answers. “She went that way." The woman's eyes follow Chompy's
up the road.

“Wait,” Eliam says, “You don't think she's
finally come back, do you?" He looks out in the direction Chompy
is staring.

"Where in the foothills do they grow? How do
we get there?" Oren asks.

The woman looks at Oren and
says, "I will take my leave. You will find a cave amongst the
mountains, as the rumors tell. Within the cave lies an open-air
chamber where rests a Fount. On the night of the full moon, the
lotuses bloom around the Fount... but these are legends, and I have
spoken too much." She turns her back hastily and walks quickly
to her wagon.

"Despite my friend's... unfortunate
comments, I always welcome the company of a beautiful woman, if you'd
like to reconsider," Eliam tries once more as she turns to walk
away.

"Wait, come with us,” Oren says as well. “Help
us get there."

As Oren reaches for her arm, the woman
whips her hand out from behind her back, revealing a dagger that had
been sheathed there. She swings it at Oren's hand, and he pulls his
hand away, though the blade catches him and leaves a gash down the
back of his hand. "I said **no**!" she shouts as she
runs back onto her wagon. She staggers once or twice as she runs and
climbs on, as though something about what just happened is making her
want to stay... finally she spurs her horses into motion and the
wagon begins to ride across the bridge. She looks at her dagger with
a trace of Oren's blood on it, looks at the young mage, and then
licks the dagger clean. "Mm... I was right," she shouts
back. "You **are** quite the... wonderful tease."

As
the wagon disappears, Eliam gently pulls Oren back to the
camp.

"Good riddance," Votig says.

"Why
would you say those things?” the bard asks, sitting back down at
the camp. “I think I really had a chance..."

"Save it for the towns, lad.
No privacy out here and I'm not interested in listenin'."

Oren looks at his hand. "I
hope she doesn't know divination, she'll be able to find me.
...Except she ate the blood so maybe not?" he says, wrapping up
the wound. “She was very helpful. Is Chompy really missing the
girls that much? I hope he's okay. We should probably head to town
before more vampires come out.” He grabs his stuff quickly,
beginning to pack.

"She did get sort of... weird at the
end there, though. Do you think everyone else here is like that?"
The bard asks, not moving from his seat.

Chompy stands on the
shore, looking out toward the opposite bank.

"I hope she
doesn't run into Minerva,” Oren says. “She would have a knife
fight with her. She wouldn't have let her get away with that, I bet."
Seeing no one else move to gather their things, he pulls out the book
on Thirshalon, and begins reading.

"Are we going to stay
here for the night or keep walking?" Oren asks.

"She
mentioned the road was dangerous... but we do already have our stuff
set up,” Eliam says. “I guess we could just have someone keep
watch and stay here."

"I'll keep watch," Votig
offers.

"All night? We should take turns,” Oren
protests.

"I'll be fine, ye two get some rest."

"You're
sure you won't be tired tomorrow?" Eliam asks.

Oren sets
his things down once more, pulling out a blanket. "Do you want
this?” He offers to the bard. “I have a cloak so I don't need
it.”

"I can't take your blanket! But I'm happy to
share it with you if you want," he offers.

He shrugs “You
use it. I don't need to be comfortable, and I won't freeze."

"You
don't need to be comfortable? Here, you can keep the blanket. To be
honest I like the cold!" Eliam says, handing it back.

Oren pulls the blanket over his
shoulders, unsure of how to handle the situation. “Hey,” he says,
turning to Votig, “Why didn't you like that lady? How did you know
she was a Vampire?"

"A what? Lad, that was an elf.
Ye can tell from the pointy ears and annoyin' way they talk," he
answers.

"Oh," the mage responds. "Why didn't
you like her? Eliam and I wanted her to stay but you were acting like
she was bad."

"Ye should always be wary of those who
feel the need to stop by someone's camp, lad, especially in a foreign
land. And she overstayed to give her elfy cryptic messages. Sometimes
ye just gotta trust yer gut. Plus she attacked ya, so I was
right."

"That's true." Oren pulls out a book on
blood magic, and quietly begins reading.

As Eliam falls
asleep, Votig plays quietly with Chompy. Oren continues his studies,
and as time passes, falls asleep as well.

The path
behind is quiet. There are some bits of cooked fish left from the
night before that will serve as a suitable meal.

The party
continues to walk along the path. Early afternoon, a caravan comes up
the trail beside them. Its driver doesn't seem to have noticed the
party.

"Let's get a ride," Oren says. He waves at
the caravan as it nears, and the vehicle slows down.

A man
waves down from the driving seat of the caravan. "A long way out
to be without any ride, aren't you all?"

"Walkin's
good fer ya, lad," Votig answers. The mage nudges Eliam to
handle the situation.

The man laughs in genuine mirth.
"Perhaps so, but it is a long walk to town, yet. I'm on my way
to Meadowgrove and could use some company if you are in need of a
ride."

"Yes we would like a ride please," Oren
says quickly before anyone can protest.

"Thank you sir! We'd appreciate
it," Eliam says, hopping into the caravan. The others follow
suit, and Chompy looks expectantly at Votig.

"Fine fine,
just tone down the laughter, elf," Votig grumbles as he steps up
as well.

The caravan heads off as the driver says, "My
name's Iberyn. I'm just delivering food to Asle Lenor for the
Judgment Festival. Have you been?"

"No we... came
from the swampland," Oren answers, tearing the map from his
book. He points to the foothills. “We're going here."

Iberyn
looks over the map and says, "Hm. Quite an old map you have
there. Where'd you find that?" As he says this, his eyes linger
overlong on the mage's ears before he looks away, hoping to not be
caught.

"Judgment festival?” Eliam asks. “That sounds
interesting. What is that?"

The man turns around fully in
his seat to look at Eliam. "I'm... sorry, I don't understand
your joke."

"He is so weird, right?" Oren
laughs awkwardly, trying to cover his mistake.

Iberyn leans
over to him and whispers, "Your friends seem a little...
strange."

"Yes, they are,” Oren agrees. “So have
you heard of the cave where the lotus flowers bloom but only during a
full moon? In the foothills? I hear it's great, but I'm not sure
where exactly it is and we're trying to get there." He shows him
the map again, pointing. "It's not on this map."

He
looks at your map curiously. "How strange. This **must** be
an old map. The cities are in the right place but the river isn't
right. Still pretty close overall... a cave with lotus flowers? Never
heard of it. Perhaps someone in Meadowgrove will know of what you
seek. I have to say," he says, scratching his chin, "I
can't say you'll have a lot of luck finding flowers up there. Far too
cold for anything to grow up past the foothills."

"Flowers?
We're not after flowers, lad. We're tryin' ta get home. Unless
they've got an army here we can recruit..." Votig says.

"Well
that's where the wellspring is, and probably a good place to visit,"
Oren answers. "We can't go home until we find the place where
lotus flowers grow and find the skyglyph and lots of things." He
turns back to Iberyn. "Do you know if we can take a boat from
Meadowbrook to Ariglodo?"

He looks pensive. "You
could try and charter a boat from Meadowgrove but all the daily
routes just go north to Meadowgrove Harbour."

"Can
we get a boat from there, though?" Oren asks.

"Lad,
flowers aren't gonna fix what ye said to Elise. Now, if yer wantin'
to court her, I can teach ya the dance I used to woo me wife. Ah,
those were the days..."

Oren look back at him, confused.
"Why would I want *her*?"

"Ohhh...
*ohhhhhh*. You like Elise! That's what's happening," Eliam
says.

The driver looks at you knowingly. "And who's this
Elise of yours, friend?"

"Well I know she's a little
upset right now, but don't you worry. She'll forgive you in no time,"
Eliam says, ignoring Iberyn.

"Eliam is the one who cares
about that sort of thing,” Oren answers. “But if they want
flowers then all the more reason to find this cave. There will be
enough for everybody afterwards. But the flowers just grow there,
it's the wellspring we need, remember? We should be trying to fix the
other one and find a way home, and it might help us do that."

"Yea,
ta' break" Votig says when he mentions the
Wellspring.

"...Sure, you can break it,” the mage
offers.

"Hey, don't worry. I wouldn't pursue a girl I
know you like. It just wouldn't be fair. Don't you worry, Elise is
all yours," Eliam says cheerfully.

"I'm not remotely
interested in her in that way."

"Ah, honor among
friends is a good thing to see. Much like Oren not goin' after
Minerva, eh lad?" Votig elbows the bard in the ribs,
knowingly.

"You can have them both,” Oren answers
dismissively.

"Ha ha... well, I can't say the thought
hasn't crossed my mind!" Eliam says, patting Oren' arm. "But
Elise is a little young for me."

"She seems easy to
manipulate,” Oren says. “I thought that was your type." The
bard sits back, unsettled, as the mage turns back to driver. "So,
if you were heading to the foothills, how would you get there?"

The
driver pensively considers the lay of the land. "Your best best
would be to take a ferry to the Harbour, then join a wagon ride
halfway to Ilemashi, get off and walk north. But that's a perilous,
cold trip. I can't see anything being worth it."

Considering
his answer, Oren moves closer to Eliam, and puts his arm around him
comfortingly. "It's okay, once we have the flowers you can have
as many women as you like. Even that elf lady. Just trust me. Maybe
Votig can teach you his fancy mating ritual too."

"You
know,” Eliam says, putting his arm around him in turn, “If it
doesn't work out with Minerva, you could be my second
option..."

"Uh... sure... ok... well, she's much
more attractive. Also, I don't think you know how sex works because
**we're both men.** So... sure, yeah." He rolls his eyes at
Votig.

"Ha ha! Maybe **you** aren't sure?” the bard
laughs. “But I'm happy to teach you."

The driver
shakes his head. "What a strange crew..."

"...Sure,
maybe,” Oren says. “Maybe after we find those flowers, okay?"
Eliam sighs.

"How long until we get to Meadowbrook?"
Oren asks the driver.

“Oh, we'll be there by tomorrow
evening, I'm certain," he says. "It's a long road, you
know."

"Great, that's not too bad..." the mage
smiles at the group. "Much better than walking, even if it is
good for you." He opens his book on blood magic and reads
happily, leaning into Eliam.

"I'd rather be walkin' than
cramped up here with an elf," Votig grumbles.

The caravan
stops.

The man turns around. "I'm sorry, I mustn't have
heard you right."

"I have a hard time believin' that
with them ears," Votig says.

Oren tugs on Eliam's sleeve.
"Do something, charm them," he whispers.

The man
squints at Votig. "I thought you were just... short. Short with
disfiguration, but... you're a dwarf."

"I'm
sorry...” Eliam steps in. “Our friend was a famous fighter. Took
one too many blows to the head. He doesn't know what he's
saying.”

"No, no he's just a short, bearded, elf,"
Oren contributes.

"Yea, so I am,” Votig answers the
driver, ignoring the others. “It took ya that long? Can't really
expect much more, I suppose."

"We're all elves,”
the mage insists. “See? Look how skinny and pale we are." He
gestures at Eliam's lithe figure, and pulls his own shirt up a
little. “We're normal.”

"Don't insult me lad,”
Votig tells him. “An elf couldn't grow a beard a tenth as good as
mine."

"Um... thank you for taking us this close to
the city. You can just drop us off here. No need to escalate
anything,” Eliam says.

"No,” Oren says. “I don't
want to walk."

"I don't know what we did to offend
you so, dwarf, but with an attitude like that it's no wonder you're
nearly extinct. Perhaps keep a civil tongue as we near the city, or
get out and walk if you can't."

"Be polite, Votig,
or I won't help you remove your curse," Oren threatens, and
gestures to Chompy “And look at his little feet. He's not made for
cross country excursions."

"Yer not the only mage,
lad, and I'm not gonna sit by and be ordered around."

"Then
throw him out and drive, but I'm not walking anymore. I already
walked more these last two days than my whole life."

"I
beg your pardon?" says the driver.

Oren casually leans on
Eliam's shoulder, and gestures at the elf. “Well? What should we
do?”

The bard looks around and frowns. "Do you want to
have to murder this guy to keep him quiet? Because this is how you
reach that point."

The man tries to laugh bravely. "On
the most famous road in Thirshalon, you're just going to murder a
merchant and expect to get away with it? I think it's time for you to
leave my caravan."

"At this point,” Oren says,
ignoring the driver, “I'd murder him to keep Votig quiet. He's
being so mean and I just want to get to that pond."

"Why
ya always gotta go to the murderin'? It's less messy ta just borrow
it for a bit anyway." He aims to punch the driver, wanting to
knock him unconscious without killing him.

The punch knocks the driver off the
caravan. He lands on the ground, his arm folding awkwardly beneath
him as he cries out in pain.

"I never murder anyone,”
Oren insists. “You're the one always killing cops. I've hardly
killed anyone at all, and you have a hundred years of killing. I've
only done it this month, and never a random person like this."

The driver is dazed, but remains
conscious. He tries to scramble away. He shouts, "Get
away!"

Eliam sighs at Votig. "You're going to have
to get used to getting along with elves. We can't do this to every
person in the city once we get there."

"Watch me,” the dwarf tells
him.

"No hard feelings, right friend?”
Eliam says to the elf. “Just a simple misunderstanding.”

Oren hops down to Iberyn, taking
his arm and trying to set the bone. “Hold still, you're hurt. Don't
worry, I'm a doctor.”

As Oren goes to grab him, the man
begins instinctively kicking out in panic to get away, dazed and
terrified. He circles around him, dodging the kicks, and takes him by
the good arm to steady him. The elf struggles, but is lead to the
wagon. He settles as the mage bandages his wounds and gives him some
opiates to calm him.

Oren carefully lays him down on the seat,
and turns to Votig. "I hope you can drive this thing." He
sits down, returning to his studies, but after a moment looks up at
him once more. “Why do you hate elves so much?”

Eliam steps towards the now-unconscious
man, and searches through his things. He pockets the money the man is
carrying, and barely registers it as the bard removes his shirt. He
trades it for his own haphazardly, making sure at least one arm gets
back into a sleeve. The bard sits down after doing up his vest,
appreciating his warmer clothing.

Chompy trots around the
wagon, sniffing at the air and wondering what to do next.

"Ah...
well, lad, I'm sure ye'll see fer yerself once we meet a few more of
'em." The dwarf takes the horse's reins, taking over the
driving. “Onward!”

The wagon rolls on down the dusty
trail as Votig leads on toward Meadowgrove. The rest of the day
passes uneventfully; a few wagons loaded with food pass by in the
opposite direction.

Night falls, and the group settles around
the wagon. The next morning dawns to find the merchant stirring. He
groggily pushes himself up against the wall of the wagon's interior,
his face pale and faintly green. "Wh-...."

Iberyn
struggles to regain his feet but successfully does so, wobbling. He
feels his way to the driver's section of the wagon, his head
pounding.

"What... what happened..."

Oren
looks at Eliam expectantly.

"Thank the Maker you're
awake and alright!” the bard says, feigning concern. “We were
suddenly accosted by bandits. Thankfully we got away, but you seemed
to have been knocked out in the chaos."

Satisfied the
situation is under control, the mage returns to his books.

"That...
what?" The merchant says.

"More importantly, you
were out for quite a while!” Eliam takes him by the arm, walking
him to Oren before he can argue or consider the story. “I'm pretty
sure that's not good... thankfully we have a doctor with us who can
make sure you're okay and there's no lasting damage.”

The
mage pretends to check his wounds. "So tell me about judgment
day," he says, poking at Iberyn's arm.

His eyes are
glazed and unfocused. "Judg--- I... Yes... Judgment... Yes.
My... I have a job. Yes."

Oren nods "Tell us about
it."

"I... I mean, you know all about it. Everyone
knows all about it," he answers slowly.

"Maybe, but
I grew up in the middle of nowhere and we didn't celebrate it. Tell
me about it. "

"How...?" the merchant asks,
trying to shake his head. "How can there be a place where your
criminals and your accused don't fight to the death for their
freedom?"

"How can there be a place in the entire
world where no one has heard of their obligation to travel to the
Trial Grounds to witness the Maker's divine judgment by
combat?"

"Well it was just me and my teacher, he's a
wizard so he doesn't follow the rules of normal society I guess. And
we weren't criminals."

The merchant looks at Oren
suspiciously. "But... but you've never been?"

Oren
shakes his head. "I never went anywhere, so it's not really that
surprising."

"Then you'd better go soon, before you
end up a criminal, too," he says darkly. "We are all
charged to visit Asle Lenor every year if we are of good health to
bear witness to the Maker's mercy. Those who stay away are naturally
those who avoid the Maker's goodness. The seediest of villains."

"So
the Orotithos command," Iberyn says solemnly, placing a hand on
his chest and bowing his head, "so we all obey."

"The
Maker?" Votig grumbles under his breath. "Of course the elf
believes in that hogwash religion."

"Well, maybe
we'll go there next. But won't all the people be there? Will the
other cities be empty?"

The merchant looks at Oren like
he's unwell. "The sick and infirm remain behind. And the holy
Stritox Legion will leave soldiers in every city to prevent thieves
from ransacking the towns."

"Well that's a relief."
Oren says. "What else can you tell me about the world that is
super obvious that anyone would know? I don't want to stand out when
we get to town."

Iberyn looks at him strangely.

"It's...
a test,” Eliam says, “to make sure your injury isn't affecting
your memory."

"I know many things," he says
without confidence.

"...Well, for example, why don't you
tell us something everybody knows? Like how much the ferry in
Meadowgrove costs?" Oren asks.

"It's free if you're
on business. It's ten silver if you're not," he answers.

"How
much does a book cost?" the mage holds out one of the books he
kept from the church.

"It depends on the book. A blank
diary could be had for 5 silver. The Maker's History may be as much
as 40 gold, depending on the writer."

Oren opens to a
random page, and holds it out to him. "Can you read?"

"Obviously," he says with a
little sneer.

"Hey, not everybody can read. You should
feel lucky." he puts the book back in its place. "Where is
the wellspring located?"

"The... legends?" He
says with an almost dismissive snort. He gestures to the top of the
map. "Somewhere in the Foothills. But you'd be mad to go die
there."

"Tell us everything you know about
Sylvatir," Oren asks. Iberyn spits on the ground instinctively,
and the mage jumps back.

"They deserved everything they
got, if you ask me," he says derisively.

"What uh...
what happened to them, exactly?"

"Maker wiped 'em
off the face of the planet when they tried to fight a war with the
ancients of Thirshalon. The Maker chose us as the divine people,"
he says, with some pride. "We celebrate the Maker by holding
combat every year to glorify the Maker and allow the Maker to choose
one soul to be redeemed through combat."

Oren and Eliam
exchange a glance. The mage pulls him and Votig over to the side of
the cart to speak privately. "So what do we do with him now?"

"These people are terrible," Eliam says.

"Don't
look at me, yer the ones who wanted to fix 'em up. I was happy
leavin' and takin' his wagon," Votig says.

"I mean... I guess we could
drug him again and leave him here,” the bard suggests.

"I
don't want to waste our medicine on him if we're just abandoning him
to the wolves,” Oren answers.

"Well, I don't want him
to chase us down immediately. Maybe we could just knock him
out?"

Oren looks back at the merchant and calls, "hey,
do you have a family?"

"A husband and two
children."

He turns back to the group with a confused
look. “I don't even know what that means. Is that a lady elf?"

"I
*told* you two men could be in love,” Eliam responds. “...I
really should have placed a bet with you on that one, damn."

"Okay,
well... Minerva wouldn't want us to kill him, but if it's necessary
for us to avoid trouble maybe we should. And... Wait, how can two men
have **children**? Even if they were in love and could kiss and
other things they can't breed! This is weird. Elves are weird."

"See
lad, I warned ya.”

"We still probably shouldn't kill
him unless we have to. Do you think he'll tell people we're not from
here?" Oren asks.

"I mean... it'd be surprising if
he hadn't figured it out by now, but I wouldn't put it past him,”
Eliam says. “Until this happened would you have believed a stranger
if he told you he was from Thirshalon?"

"He was
looking at my ears,” Oren continues. “Maybe we should cover our
ears up? I don't want to get into any trouble in town."

"I'm
not hidin' who I am," Votig protests.

"Dwarves
aren't that weird, humans don't seem to exist here. And we shouldn't
let anyone know we're from Sylvatir,” the mage adds.

"I
guess we could pass for elves, and say you're our dwarven servant,"
Eliam suggests.

"**SERVANT?!**" Votig yells.

"I
mean... they obviously don't hold dwarves in high regard here,” the
bard continues.

"I'm sorry, who is whose servant?"
asks the merchant. "Is the little man your servant? That
explains the height and the driving, I suppose..."

“Are
you really married to a man?” Oren asks him. “Where did you get
the children?"

"We adopted them from a family whose
parents died in an accident," he says with a far-off expression
on his face. "I shudder to think what would have happened to
them without my husband and I."

"Oh... that makes
sense!” He drops his voice to a whisper. "How does the sex
work, because Eliam has some ideas and I'd like to know what he has
planned. I'm pretty sure he's crazy."

Suddenly, Votig
steps back and charges the merchant, punching him. He shrinks back
and falls to the floor, screaming. "**What is wrong with your**
man**?!"**

"Did you hear, the children weren't
theirs, they just found them after their parents died!” Oren says
to Eliam, ignoring the merchant's screams. “That's not so weird is
it? But we'll never know about the other stuff."

"No,
that makes sense,” Eliam answers. “That was nice of him. I don't
think he's going to see them again though if he keeps making comments
like that."

"**I'm no one’s servant, elf!**"
Votig yells as he picks the man up by his collar.

"Looks
like we'll have to be 'just friends'," Oren tells Eliam.

“Don't worry. I won't give up on
you just yet." The bard puts his arm around the other man's
shoulders.

The driver thrashes to free his arm
and punches Votig in the chin. As he does this, he shouts, "And
who the blazes... are you calling..." He struggles, breaking
free of the dwarf's grip. "**An ELF?!**"

"I...
what? What else are you?” Eliam asks. “Have you not seen your
ears?" Oren wriggles out of his arm while he's distracted.

The
merchant turns to him and stares him down. "I am a proud orc,
like my fathers before me. Now what are YOU? Where are **your**
ears?!"

Votig rubs his jaw. "Ah... well," he
stammers, somewhat flustered. "The ears, ya see. I just assumed
from what I've heard. No punch like that could come from an elf!"
composed, he laughs and claps the merchant on the shoulder. "An
orc, that makes sense!"

Grumbling, the orc steps forward
to the front of the wagon. "Well... you've got not a bad grip
yourself. Move pretty quick." He takes the reins back.

"By
the way... have you ever heard of vampires? Or at least, weird people
on the road with a taste for blood?" Eliam asks.

Iberyn
shudders as his eyes adopt a far-off look. "There is a reason no
man travels the road after dark..."

"Tales, always,
of orcs discovered pale and deadened on the road to Asle Lenor, their
faces white and tiny holes trickling blood somewhere on their body,
as though a tree tapped for its juices."

"I guess
it's good we chased that woman away, then,” Oren says.

"That
woman? D--did you see one?!" Iberyn asks quickly, a note of
panic rising in his voice.

"We did! But she was hardly a
match for us,” Eliam brags. “We're really quite amazing fighters.
I'm sure she noticed that immediately, is why she left in such a
hurry."

"Maybe she was an elf after all," Oren
suggests.

"What is it with you and elves?" the
driver asks. "They've barely been seen since the time Sylvatir
was destroyed by the Maker."

"Well she looked like
one. And Votig said she was; he knows everything,” the mage
answers.

"Friend, I don't meant to alarm you but I
think your compatriot is racist."

"He is,” Oren
answers. “But he's usually right about things like that so maybe
elves really are horrible.” Iberyn seems unconvinced. Oren hops
into the wagon.

"Maybe Votig is wrong about this one,”
Eliam says. “It would be pretty amazing to meet an elf! Well, a
real one this time. ...I could have sworn these people *were*
elves. I mean, you don't look like a normal orc."

"Maybe
he's part human" Oren suggests.

"Ohhh, that would
make sense" the bard agrees.

"Human?" Iberyn
asks. "What fairy tale are you living in?"

"Lad,
what do ya think is ridin' with ye? I can guarantee they aren't elves
at least!" Votig laughs.

"Such jokes," Iberyn
says, but the wagon slows down ever so slightly as he thinks. "We're
all orcs here, friend."

People are everywhere. Pale skin, brown skin,
green skin, lavender skin, they are everywhere. Most have pointed
ears, but every now and again you see some that have more rounded
ends.

No one pays your wagon much notice as there are loads of
wagons bustling this way and that up and down the trodden streets.
Every so often, Iberyn gives a hearty wave to someone but typically
he is driving on resolutely.

He stops on a dirt road at the
rear of a line of wagons. He collects his effects and says, "Well,
that's another trip done. Thanks for the company. You'll have to make
sure you bring all your stuff with you, I'm returning the
wagon."

Oren quietly searches for a pen and a piece of
paper. "Are you going to pass through Twaingate on your way to
judgement day?" he asks.

"Eventually," he
replies. "I'll take a couple of days to rest and then I'll do
one last trip. I should be able to make one more delivery before the
Judging begins. You're welcome to join me if you like. We're all
going the same way, after all."

"We'll see, we're
going to try to go north. How long until judgment day?"

"You
might not make it there and back in time," he cautions.
"Judgment Day can't be more than two weeks away."

"Can't
we circle back around from the other way?" Oren asks.

"Hard
to find a ferry out that way," he answers, "but it is, I
suppose, possible."

"Good, then we'll do that. Can
you bring something to someone for us? They should be in Twaingate
by now."

"Oh, I suppose," he responds. "What
do you need?"

Oren holds out the note. “Our friends are
there, probably at an inn or something. One is a young girl with
silver hair, and the other is a brown-haired woman. They'll probably
stand out since the young one is a little weird.” He looks around
at the others. “Does that sound like them? What else would
help?”

Iberyn takes the note and reads it:

'Minerva,

We're in Meadowgrove but we're going north to find the
wellspring. When we finish with that we'll meet you in Twaingate. We
won't leave without you, don't worry. Watch out for vampires. I hope you're both okay.
-Oren'

"Knew ya still cared
about 'em, ya softy," the dwarf says. He takes and adds to the
note, "Elise, sorry about Oren. Don't you worry, I'll make them
see and then we'll regroup after he's calmed down."

Eliam takes the note in turn and adds,
“Don't mind Oren. He didn't mean what he said. And if you come back
I guess I'll accept you're not 12."

"Well I don't
want **them** to leave without **us** either." Oren
replies to the dwarf.

Iberyn reads the note. "Why not
just meet your friends in Asle Lenor? They're sure to be
there.”

"Maybe... I don't want them to travel if it's
dangerous," Oren says. "Just give them the note, if they're
in Asle Lenor when we get there we'll find them."

He
folds the note up and tucks it in his pocket.

"Thanks.
The girl will heal your arm as payment if you want. Where can we sell
a book? We have one and we don't want it.”

He rubs his chin
thoughtfully. "There's a general goods store about a twenty
minute walk down that road--" he gestures east "-- but what
value you get depends on the book, I suppose."

"Awesome,
thanks." Oren leads everyone away. "Bye,” he calls out,
and turns to the group. “Do you guys need anything here?"

"I
guess we can sell these books. None were worth keeping, right?"
Eliam asks.

"I have some I'll keep, but these three are
for selling," Oren says, handing him some books.

"I'll
go and sell them, then!" the bard says cheerfully.

"Okay."
Oren and Votig wait outside. When he leaves, Oren turns to his
companion. “If we get a few items, we can try to undo what the
wellspring did to you. We can try a curse removing ritual.”

Eliam
walks into the general store as the merchant, a gruff elder orc with
lavender skin and a greying moustache, eyes him.

"Greetings,"
he says shortly.

"Hello!" Eliam says, dropping the
books on the counter. "Today is your lucky day. I'll be willing
to part with these books for a fair price."

"Where
are these books from, lad?"

"Ah, well that's the
best part. I've managed to bring these books all the way from Asle
Lenor. They're rare old books from a seller there, but I'm afraid I
could use the money more than the prestige of owning these fine tomes
right now."

The man looks him up and down slowly, then
looks at the books. His gaze softens. "At Asle Lenor, you say...
What kind of price are you looking for?"

Eliam looks
around the general store, trying to guess at a price. Some novels are
selling for a few silver. Books which seem to be reference materials,
closer to ten silver.

“Thirty silver each seems fair, given
the distance they've come and the rarity of their contents." The
man flips the pages gingerly, his fingers caressing the aged
pages.

Finally he says, "That seems... unfair for such a
magnificent set of books. Would you prefer instead... seven
gold?"

"Well... I suppose that would be a bit more
fair. I'll agree to that.” Eliam happily hands over the books for
seven gold coins.

The merchant grins. "There is an
exchange down the street should you need silver or copper,
incidentally."

"Thank you!" Eliam calls,
leaving and pocketing an extra gold for himself.

"Good
job,” Oren says as the bard splits the remainder. “You sold them
for a lot. I knew you could do it."

"Well, that's
what I'm here for,” he replies smugly.

### **The Group Shops in Meadowgrove**

The party wanders the streets for a
while until they find a store which specializes in clothing and
defensive goods. They seem to be offering a "Trip to Asle Lenor"
special.

Eliam walks into the store and calls out loudly,
"I'll take the finest armor you have"

A tiny
pale-skinned orc looks at him over his half-moon glasses and sharply
says, "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Work is being done." He
points at a stool beside the entrance. "Sit aaaaaand wait. Turns
will be respected."

The bard is offended, but complies,
sitting quietly.

"Don't buy something that will make it
hard to cast spells,” Oren warns him. “I'm going to go find some
reagents. Do you need anything?"

"I should be okay,
but thank you." Eliam says.

Oren wanders down the road in
search of a reagent shop. On the way, he passes a farmer on the back
of an open wagon who is loading heavy bags of grain.

The
farmer sets a pair of bags down, then turns to hop off the back, but
twists his ankle and trips. He is about to fall off the side of the
wagon where Oren is walking.

The merchant trips over the side
of the wagon and falls head over heels toward the ground. Seeing
Oren, he shouts, "Help!" but the mage is far too slow to
react. He moves to extend his arms, but the farmer has already fallen
onto him and crashed with him down to the ground.

"Owwww," he whines.
"Thank you for breaking my fall... You could have just caught
me, though."

"Why would I do that" Oren asks,
as he gets up.

"So neither of us would have been hurt,
obviously!" he responds. "Pay attention a little, will you?
Get your head out of the clouds." He limps off to get back to
work.

"You jumped on me!" The mage calls out as the
farmer walks away.

He dismissively waves his hand as he goes.
Too much work to listen to a complaining kid.

A little ways
down the road, Oren finds a store selling a variety of seeds and
liquids. Curious if it has reagents he might be interested in, he
stops in. Assuming that the curse is Earthen in nature, he looks for
materials that are imbued with the essence of the ground. He gathers
a variety of seeds and some vine cuttings which he assumes grew close
to the ground.

The botanist takes your items and says, "Three
silver for the assembled products. You will find lotus flowers in a
cave to the north... at least, you will if you believe in
superstition. Lotuses are incredibly rare."

"If I
had a lotus seed where could I plant it?" Oren asks.

"If--
and I mean, yes, if-- it could be planted only in completely pure and
fertile soil, watered with pure, uncontaminated water, warmed the
heat from a pure and pristine flame, and transpiring oxygen from pure
and fresh air. Sure purity is nearly impossible to gather
conventionally. You may have noticed a theme."

"So
it has to be planted in the cave?"

"Unless you can
magically purify and enrich soil, which, respectfully, I doubt anyone
can, yes."

"Oh okay. Maybe...” the mage trails
off, handing her some of his money from Sylvatir. He drops an extra
coin as well for the information.

The botanist looks at the
money and says, "Wait... What is this?" She moves with him
and stands in front of the door. "We only accept real currency,
sir."

Oren tries again, with some of the money Eliam
handed him before. "Do you have change?"

"That's
more like it. Yes." She returns seven silver to his hand.

Hours
later, the man in the shop slowly walks over to Eliam.
"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees?"

"*Finally*. I'd
like to buy your finest light mail armor. My one requirement is that
it makes me look good. And let's just say, money is no object,"
he says, dropping some of his gold into his hand.

The man
plucks the coin away and examines it carefully. He bites it softly,
and places it back. "One gold. One piece of armour. No
exceptions. Foooooooollow me.”

He leads Eliam to one of the
side walls, where sets of light mail armour and accessories are
hanging. "I have maaaaaany orders. Multiple clients. Famous and
busy person. I will sell you one piece. You choose which." He
gestures at a set of light mail armour.

"I... I guess
I'll take the body armor,” the bard frowns. “But really, just one
piece? Surely you'd sell me the rest? I have plenty of cash."

He
takes two fingers and thwaps Eliam over the head with them.
"Greeeeeedy! My works are impeccable. Much demand. Many orders
to fill. I cannot serve them if everything goes to you." The
shopkeep takes down the armour and hands it over in exchange for the
gold coin. "Myyyy works are masterpieces. Treat it
well."

"Could have at least added some gold trim,"
Eliam mutters as he leaves the shop.

The old man throws a wad
of paper at you. "I heaaaaaaaaard that!"

Votig asks
around for a place to enchant his gear. As he speaks to the
citizenry, however, he learns that none of them have even heard of
the concept. Disappointed, he regroups with everyone else in the
square.

"We should go buy warmer clothes,” Oren says
when the dwarf arrives. “Then we can head to that ferry. I assume
we can buy other supplies on the other side of the river. Blankets, a
tent, food..."

"Not the worst idea, if we're
planning to go further north." Eliam agrees.

"Maybe
a bit of brandy for th' chill," Votig adds. "Okay, where
does one buy clothes and brandy?"

They walk around the
town, looking for any promising shops. Finally, they come across a
store that sells cloth and woolen clothing.

A young girl sits
behind the counter. She looks up as Oren enters. "Hello?"
She hops off a stool and walks around the counter. She is clearly
around six years old.

"Hi, we need to buy clothes,”
Oren says politely. “Do you sell that sort of thing?" he turns
to Eliam, waiting for him to speak.

"Ummm. Duuuuuuuuuuh,"
she says, pointing around at the clothing in the store. "It's
everywhere!"

"We need *warm* clothing,
specifically,” the bard clarifies. “Is uh... are your parents
around? Or the shopkeeper?"

"They'll be back soon!
Daddy wanted to get his pop."

"Alright then,”
Eliam nods. “We'll look around then until they get back, I guess."

The little girl draws herself up to her full height and says,
with slightly puffed cheeks, "Okay! No stealing." She skips
around the store, following as the group looks around, peeking in and
out of clothing racks.

As they gather what they need, Oren
takes out his money, counting it quietly. "We have more than
enough to get whatever we want,” Eliam tells him smugly.

After
recounting to be sure, he pulls out a gold and some silver. "We
need five gold, one silver and nine copper to buy all of
this."

"I... what? How is it that much gold just for
clothes? Did you do the math right?" Eliam asks.

"Probably,”
the mage replies. “You can do it if you want."

"Well...
I have this," the bard says, taking out four gold. "How is
that not enough? It's *gold.*"

Oren takes the gold,
and hands exact change to the girl. She looks at the coins for a
minute, then beckons him over to the counter.

"Umm......." She takes
out three silver as change. "This many?"

"No,
one copper," he points at the til. "Those ones"

"Oh,"
she says. She puts the three silver back and takes out one copper,
holding it up triumphantly. "This one!"

"Yes,
thank you," Oren says politely, taking the clothes. He turns to
the others. "Do you want to go buy a tent or bedrolls or
whatever now, or later?"

"Bedrolls *would* be
nice... and a tent! About time we traveled properly,” Eliam
says.

"Do you think that general store sold them?"

"I
think I saw some there."

"Awesome,” Oren smiles.
“We can go buy all of that now I guess. How much money is left? We
might have to sell the other books."

"Er... well...”
Eliam stammers. “I think Votig has two gold? That uh... that was
all I had. ...Other books?”

"Oh. Maybe we should sell
another one?” Oren asks. “...Wait, how much did you get for the
book?"

"The book? I sold them all. I got six gold.
Two gold for each of us."

"...For how much? Eight
gold is an okay price for one book..." Oren trails off.

"I...
wait, what?" Eliam says, flustered.

"Well, I think a
book usually costs about ten gold, but that's for a bound book that's
blank. A rare book of knowledge from a famous library- and another
planet- should be worth waaay more than that. How much did he give
you?"

"I... that can't be right. He only gave me six
gold. He said that was a great deal. I mean, the other books in the
shop were only ten silver"

"Six gold each?"
Oren asks.

"No... Six gold for all three of
them"

"That's... not even half what he should have
given you. The covers were worth more than that! Maybe... he didn't
understand what they were," Oren says.

"I... yeah,
that's probably it,” Eliam agrees. “I'm sure he just didn't
understand"

"Well he is a shopkeeper, it's his job
to know this. Do you think he knew and was trying to rip you off?
Maybe we should go tell him and see if he'll give you the rest of the
money he owes. I mean, it should be at least... ten more gold."

"I
mean... obviously! Everyone knows that," Eliam says.

Oren
pats him on the shoulder. "Don't feel bad, shop keepers are
notoriously untrustworthy. Anyone could get tricked. We'll get the
money."

### **The Group Talks to the Shopkeeper**

The party
approaches the general store door. The shopkeep is at the door. When
he sees the party approaching, he turns the sign on the door to
"Closed." He moves over to the window to close it as
well.

Oren walks through the door, ignoring the sign. It is
afternoon. There are several pedestrians in the street, and two
people within the shop.

The shopkeep looks up as he enters.
"Shop's closed, friends."

"We just need to buy
some things,” Oren explains. “We're leaving tomorrow and want to
spend our credit.”

"Come before you leave tomorrow,
then."

"When do you open?" the mage asks
politely.

Votig studies him, and notices he is
uncomfortable. The shopkeep steps forward and moves to the aisle,
blocking them. "Maybe you didn't hear me. We're closed."

The
mage looks around, and sees two men lurking in the back. "Those
guys are still shopping. It'll only take a minute."

"They're
just leaving. Like you are."

"Boss,” comes a voice
from the back, “I didn't think we were leav- ow!" the other
man elbows him in the stomach.

"Well I want to make sure
we get everything we're owed today,” Oren says. “I don't want to
have to come back anyways.”

"You're owed nothing. Now
get out before I toss you in the street, little boy," he
answers.

"Hey, don't talk to him like that,” Eliam
steps forward. “Don't you owe your customers respect?"

An
aetheric aura overwhelms the interior of the store as Oren summons
his magical power. The men in the back of the shop shirk back as he
conjures an arcane blast. The blast flashes and crackles as he holds
it in his hands, his eyes glaring at the shopkeep. He swings his hand
forward and releases the attack. The shopkeep is lifted off his feet
and flies backward through the shop. Gold coins spill from his
pockets and roll along the floor as he falls.

Oren bends over,
taking exactly nine gold from the ground. “That's what we were
owed. We'll buy our supplies elsewhere, thanks."

Votig
looms over the shopkeep, intimidating the men into staying back.
Eliam scoops up what gold he can into his pockets. The shopkeep
recoils from the dwarf, shouting, "Boys! Get 'em!" He
scrambles back as the men step tentatively forward.

Oren sends forward a wall of darkness
to block the men. It envelops the men entirely, and they scream
briefly in panic.

The party quickly leaves the shop, exiting
to the dusty road. Small wooden shops line the street, with narrow
alleys separating every few stores. Outside, a farmer drives his
wagon, a mother walks with her child, and two teenagers remove bales
of hay from a cart. Approximately four men stand in a circle wearing
badges.

Oren guides them quickly down one of the side alleys
towards the river. As they leave they hear the words, "THIEF.
THIEVES. **THIEVES**."

A number of footsteps hustle
over to the door. Snippets of conversation float down the alley. "...
Stole money ..." "... attacked us viciously ..."
"... stick-like man-boy ..." ".... pasty white
demon ..." "... bearded man ... height
deformity..."

The party slips through the back of the
alley as Oren covers their retreat with another wall of shadow. They
enter a larger town square. Blending in, they begin to pass through
the crowd.

"That was amazing!” Eliam says. “How much
did you manage to take?"

"Nine gold, so with the six
you were given that's what he should have paid at least,” Oren
answers. “It should be enough to cover our expenses on the way to
Ariglodo."

They slip through the town square, the ruckus
behind them continuing. The opposite side of the square is lined with
shops with a few alleys between, and a road extends to the left and
right. In the centre of the square is a large grassy area with a
statue in its middle.

They cross the square and reach the
storefronts on the other side. As they near those storefronts, a
series of officers of the peace come through the alleys they just
left. The men are looking around cautiously.

Oren steps into
another alley, then turns around and looks at the others as if
waiting for their input. They follow wordlessly, and reach the rear
of the stores. This side is far less developed than the square, but
there's clearly a wagon-rode path that runs along the back, perhaps
for farmers or merchants to deliver goods to the store. The path runs
all the way to the river.

The party follows the path. They
examine their surroundings as they get close to the end of the path,
and notice three officers of the peace who are each standing, by
themselves, roughly equidistant between them and the boats.

Oren,
undeterred, walks over. The others follow. As they continue, fields
of grain grow beyond a log fence. There are clear patches where the
crop has been harvested. The area around them is deserted.

Halfway
to the river, a weedy-looking man in a dark black cloak with a hood
on comes barreling out of an alley. The man collides with Oren,
knocking him to the ground.

### **The Group is Stopped in the Alley**

The man
stumbles, regains his footing, and draws his cloak tight around his
body. "**Hey!** Stupid idiot! Why don't you look where you're
going?!"

Oren steps back, brushing off his clothes.
“Sorry.”

"Hey, what's your problem?"
Eliam asks.

"**You**!" he hisses
at Votig. "What are **you** looking at, tiny?!"

"Yer
ugly mug, now step off."

"Excuse me?" he
growls. "Mind your tongue when speaking to your betters. Maybe
learn to grow a beard while you're at it." He begins to move
down the road towards the docks.

"Ignore him," Oren
says, quietly placing a hand on Votig's shoulder.

The party
begins to follow the man. "Stop following me," he says,
glaring at Oren. His eyes are red as he stares down the young blood
mage.

"We're going to the river,” he answers. “It's
this way right?"

The man rolls his eyes. "Is the big
body of water you can see down the road in this direction? Yes.
You're about as stupid as he is short,” he says, jerking his thumb
at Votig. “Now get lost. I have... things... to do on this path
today."

“Oh, okay,” Oren says agreeably. “We'll
get out of your way then.”

"Hey. Hey! I said get lost!
This is **my** path!" He continues walking down the road as
well.

"You can't *own* a path" Eliam says,
rolling his eyes.

"Maybe a poor person like **you**
**can't," he retorts.**

“You're right,” Oren
responds, “You can have it. We're leaving." He attempts to
speed up and walk around the orc.

"N-no! No!" he
shouts. He runs to get ahead. "Take another path! Move! Go
somewhere else! **Get lost!**" He yells desperately.

"We
**are,**" the mage says, annoyed. He stops, sighing. “Well,
we're trying to get to the ferry. Which way should we go?"

“Back
the way you came! Anywhere! Just. Not. **Here.**"

"How
come?" Eliam asks.

"Well the river is down there,”
Oren starts walking again. “So it's probably that way, right?"

"I don't have to explain myself to-to..." He stops
suddenly. On the path ahead of where Oren is walking, a red glyph has
appeared.

An elderly man appears in a black cloak, similar to
the cloak that the other orc is wearing. The elder's cloak is lined
with a dark blue fabric along the outer edge and on the interior.
"Tharos," he says with a cold, indifferent look. His eyes
pass over each of you in turn. "You have failed."

"No,”
Oren says, moving to step around them. “No more cults, we're
leaving."

The weedy man who has been arguing with you
runs up to the man and throws himself on his knees. "I-I... I
did not! It's not my fault! They just showed up right now! I did so
well! Please, master!"

As Oren attempts to move around
the elder man, he finds himself unable to take a step past him. It's
as though the air itself is grabbing his leg, stopping him from
stepping. "You will, of course, indulge me just a moment,"
says the elder.

"As for you, Tharos," says
the elder, "Your job was to ensure the path was clear when I
appeared at this time. No eyes to witness us. No one to see our
existence. You have failed, and thus exposed House
Stritox."

Tharos's eyes well up and he cries, "There
are normally a dozen men on this path now! I cleared it all! I kept
it clear for an hour! And then these people... \*these
people...\*"

"All you had to do was give us
directions, we said we'd go. We just want to get to the ferry."
Oren attempts to wrest loose of the magic, but it holds fast. He is
able to step back and have full movement but as soon as he attempts
to move forward he is held fast once again.

The elder says,
"Now, Tharos, you know what happens. You have exposed House
Stritox to the world. None may know of us. Your failure must be
repaid by your death... or theirs."

The elder's cloak flaps in the air
around him as a burst of magics knocks Oren back toward Eliam and
Votig. He says to him, "I am sorry for your loss. May you find
solace in life beyond the next. Should you survive... perhaps we will
speak again."

Tharos rises and turns to face the three of
you. His cloak flutters with the residual energy left behind by the
elder. "I tried... I tried to warn you. I tried to scare you
off."

### **The Group Fights in the Alley**

"**Why**
didn't you listen?!**" A magical aura appears around his hands**
and he throws the magics at the ground. From the place on the ground
where he threw the magic, a pair of creatures rise. One is a black
cat with demonic, glowing red eyes. The other is indescribably dark.
it is a mish-mash of bone, sinew, moss, and rot, a vaguely humanoid
elemental of death and nature.

"Lad, the only thing more
pathetic then yer attempts to scare us off is your interest in
fightin' us. Ya shoulda just walked away." Votig launches
himself at the rotting creature, his fists glowing golden with his
innate power. The assault blows through the creature's body,
shattering it into a mishmash of tissues and bone. It lies lifelessly
on the ground.

Tharos takes a step back in fear. "T-that's
not possible. The skullbriar... You bastard!"

The black
cat, spitting and hissing, launches itself at Eliam's head. It hisses
and scratches at his face.

Tharos steps back a few paces,
hands glowing. "Your master is not finished with you! Rise,
skullbriar!" The creature's lifeless pile assembles once more.
The burst of magical energy seems to have reinforced it.

Oren
grabs Eliam's arm as the cat jumps off and attempts to pull him
toward the alley. The bard resists, staying to help Votig fight.

Oren stands in the alley. He drops darkness on Tharos to
blind him. He is temporarily unable to see what is happening outside
the spell.

The skullbriar shambles toward Votig. It slashes
with sharpened bone at him, but the attack deflects easily off of his
armour. The dwarf's blows continue to rain down on the reformed
skullbriar, savaging it. This time, however, it maintains its form
and does not break apart.

The Black Cat turns and launches
itself back at Eliam. It spits at it rakes at his face, leaving long
lines down his cheeks. Oren fires an arcane blast at the cat while it
is on his face. The cat leaps off and the bard narrowly ducks as the
blast soars over his head.

The skullbriar lumbers toward
Votig, slamming heavily into him and knocking him to the side. One of
its sharpened bones is wrapped in a stinging nettle, and it sinks
into his side, leaving a narrow but deep bleeding wound.

Votig
charges and punches the cat directly in the side. It howls as it is
thrown back several feet, landing on its paws. The black cat scambles
at Votig and leaps at him, but the pugilist sidesteps easily.

Tharos
pushes his way out of the darkness and glares at Oren. "**You**!
Everything is **your fault!**" He throws an arcane blast,
fueled by rage and anger, at the blood mage.

The arcane blast
is larger and denser than they have seen before. It is magic on a
grander scale than could have been imagined. Oren finds himself
unable to avoid the blast as it approaches with reckless speed. He
instinctively turns and raises his right arm to block as much of it
as he can, but the force is overwhelming. He lands painfully on the
ground. He clutches his arm, adrenaline coursing through his body. He
rises slowly, flexing his arm and moving it... and it responds. He
has full motion.

Eliam sends a fire blast at Tharos. The orc
turns in time to see a wave of flame crash over him. He rolls on the
ground to ensure the fires don't cling to him but he suffers an
appreciable blow.

Votig's fists strike the cat in its side. He
feels the animal's ribs shatter as the force of his golden strike
ripple throughout its body. At the moment of impact, a burst of black
magic, like dust off a beaten rug, flies off the cat and surrounds
Votig. He suddenly lowers his arms. He attempts to raise them in
front of his body protectively, but the movement feels awkward and
unnatural. The cat falls, lifeless, to the ground.

Tharos
draws his magic to his hands and throws it at the corpse of the black
cat. The cat rises to its feet. It seems nettled.

A shadow
dagger smacks Tharos in the cheek. He staggers back with the force of
the blow and looks angrily at Oren. An arcane blast from Eliam
strikes Tharos' shoulder. He grips it tightly, his hand beginning to
glow dark.

A green-skinned man steps out from an alley nearby.
He is alarmed at what he sees but does not move.

Tharos falls
under the furious dwarven blows. He bounces off the ground and skids
to a stop on his hands and knees, heavily wounded. "That's **it,**"
he mutters through gritted teeth.

The Black Cat launches
itself once more at Eliam's face.

With lightning speed, the
cat is upon him. It savages his visage with flashing claws and fangs.
The bard raises his hands to deflect the cat, but the second it
springs free it kicks off the ground and attempts to pounce on him a
second time. Eliam rolls, desperately, out of the way.

Tharos
slams the ground in anger. He strikes it once, twice, three times,
and when he is finished, a trio of tiny snakes, black and green in
colour, no more than a foot long, and appearing solid yet magical,
appear where he strikes the ground. He screams in rage, and whips his
hand, commanding one of the snakes to attack. It does so, but Tharos'
reckless ire has sent the snake in the wrong direction. The
green-skinned man falls back but cannot move away from the snake,
which tears toward him with incredible speed. It bites into him and
explodes in a burst of aether.

The snake is gone, but the man
has fallen into the alley, suffering significant damage. He begins to
stumble away from the battle, aided by the wall. Two snakes remain
beside Tharos.

One of the two snakes locks on to Oren. Tharos
swings his arm and it flies through the air at him. He turns at the
last moment from caring for Eliam to try and defend himself from the
snake, but he is too slow to stop it from latching onto him. The
snake's fangs connect with his body, and the magical beast instantly
explodes in a furious burst of aether.

One snake remains.

Eliam's eyes
are misted from the savagery that has been unleashed upon his face.
He is too disoriented to successfully aim a spell, and so the flames
fly to the left of his target. Votig successfully evades the spell,
and grumbles annoyedly about magic. In retaliation, the third snake
flies through the air toward Eliam. It sinks its fangs into him
before he can react and explodes.

Votig moves in on Tharos, looking
to deal the finishing blow. He cracks his knuckles and smashes the
orc over the head, sending him to the dirt. He rolls to the side to
avoid a follow-up punch as the dwarf advances menacingly.

The
Black Cat returns to its favourite nesting ground, leaving long
bloody lines on Eliam's other cheek.

Tharos slams at the
ground three times. A trio of snakes appear. They slither on the
ground near him and wait to be directed. Oren pulls Eliam into the
nearly alley, around a corner so they are out of line of sight. He
bandages up the bard as quickly as possible in the time they
have.

"Can you fix this? Oh god, this isn't permanent, is
it? You can fix it?!" Eliam says, frantic.

"It's
okay,” Oren replies calmly. “It's not serious."

"Oh thank the Maker.”

The skullbriar shambles over to
Votig and slashes at him with the sharpened bone in its body. The
mighty blow pushes Votig back a few paces from Tharos. Unable to see
any other targets, the orc sends one of the three snakes at Votig.
The snake flies just wide and craters into the dirt. The second snake
is launched, but it also sails wide.

The third snake strikes
the dwarf squarely in the abdomen. It explodes for significant
damage.

Votig's fist cracks the air as it travels, then cracks
Tharos' skull as it connects. Blood spurts from the mage's mouth as
shards of bone impale his internal cranial space. Tharos falls to the
ground and moves no more.

The black cat follows Eliam and Oren
to the alleyway. It bounces off the alley wall and continues its
relentless assault on the bard. Oren quickly fires a spell, and the
arcane blast strikes the cat and blasts it out of the alley. It
lands, hissing and spitting, on its feet.

The skullbriar, its
master slain, feebly slams into Votig. His golden fists rip through
the creature. Its bone fragments shatter into minuscule shards, and
the rot and sinew flops to the ground.

The black cat pounces
at Eliam and lands on his shoulders. It runs around his head,
scratching and biting as he goes. Oren throws a shadow dagger at the
cat on Eliam's shoulders to scare it away. The cat leaps off at the
last second, but the bard is not so quick. The dagger just barely
scratches his cheek, leaving what will no doubt be a small horizontal
scar on his left cheek.

With utter satisfaction, Eliam kills
the black cat with a well-placed arcane blast.

### **The Group Walks to the Ferry**

As Eliam begs him
frantically to help, Oren quickly bandages him. Used to tending to
his own wounds, his experience helps him greatly. He bandages the
bard's face with practiced skill, and ensures no scarring will
remain. Eliam hugs him gratefully in thanks.

Votig limps to
the mage as well. "Hey lad, ya mind helpin' me out a little?
Once yer done with his face of course, and the mess that
is..."

"He'll be fine,” Oren says, continuing his
first aid work. “You don't need a face to live."

"But...
but it's okay now, right?” The bard says, panicking. “You fixed
it? Don't worry about him, we need to make sure I'm okay--"

"You're
fine, calm down,” Oren interrupts. “We'll go get on that ferry
out of this horrible town. I can give you something for the pain, but
for now we've gotta get out of here before we get roped into another
cult's schemes."

### **The Group is Stopped at the Docks**

Oren leads the party through the field
towards the river. Multiple boats and ferries are all docked and tied
to the harbour. Two orcs are patrolling up and down the wharf.

"Do
you think it's safe to walk by them?" Oren asks.

"If
we're lucky, they haven't been alerted about us yet," Eliam
whispers back.

Oren exits their hiding place quietly, pulling
up his hood and walking directly to the boats. He blends into the
crowd, staying to the shadows and trying to blend in. Eliam follows
his lead, covering his damaged shirt and face with his winter
cloak.

It's been a busy day by the river. The farmers have
been traveling back and forth, and fishermen have been carting the
catches of the day back to the town inns and restaurants for evening
meals. They step softly toward the harbour to slip onto a boat. Oren
leads the way, quietly moseying as though he belongs, and doing a
very good job of it.

Votig follows, Chompy discretely at his
heels on the opposite side of his body from the guards. They walk
quietly and manage not to attract attention.

Carelessly
forgotten in the middle of the road is a slippery fish that one of
the fishermen did not notice had fallen from his net. Eliam gives his
full attention to the guards and fails to notice the fish. He steps
on it, slipping loudly to the ground and propelling the fish forward.
It flies through the air and slaps a guard in the side of the
head.

Oren continues walking towards the docks, assuming the
situation is under control.

The guard turns to look at the
road. He spots Eliam and begins moving toward him.

Votig ducks
his head and turns perpendicular to the guard. The guard steps past
him and Votig immediately turns and moves toward the boats again
unnoticed.

"Hey! Hey, you!" the guard shouts,
advancing on Eliam. "What's the big idea?"

"I'm so sorry. I accidentally
slipped, I didn't mean anything by it sir."

"Slipped
on a **fish** and it hit me in the **head.** ...
**Really**."

"I.... It's been a very long day. Oh
god, you have no idea. I was innocently walking along, and this man
just started screaming at us?!” Eliam rants. “And this *cult*,
some insane *cultist* attacked us? Do you have any idea how hard
this day has been? Oh Maker, I just want to go home and have a nice
warm meal, and now *this* happens..." the bard wipes some
tears away from his eyes.

"...A cult, you say," he
answers you slowly. "First, you tell me about this cult. Then
you tell me about your 'us.'"

"There was this man-
some kind of mage?” Eliam answers obediently. “He had a robe. I
was on a date with a *very* nice young lady, and he yelled at us
for walking near him, then some old man in a cloak tried to summon
monsters at us."

He grabs Eliam by the cuff of the shirt.
"I don't think I buy your story, mister," the guard says.
He shakes Eliam a little. "Now give me what you know about that
cult. **Spill**."

"I know it sounds crazy, but
it's the truth!” he protests. “Back in that alley, there's proof
they were there. I don't know anything about them, except that
they're terrifying."

"What will I find back in that
alley?" he asks suspiciously.

"Some kind of weird
swamp monster, made of plants. I've never seen anything like it."

He
begins to drag the bard toward the area he's indicating. "All
right, come on, then. Let's go see this proof of yours. Silvak!"
he shouts to the other orc. "You're on duty alone for a minute!
I'm going to see what this clown's up to."

The orc
presumably named Silvak waves at the guard dragging Eliam. Silvak, in
his moment of waving at the other guard and watching him drag the man
away, does not notice a human, a dwarf, and a lizard walking onto the
docks.

The sun is beginning to set. The docks are quiet. No
one else is around at the moment.

“Hello,” Oren says
politely, walking up to Silvak and pulling out his map. "Do you
know... if it's possible to take a boat to Ariglodo?"

Silvak
looks at the map. "Possible? Yes. A ferry leaves in two days.
Expensive, though, and it's only passing through Ariglodo on its way
to Asle Lenor."

"Perfect, so we can stop there and
still make it to the Judgment? Good. How long does it take?"

"About
six days. Well, six days to get to Asle Lenor. If you want to get to
Ariglodo you'd have to jump off at Ilemashi and walk. But no one
would do that this week!" he chortles, slapping Oren on the
back.

"Is there any way to hire a boat sooner?"

"To
Ariglodo? Not unless you're planning on stealing one!" he
laughs. Then he suddenly looks at the mage seriously. "You're...
you're not planning on stealing one. Right?"

"I
don't even know how they work," Oren answers.

He shrugs.
"Well, you don't need to. You just need to get to Asle Lenor and
everything will be fine."

"Well yeah, we will. We
just wanted to see Ariglodo since it's on the way..."

The
orc looks at him suspiciously. "We?"

"My
friends."

Votig stands hidden behind a boat. The guard
peeks his head around and sees Chompy and immediately draws a large
baton. "H-hey! Get back, there's some kind of monster there!"
He begins to run at Chompy.

Oren grab his arm.
"Wait!"

Surging with adrenaline, he easily knocks
his hand away. The guard pushes free and shouts, "Run!" As
he continues to charge.

"Don't go near it!” the blood
mage shouts. “That's a death... gecko! They're venomous!"

The
orc panics and pulls out a whistle. "I'll get back up! This
isn't a place for civilians. Run, **now**." Silvak blasts
three tweets on his whistle.

“Wait, it's too dangerous! You
should go tell everyone to stay away. It's uhh... we might already be
infected! Y... you should jump in the water, you got too close to
it!" The mage steps away nervously. "There's still time if
you just jump in. Trust me, I'm a herpetologist."

Hearing
the whistle, the guard that was holding Eliam looks back, his face a
pale green. "Damn," he curses. He whips out a pair of
leather cuffs and ties Eliam to a fencepost, dashing back to the
harbour. The bard waits until he is far away and then dexterously
picks the lock to free himself. He slips back into the field to be
out of sight.

"WAIT!” Oren shouts. “You're going to
release its spores!" The guard doesn't hear his cries over his
whistle.

Like lightning, Votig blurs from the shadows,
barreling into Silvak and wrapping his arms around his neck from
behind before the guard can catch a glimpse of him. The orc attempts
to grab his arms, but Votig uses his massive strength to whirl him
around and snap him to the ground. The breath is forced from Silvak's
lungs and he blacks out. The dwarf gives Chompy a thumbs up.

Chompy
doesn't notice because he's licking a boat.

Oren begins
dragging the man to the water, intending to dump him in. Votig stops
him, walking over and placing his hand on his shoulder. The dwarf
shakes his head. “Let em be, lad.”

"Oh,” the mage
says, stopping. “Okay."

Chompy trots over, sits on the
guard's chest, and looks up endearingly at them, his tail wagging.

"What should we do now?" Oren asks.

"Any
idea how to drive a boat?” Votig replies.

"I've never been on a boat
before."

A whistle pierces the air. The
second guard has returned, pointing at the scene and blasting his
whistle to alert everyone nearby to your presence. He sees his his
friend lying motionless on the ground surrounded by two strangers and
a monster.

Thinking quickly, Oren jumps back from the prone
guard and Chompy. “Look, a death gecko! It bit him, be careful.
It's very venomous.”

Chompy turns as he jumps back and
sniffs at his shoes. He thinks Oren is upset, so he stands up on his
hind legs, puts his front legs on the mage and wags his tail.

Oren
stands still. "Don't... make... any sudden movements..."

I
agree,” the guard says slowly. “Let's just wait until support
comes and then we can sort this all out."

"Don't let
anyone else get close, we don't want to spook it."

"Oh,
we'll keep a good perimeter."

"This man," Oren
gestures at Votig, "is an expert lizard scientist. He can...
capture it safely. They're very endangered and uh... used for
medicine, so don't hurt it."

Three guards are leaving the
nearby buildings and hurrying toward the docks. Oren looks to the
dwarf, silently begging him to step in.

"What happened to
Silvak?" one of the gaurds asks.

"He tripped and
fell. He'll be fine in the mornin', methinks," Votig answers.

The guard says, "That's funny. He didn't have red marks
around his neck this morning."

"That's probably from
the lizard's venom,” Oren says. “I think he touched it, maybe
that's what knocked him out. I tried to warn him, they're very
dangerous if you don't have gloves.”

Three guards arrive and
the one who has been here all along shouts, "Make a perimeter.
If what they say is true, the lizard is dangerous. Batons out and
bring it down."

"No, no," Oren protests.

"And if we kill it?" One of
the juniors asks.

"Then we save citizens. Worth it,"

"No we need it,” the mage insists. “The venom cures
diseases. Thousands will die if you harm this rare lizard."

"Sir,"
the guard says to Votig. "Stand aside, please. The good from
that beast doesn't outweigh the damage it could do to our town."

The
dwarf casually places his boot on Silvak's neck, putting just enough
pressure on it for them to notice he's serious. “No, lads, he
**tripped** and he **fell**. Don't worry, he'll be fine in the
mornin', *right*? Assumin' ya walk away."

Every
officer glares at Votig. The first guard says, "That won't work,
criminal." But they've all taken a half-step back
subconsciously.

Oren smiles.

"Ya? A shame there's
no loyalty in yer force. I wonder if there's an orc lady waitin' fer
him. Truly a shame..." his foot moves down, applying a little
more pressure. Silvak's breathing is raspy now.

One guard
lowers his baton. Then another. The leader -- that first orc who was
on duty -- looks at them furiously.

"What do you want,"
one of the orcs says through gritted teeth.

"Where is the
man you took away earlier?” Oren asks, pointing at the captain. “I
saw you take an innocent man off the streets and drag him into the
fields, where is he?"

"Trade us," the leader
answers. "Him for Silvak."

"See? He admits it,”
the mage addresses the orcs. “We've been trying to find corrupt
guards for some time. Our friend here is a confessed MURDERER."

The
guards look at the leader suspiciously. He responds forcefully,
"Your... friend, I assume? Your friend was speaking of cults and
said we would find proof if I followed him. Then I had to race back
here when you attempted to murder Silvak. Now, the only way you're
leaving here alive is by giving him to us safely in exchange for your
little friend." The guards seem content with his
explanation.

“Wow, pretty quick story there... so a citizen
tells you about a cult and you drag him off and kill him. I thought
Judgment was in two weeks, but apparently you're doing the maker's
job for him."

Though Eliam is too far away to hear, he
can see a situation beginning to go south in the distance. He quietly
sneaks out from the field, his weapon ready, preparing to assist if
necessary.

"Our friend for yer pal, yeah?” Votig asks.
“How ‘bout ya bring him over, unless what me lad here is sayin'
is true."

The leader says, "Thek, I'm going to get
him. They don't leave. More are coming." He turns to go get
Eliam and sees him approaching from the field. "Son of a- **he's**
there**," the leader shouts.**

"There he is! He's
alive!" Oren says, walking over to Eliam. "Guess you didn't
finish the job. You stay here, don't move."

The guards
grab Oren as he goes to pass. "Oh,” he says, “I guess you
want more blood on your hands."

"Now," says the
leader. "Your friend for ours."

Oren look at the
other guards "See? This is how he treats innocent
citizens!”

"Lad,” Votig tells the guard, “Yer gonna
wish ya didn't do that."

The guard says, "I see a
potential murderer. Until we can sort this out, I think you need to
come with us."

In response, the dwarf snaps Silvak's
neck.

The guards scream in rage and sadness, and suddenly the
batons are out. Three of them rush Votig while the leader, holding
Oren, pushes him to the ground and attempts to cuff him.

### **The Group Fights at the Docks**

The guard forces
Oren to the ground, restraining his hands behind him. He cuffs him
quickly and steps away to join the fight. Oren slips the cuffs from
his wrists, and books it to Eliam's position.

The Leader
shouts, "All right, boys! Not the first time we've taken down
criminals and not the last! Bring 'em in!" The officers seem
bolstered by the leader's words and their own memories.

Oren drops a wall of darkness on the
officers.

The first guard pushes through the darkness and
steps out to find Votig. He swings his baton at the dwarf and
connects with the side of his torso. A second guard circles around
him, raising his cuffs. The dwarf pushes back, resisting the arrest,
and moves back defensively. The leader steps out of the darkness and
advances on him. The orc's baton bounces off the side of Votig's
cheek.

Oren's arcane blast strikes the guard's shoulder
forcefully. He swings his baton in retaliation, but the mage nimbly
avoids the blow. Eliam call on his power and layers a suppression
bolt onto his arcane blast, striking the guard. His steps stutter
briefly as he feels the effects of the aether wash over him, but he
seems to suffer no lingering effect from the attack beyond
damage.

Oren taps into his new power and sacrifices his own
blood to fuel his spell. His unfamiliarity with the talent causes the
aether woven into the spell to dissipate, and the blood price is paid
for no gain.

The first guard sees Votig begin to waver and
leaps forward, restaints in hand. A blow to Votig's head has left him
woozy, and despite his great strength, he is unprepared for the force
with which the guard is accosting him. The restraints are applied,
and Votig is forced to the dock.

The second guard raises his
baton and swings it at Chompy, who has been nervously waiting for
instructions. The baton smacks him in the side of his elongated maw.
The lizard sees stars as the attempt at the lethal blow is struck.
Chompy is knocked into the water, and Votig loses sight of him.

Votig breaks his restraints and
gains his feet. Quickly, he jumps into the water to help Chompy. The
dwarf begins floundering in the water. He holds himself partly above
the surface, just barely, but begins to swallow water. He feels a
pressure under his back. Chompy is struggling to push up from
underneath his master. He does not have oxygen under the surface, but
he senses Votig's desperation and is trying to support him.

The
leader kneels down on the dock and sees Votig half-drowning. He says,
"You know... It probably would have been easier just to come
with us, rather than murder a perfectly innocent man. You're going to
be doing some hard time, friend. I'd watch myself if I were you. The
pits at Asle Lenor? Those criminals like the short ones." He
bonks Votig on the head with his baton.

Votig is unconscious in the water.
The leader has grabbed him by the collar to stop him from
sinking.

As they speak, the second guard overtakes Oren and
pushes him down, restraining him. Another guard appears from the
other side of the wall. He looks at the guard atop of Oren and asks,
"Where did the other one go?" The guard responds, "Tried
to head into that dark stuff."

The orc, atop of Oren,
speaks to him. "Just stop struggling and making it worse for
yourself. If you've done nothing, you have nothing to worry about.
The only murderer - so far - is the tiny one."

Eliam
steps out of the darkness, a flame blast prepared. He unleashes a
massive torrent of fire on the guard atop of Oren. Both suffer the
bard's conflagration.

The leader sits down on the deck, still
holding Votig's head above the water. He makes no attempt to raise
him. He shouts, "They're all on your side, boys! None over here.
Go get 'em!"

"Wait, let me go!” Oren protests.
“I'm not a criminal!”

The first guard turns back, hearing
the leader's words, and steps through the wall of shadow. He sees
Eliam as the last remaining member of the party standing and pushes
him to the ground. He is restrained immediately.

"Good
news," he calls to the other guards. "The leader's got the
short one restrained. That should be all of them."

"We
have done nothing wrong! This is brutality!" Eliam insists.

The
leader shouts, "Have you gotten 'em yet?"

"Yessir!"
shouts one of the guards. "They're all accounted for."

The
guard nearest Eliam kneels down when he speaks and says, "You,
cultist, murdered my friend. So sit still and be silent or I will
**show you** brutality. You won't like it."

"We
aren't a cult," Oren tries to explain. The guard atop him hits
him.

"We were *attacked* by a cult! We're the
victims!" Eliam insists. A second guard punches him. "Save
it," he spits.

The leader says, "Good. I've got this
one. We're gonna follow protocol. Call in the Condemnation, load 'em
up. We'll send 'em on their way."

Oren struggles, and is
punched once again. His attempts to access his magic are blocked,
though he cannot understand why.

"Leave him alone!”
Eliam shouts. “He's been hit enough!" A guard hits him once
more.

One of the guards says, "Enough. You're going to
Asle Lenor, cultist. If you're innocent, you can prove it there. If
you're not... well, Silvak can rest easy, at least." He looks up
at the darkening sky. "Just be thankful we're not going to
string you up and leave you out overnight."

"We
would prefer that actually," Oren says, risking another
blow.

Votig is unconscious. Eliam and Oren are injured and
restrained. The Condemnation is on its way.

**Chapter 7**