Chapter 6

Arriving at Thirshalon
There is only darkness.

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.

Elise Splits the Party
“The haven sounds like a good place too...” Oren trails off. He looks at Elise, then puts his hand on Minerva's arm, guiding her away from the group. “It might be good to find a safe place to leave her,” he says, nodding his head towards the healer.

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.

The Group Camps and Learns About Lotuses
The party sits around a small fire as the fish cook. They dine as the sun sets and night falls. The sound of the river rushing past creates a sense of calm despite the suddenly smaller group. No noise interrupts the party until the sound of wagon wheels can be heard rolling up the road. The wagon rolls to a stop upon seeing the fire.

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 Group Travels with Iberyn
The sun rises in the west as day breaks over the campsite. Chompy wearily rises to his feet and stretches as he stirs. He has slept facing across the river for half the night, keeping vigil for the other.

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."

The Group Arrives at Meadowgrove
A couple of days pass and the wagon finally pulls into Meadowgrove, and this city is large. Roads and simple wooden buildings stretch as far as you can see. Farmers bustle this way and that, harvesting crops and preparing them for transport to Asle Lenor. The din of civilization rumbles in the background.

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