“This stretch of coastline is straight as Abadar’s hair part. We’ll just have to go in full sail and fuse-ready, and hope the conjured fog gets us close enough.” Shimali Manux drummed her fingers on her cabin’s fold-out desk, glowering at a map of Chelaxian waters like it had spat in her tankard. Esidries, her first mate, ran a hand through her long, shaggy hair, then adjusted her eyepatch. She seemed to have her own grievances with cartography.

The crowd in front of the vast chasm surrounding the Starstone Cathedral was slightly larger today than most days. Visitors from all over Golarion stopped by the great pit every day to marvel at the ancient edifice at its center, to dream of the stone hidden away behind its massive walls, lethal traps, and immortal guardians. It was said that the Starstone granted immeasurable power to any who could touch its crystalline surface and pass the final test of spirit. Those who succeeded became gods. Most simply fell to their deaths in the chasm outside and the rare few who made it in the cathedral were usually never heard from again.

“You stand defeated, Voradni Voon!” Melika shouted, brandishing her tin sword at Elophos. The older actor bellowed, throwing his hands up in a defiant gesture meant to cover a quick tightening of the straps holding on his minotaur horns, which had begun to slide dangerously sideways.

“A new game?” Kesara asked, her old Vudrani hands already sweeping the drouge pieces off the embroidered cloth, milk-pale jade and black onyx figurines vanishing like magician’s coins between her bony fingers.

Do you remember sleep?

“I don’t like the look of that sloop,” said Daker, punctuating the last word with his ever-present sneer.