Gritty sand. She felt that first, the rough grains rubbing against her skin. Face down, she was face down on the ground, in the sand. Why was she face down in sand?
Groggily she turned her head. It was a slow process, as if her neck muscles didn't want to quite work properly. Finally half of her face broke free of the clinging sand, and she felt bright heat on her face. She squinted one eye open.
The sun was a bright hot disc overhead, high noon. It was blinding so she shut her eye, shielding herself from the blazing whiteness. Despite the coolness of the ground, it was hard to breathe, muffled. With a great effort she turned over, rolling herself on her back. She could feel the heat of that sun warming her, suffusing through her body. It seemed to help her muscles loosen.
Idly she wondered where she was and why she was lying in the sun. Then a much worse thought struck her. Who was she? No name came to mind, no memory floated up, not a whisper informed her. In a panic both of her eyes flew open. Again the bright sun but this time she steeled herself and sat up, one hand sinking into deep sand.
All around her a green, verdant wall seemed to loom over her, washed out in bright sunlight. Who was she?
The sheer unknowing panicked her as she cast about, as if she would see a sign or post informing her. Instead she saw an unbroken wall of luxurious trees, vines and undergrowth, all a deep rich green. It seemed very crowded together, all fighting for light. Her other sense slowly began to function.
She could hear water, and glancing down, saw she was on the bank of s slow, sluggish stream. Its water was a deep brown, choked with dead leaves and branches. The air was thick and humid, full of moisture and the sound of buzzing insects. It took her a moment but a word trickled up out of some distant hoard.
Jungle. She was in a jungle.
Blinking, she looked across the watercourse and saw more of the same mass of foliage. There was no path or break in the trees. Shaking her head she slowly got to her feet, testing each muscle. A heavy bag of equipment was tied to her back, covered with sand. Then she froze. She was not alone.
Sitting nearby, in that same sand, was a large cat. It seemed quite unafraid of her, as it stared with large golden eyes. Strangely she didn't feel frightened either despite the danger such a beast should have provoked. Why?
Still pondering this, then she saw the body. It was floating, face down in the stream. The clothes were rich and well-made, expensive leather and embroidered cloth. Long gray hair stream out, spreading like a halo around the head. A bag floated next to it, bobbing in the nearly non-existent current.
The body held no recollection for her, no mental image. It could have been anyone or no one. Had she known them? Then a dark thought flickered. Had she killed them?
A shadow moved on the sand and, out of some long honed instinct she looked up to the source. There among the tree branches she saw a large brown shape clambering on hooked claws. It was big, bigger then she was, but clumsy, using claws to cling to moss covered branches. She stared at it, still in shock.
With a rush , the shape suddenly dropped from the tree. It landed heavily on the ground, causing a flurry of dry leaves to blow up. Up close, she could see it was a weird mix of animal and bird, the top half having a huge owl-like head, the rest the solid body of a large bear, complete with massive hooked claws. The fur was stained with algae and stank. The large cat near her bristled and yowled a challenge at the beast.
The strange beast opened its savage beak, letting out a deafening hootlike roar and raising two long arms but instead of attacking it turned to the floating corpse and started trying to hook it out of the water, to drag it to shore.
Facing the strange creature, her first thought was to back away from it, to hide in the jungle, and to try to figure out what was going on. After all, it seemed to want to corpse to feed on.
On the other hand, it was likely that the corpse was connected to her in some way. Whether friend or foe, it might have some answers. She couldn't let possible clues be torn apart and devoured.
Still stiff, she patted herself down, hoping for a weapon. She found two, recognizing them by feel alone, their names coming to her as she touched them. Spear. Scimitar.
Pulling the scimitar, she cautiously approached the beast. Maybe it would scare away if she shouted at it. "Hey there! Ugly! Get off of that. Go on, scram!"
Beside her the strange big cat roars along with her, the long tail flicking back and forth.
The weird creature ignored her shouts, concerned with the corpse. With a heave it hooks the body and flips it onshore, with a spray of muddy water. She can now see it is an older man, his face bearded and lined with age.
The beats gives a eager hoot and bends down to tear at the wet flesh.
Confounded by the creature's complete lack of concern over her shouting, she stopped for a moment. She was loathe to fight the creature over its meal; after all, it had a right to eat, and she from the looks of it, it was mainly a scavenger. On the other hand, she didn't want it eating any clues to who she was, or why she was here.
Food. It wants food. Maybe I have some? She quickly dropped her backpack and opened the top. Nothing looked familiar, but from the smell of it, she had meat in there. Ah, there it is, she found a bundle wrapped in waxed canvas, and unwrapped it find several chunks of raw meat. Do I eat this?
The big golden cat, who alternately watched her and growled at the strange owl-monster, noticed the meat and bounded over to her. Rubbing its face along her arm, it let out a rumbling purr. Do YOU eat this? She tossed a piece to the cat, who pounced on it and began tearing into it.
Moving carefully around to the front of the owl monster, she took her scimitar in one hand and some meat in the other. "Hey! Hey ugly! You want meat? Try this!" She waved the meat in front of its face, and then tossed it several feet away from the corpse. She then gave it a smack with the flat of her scimitar for good measure.
The owl-bear hybrid turns a beak toward the thrown meat. It eyes the half-orc for a moment, bright golden circles that flash with the tropical sun. With something like a shrug it turns to the beak and begins to gobble it up quickly, obviously enjoying it.
Beside her the cat, still eating it's own share, keeps an eye on the strange creature, barely suppressing a growl.
From above in a tree, she hears a loud screech. Looking up she spots a brown hawk on a tree branch, looking at her quizzically. It seems quite tame and friendly. It snaps the beak once or twice at her, hopping down to a closer branch.
Shrugging, she used her scimitar to cut off a small chunk, and tossed it up to the hawk. Screeching, it caught it on the wing and landed close to the big cat before tearing into it with its sharp beak.
"Anybody else hungry?" she asked the green jungle. The sound of her voice was strange in her ears.
Not knowing how long the owlthing would be distracted by the free dinner, she quickly moved to the corpse and began examining it; looking in pockets, taking note of any jewelry or distinctive markings on the man, or his clothes.
No voices or cries answer her, so she turns to her new task, aware the owl creature won't take long to devour that meat.
It disturbs her the dead man's face means nothing to her. The weathered lines, long beard, gray eyes seem distinctive but trigger no memory, no emotion of love, or hate. Quickly she searches.
His clothes are well-made but simple. A brown traveling cloak over comfortable shirt and trousers along with sensible leather boots. She finds a small pouch tied to a simple belt. In it she finds a folded bit of water-logged paper, a bottle of ink, a wet quill, and 30 gold coins.
On his body she finds no jewelry accept a ring, made of wood and carved with intricate details of oak leaves. It looks old and well-worn, with the skin under it being polished smooth through wear.
Before she has time to search the bag however, the owl-bear cross has finished the meat and is ambling over, claws outstretched, obviously intending to regain the corpse.
She took the ring and pouch, and backed away from the corpse. The owlthing could have it. After all, she was in no position to haul a corpse through the jungle. Fishing the bag out of the stream, she gathered up her belongings and retreated to the far edge of the clearing, giving the scavenger room to eat.
Finding a patch of shade, she sat down and more carefully went through both her belongings, and dead man's pack. She found a well-worn blanket in her bag, and used it to dry off what she could. In her bag, she found lots of travelling provisions, a few portions of meat left, some dry bed and some sort of sausage, a water skin, and lots of other useful provisions. She also had a scimitar and a wooden shield, a short spear, a dagger, and a sling with bullets. Almost everything she had was made from wood or leather; only her scimitar and dagger blades were metal. Even her armour was a strange stiff sort of leather, made of overlapping sections.
The huge golden cat stayed nearby. It seemed to have accepted the scavenging owlthing as not a current threat, and was currently cleaning it's whiskers. Couger. You're a cougar. Mountain lion. Puma. How can I know three names for your species, and not my own name? It lifted a leg to clean its toes, and she saw that it was a female. "Here, kitty," she said, holding her fingers out.
The cougar looked up, and languorously stood up and made her way over to the offered fingers. She ran her cheek along it, and then held her head still, clearly asking for a head-scratch. She acquiesced, the sensation somehow familiar and comforting. "You're mine, aren't you? Or at least we're travelling together. Puma aren't a jungle cat."
The creature hooks the corpse with savage claws, puncturing it. With a quick twisting motion it drags it close and then starts to carry the dead man up the tree. It leaves behind a trail of crimson blood from the open wounds.
As she scratches the cat's head, she hears the hawk screech again. It dives down and lands on her shoulder with practiced ease. The bright eyes scan here then it snaps its beak at her, rubbing a proud head against her neck.
Under her fingers the massive cat purrs, apparently pleased that the owlcreature was gone.
After awhile she searches the water-logged bag. Inside she finds a heavy, locked book, totally soaked. Along with this she finds a number of useful things. The items include a backpack, a bedroll, a belt pouch, a flint and steel, an iron pot, a mess kit, soap, a spell component pouch, 10 torches, 5 days of trail rations, and a waterskin. Everything is wet but usable if she gave it time to dry.
"Well, kitty, I don't suppose you care to tell me what I'm doing out here? Or who I am?" The cougar purred, but didn't answer. Nor did the hawk. However, she took great comfort from their presence, and decided that whoever she was, these two lovely creatures had been travelling with her for some time.
"Well, there's no point moving on until I have some sort of plan. So for now, let's dry out." She spread the dead man's things on a blanket to dry in the hot sun.
She looked at the strange, locked book, examining it for any sort of name or monogram. Then, using a fishhook, which she bent straight, she tried to get it open.
The book has a few strange runes she can't read, but on the front cover she reads, in bold letters, For Hippacus Raithe. Then, in much smaller letters, Printed by Halss and Sons The fishhook slides into the simple lock and she instantly pops it open.
The pages are covered with writing but every page has been soaked through and is totally unreadable. The ink has smudged and run through and the pages themselves have started to melt into a single block of mushy paper.
"Hipp - a - cus. Rai-the." She spoke the name slowly aloud, as if tasting it, wondering if it meant anything to her. Disappointingly, but not surprisingly, it did not. "Well, Hippacus, your book is wrecked. Which I don't suppose means much to you, considering you're currently somebody's dinner." Looking at it again, and the strange pouch, she pondered, "I wonder if this was a spellbook. Not many people keep locked books. Unless maybe a diary, if you had a very exciting life. Were you a wizard? Were you my friend?"
Suddenly, the enormity of her loss, and of her lost-ness, threatened to overwhelm her. She had no idea who she was, where she was, why she was there, or where she was going. She felt the edges of her vision go dark as her heart sped up. Close to panic, she suddenly felt a soft, but strong weight pushing on her shoulder. It was the big cat, pushing her head into her torso. Letting out a sob, she grabbed the cougar in a rough hug, buried her head in her fur, and started to cry.
On her shoulder, the hawk butted his head into her neck, making little harsh chirping noises. For several minutes, the only sounds were the deep rumble of the cougar's purr, and her harsh sobs.
After she'd cried herself dry, she pulled away from the cat and rubbed her face. "Okay, thanks, guess I needed that." She sat for a few more minutes, drank some water, and contemplated her options. "Well, we can sit here and feel sorry for ourselves, or we can get a move on."
She heaved herself to her feet. The stuff wasn't quite dry, so she left it in the sun. "I wonder if I can figure out where we came from," she said. Examining the sandy bank of the stream, and the surrounding ground, she looked for tracks or clues of where she'd come from.
As the hawk butts her, she notices something. Around her neck is a thong, so loose and worn she hadn't even felt it before. The half-orc pulls it out and finds a locket at the other end. With excitement at some mystery being revealed she opens it and finds a man's face, painted in miniature but perfect detail.
He has a strong dark face, and is grinning. A mop of dark hair sits on his head, matching the short beard. The brown eyes are laughing, open wide.
At the bottom, in tiny print is For Bo. There is nothing else, but judging by the wear, she has looked at it often.
She finds no tracks, no footsteps or even a path. Had they walked down the stream perhaps?
Bo. Is that me? Am I Bo?
She says it out loud, again tasting the name, but again, there's no recognition to go with it. She examined the picture again. The man was...not the same as she was. She put her hands up to her face, exploring it. Her ears were pointed, and short, sharp tusks jutted from her lower jaw, over her upper lip. Remembering the mirror she'd unpacked, she picked it up and examined herself more carefully. Her skin was a dark green/grey colour, with dark brown eyes. Her nose was broad and flat. Her hair was black, shorter than shoulder length, and tied back with braids and fetishes.
Orc. I am orc. No. Half orc. Half human. He is all the way human. Is he my...father? My lover? My friend? It was the only clue to her identity, and therefore precious. Well, assuming I didn't steal this, I'm Bo.
Bo took one last look, then tucked it back inside her shirt. The other items were nearly dry, and she began to pack them away. The paper she'd pulled from Hippacus had dried, and she looked at it carefully to see if it was still legible. She also took the wooden ring and examined it more closely, along with the contents of the two pouches she found in his bag.
The ring is covered carvings, showing a intertwined series of runes and leaves. The two sets of symbols were worn and old, but looked amazingly elaborate. In tiny script, she can see Two grow into one. Bo can read this but it isn't the same language as the book had been. Did she know two languages?
Still puzzling at that she spreads out the letter. Sadly it has been badly damaged by the water, with the ink having run and ruined nearly all of it. Staring at it, and holding it up to the light she can only make out a few words.
omens
study
special circumstances
and finally, near the bottom,
marriage.
Everything else has been thoroughly destroyed.
Squinting at the page, Bo tried to make out more of the words, but it was a lost cause. Still, she folding the paper carefully and stowed it in her pack. Omen. Study. Special circumstances. Marriage. What did it all mean? What connected them?
She wished she could just remember! Still, there was no use continuing to cry here in the jungle. She needed to get moving.
Looking around at the trees, Bo chose the tallest one that looked climbable. "I'm gonna take a look around," she told the cougar, "try to get the lay of the land. Wait here."
She removed her weapons and shield. Taking another look at the tree, she decided to strip her armour as well - it would only hinder the climb. Finally, she jumped up to reach the lowest branch, and pulled herself up. The cougar, not surprisingly, jumped up after her, and bounded from branch to branch until it was looking down at her, golden eyes shining in the canopy. "Show off," she grunted, pulling herself further up the tree.
It takes a long time crawling up the massive tree. While the limbs are large and well-place, they are covered in slippery moss and entangling vines. Bo finds she is good at climbing but it still takes awhile. The obviously superior cat doesn't help and it is made worse by the hawk, which follows her closely, darting among the foliage. Finally though she reaches the crown of the tree, poking her head through the roof of leaves.
It is like surfacing in a green ocean. The sun is bright overhead, much brighter here then in the gloomy twilight below. All around her stretches a sea of broad leaves, dark green, rippling to the horizon. A few giants of trees stick out here and there, punctuating the otherwise even canopy. Birds circle here and there in the unknown distance, scales being hard to judge against undifferentiated green.
Far, far to the west, gray mountains loom on the very edge of sight.
"Huh."
Bo stared around at the seemingly never-ending jungle. Then she slowly and carefully began climbing back down.
Once at the bottom, she donned her armour, adjusted her weapons, and made sure her stuff and Hippacus' was stored properly away. It was time to move on from this place.
"Okay. What do we know?" The cougar sat patiently at her side, tail flicking as she watched a butterfly dance around her head. "I am probably Bo. You are my friend. You probably have a name, but I don't know it. So, we're going to call you...Fang? Sounds like we're trying too hard. Shadow? Hmm, maybe if you were black instead of golden. Goldy? Too girly." The cat yawned, rubbed her head on Bo's leg, and purred encouragingly. "You sure do like to purr, don't you, you big softy."
The cat tipped her head sideways at the word purr. "Is that your name? Did I call you Purr? That's too soft. How about... Pearl? Does that work for you? Are you Pearl?"
The cougar got to her feet a
nd flicked her tail again, which Bo took as a sign of agreement. "Okay, Bo and Pearl. And...um...Shriek. How about that, bird? Wanna be Shriek?" The hawk ignored the conversation completely. "So Bo and Pearl and Shriek, on an adventure, something to do with omens and special circumstances and possibly marriage. I am going to choose to believe that we were travelling with Hippacus, that we were friends. So, where did we come from? Somewhere in the jungle? Or have we travelled far to be here? Which direction? No tracks, so either we flew in, or came along the stream, or...I don't know."
She looked around again. "Let's see if we can find a path. Surely we didn't just trek straight through the jungle. Okay. Looking for a path." Bo decided to try and spiral out from the creekside where she'd awoken. Hopefully she'd find a path. If not..well, she'd decide then.
Bo begins moving through the dense jungle, searching for any sign of a path. She finds she can move quite easily through the crowded underbrush at the edge of the clearing. Apparently she is skilled at such things.
She soon passes through the sheer wall of green edging the streambank. A few steps through this undergrowth and Bo steps into the gloomy twilight of the forest floor. A vast carpet of crunchy dead leaves stretches into the shadowy expanse, dotting with the trunks of massive buttressed trees. the air is hot, humid and filled with the buzz of insects.
She begins to circle, trying to keep her sense of direction intact but she soon loses her sense of direction, only having the vaugest idea of which way the stream is.. After an hour, she is sure she can circled at least once or twice and found no sign of tracks or paths, either human or animal.
The sun, while hidden by a roof of green overhead, beats down with relentless brutality. Bo starts to sweat profusely in the sticky, clinging air.
Still, Bo is able to shake it off quite easily, her tough orcish hide keeping out the worst of the heat. Still, these are dangerous conditions.
Seeing nothing that would give her any clues as to where she came from, Bo grunted in frustration. No hints about why Hippacus was dead. No hints about why she had been knocked out with no memory. No hints about anything at all. Just miles of endless jungle.
"Well, Pearl, I guess we just have to make the best of it, and keep moving. This place is likely to be a lot less friendly at night. Let's see what we can find."
Picking a random direction, Bo hiked up her pack and began to walk.
The cat and hawk stay with her, obviously used to her stride. Bo is glad she started looking for shelter for night starts to fall very quickly. Like a candle being blown out it seems to go from high noon to dusk instantly. The already deep gloom turns to black midnight, and the insect song changes to a chorus of frogs and squeaking of bats.
Luckily, before total blackness falls she finds a good spot at the base of a massive tree. The bole is deep and dry, forming a primitive cave, with a floor of old wood shavings. It smells fresh and clean, much better then the usually decaying wood and wet mud. Even better it is large enough for all three of them to huddle into.
Bo pulls out the last piece of meat that the owlthing didn't get, and tossed it to Pearl. As the big cat tore pieces from it, she said, "You'll be hunting for your food tomorrow." She ate some of the strong dry sausage and tough bread that she found in her pack, chewing it slowly.
Though the darkness was deep and she was lost, Bo found that she was strangely comfortable. She could name each species of frog and bat as they called, and her eyes adjusted to the darkness better than a human's would have. She considered making a fire, but didn't really need it for warmth. Instead, she chose not to make a beacon.
Shriek was already asleep, perched on a branch over her head. Bo curled in with Pearl, and lulled by the rhythm of the jungle, allowed herself to sleep.
The night passes uneventfully, or at least Bo does not wake up. When she opens her eyes, she sees dawn has come and gone. The day is already bright and hot, another steaming day in the jungle. Pearl stretches beside her, nearly taking up the whole space. Shriek screams tot he morning, a challenge to the endless birdsong above.
Then Bo notices something. Off to the left, weaving among the massive trees is a path. It was certainly not there yesterday but it appears to be a well-worn and established trail through the jungle.
"Huh."
Bo closed her eyes, rubbed them, then opened them again. Path was still there. She stood and stretched, popping her back, and took a few deep breaths. Path was still there.
"Well that is weird. Either that wasn't there yesterday, or I couldn't see it. Or somebody picked us up and moved us in our sleep." She looked around - was she in the same place?
She looks around, peering closely. She seems to be in the exact same place, and the bole of the tree shows the signs of their long night here. It as if the path grew overnight, like a fast growing plant.
Pondering the path's appearance, Bo took her time chewing on her breakfast. She drank from her waterskin, realizing that she would need to find a watersource today. When Pearl butted her head against her for breakfast, Bo shrugged and said, "Sorry, you're on your own for food today. Best get searching."
The big cat flicked her tail and didn't move, other than to nose at the pack again. A little more firmly, Bo said, "No. Go hunt." Pearl turned and bounded into the green underbrush. It didn't take long before the cat came loping back, some sort of large weasel hanging from her jaws. She presented the kill to Bo, who admired it, then told her to eat up.
When everybody had finished their breakfast, Bo packed up again, twisted her back a few times to loosen up, and cautiously approached the trail. "It looks like it went to a lot of trouble to be here," she said, examining it. "It would be rude not to use it." She set off along the trail, heading in as close to the same direction she'd been travelling yesterday as possible.
The trail feels like a long used path, the underbrush cleared from the edges, and there were no trailing vines hanging down. The muddy ground was trampled into hard pack and Bo made good time, although she had no idea where she was going.
Pearl walked slightly behind her, head up, smelling the air. Above her Shriek flew, not enjoying being constrained by the close press of trees. The trail, while wide enough to use comfortable did not open a wedge to the sky, so it was much like traversing an endless green tunnel.
Then, quite suddenly she finds a sign nailed to a tree. It has a number of languages but she recognizes one.
It says, quite plainly, carved into the wood, Do not use this Path if you are lost.
Bo sighed. Why go to all the trouble to place a warning, in multiple languages no less, and make it so cryptic? "This makes no sense," she complained to Pearl. "Is it ok to use this path if you're not lost? Why not use it if you are lost? What's the danger?"
The half orc considered her options. Technically she was lost, since she had no idea where she was. But she also wasn't lost, because she wasn't trying to go anywhere in particular. That she remembered anyway.
[][]
(Posting from phone is hard).
"We're making good time, so let's stay on the path for a bit longer. But we'll keep our eyes open." Bo drew her scimitar and pulled her shield into her arm, just in case.
Bo soon faces a foe her weapons are useless against.
It begins to rain.
At first there are a few fat drops falling from a suddenly cloudy sky, hitting the leaves. This slowly grows into a light rain, and the sound rises to a low drumming. Then the sky opens with a torrential downpour that nearly knocks Bo off her feet. The storm turns the solid path to mud and water gushes off of the massive tree trunks like water off the roof of a cathedral. The sound is defeating, as if a giant was lashing the rainforest.
Looking for cover, Bo seems some dark shapes looming directly ahead, the remains of the path leading toward it. They look like low buildings or piles of earth.
The water sluiced off Bo's head and down her body. She couldn't have been wetter in a waterfall. Wondering if the weather was conspiring with the path to herd her into a trap, she knew she had to risk it. Either that or risk getting washed away.
Shriek had already landed on her arm and was practically trying to crawl into her hair to escape the rain. Pearl meowed miserably beside her. "Okay, crew, let's check it out. Be on alert." They moved towards the waiting shelter.
Alert, Bo heads for the dark shapes feeling as if she is being guided there. Or pushed.
Working through the driving rain is a challenge, and it limits her visibility. Nearly without realizing it, she stumbles into the clearing and sees the dark shapes are the ruins of houses and towers of stone. Most have long tumbled into the dark earth, but strangely they are not overgrown with vines and trees. They have merely fallen down into weathered heaps but the forest does not cover them.
It is hard to see in the driving rain but they seem covered with weird markings and strange runes. Pearl growls and Bo looks for a dry place. One tower, now a mere stump, provides an overhang. They all pile into it, happy to be out of the downpour. They are settled in the beds of dry leaves before Bo realizes they are not alone.
A human figure is lying in a darkened corner, face turned away, as if asleep. A dark green cloak is pulled around them, like a crude blanket. As she watches however, it rolls over and sits up. She stifles a scream.
The face is human, with a small weak chin, a long nose and watery blue eyes. Curls of golden hair peek from beneath a ragged, dirty hood. But what shocks her is the man seems to be...dissolving.
The tip of his nose, the bottoms of his ear, the base of his chin are falling away, as if they were tiny sand grains, falling through an hourglass. There is no blood, just a trickle of tiny flesh-colored grains falling onto the dry ground.
"This was my home." The voice is rasping, weak, "For the short time I have left, I suppose it is my home."
The watery eyes focus on Bo, "Will you accept my hospitality? If so answer me three questions to while away my last time in this place. If you rudely refuse, then I will find other ways to pass my remaining moments." A hint of threat lingers in the last remark.
Bo hesitates a moment. Her instinct is to run, but there would be little point in this rain. It looked more and more like she had been herded here, and if she ran, she doubt it would be an easy escape. She had no idea what had happened ... what was happening to this man, but it made her very afraid.
Hoping to avoid conflict, she decided to go along with his request. Inching back a bit, she slowly lowered her head in acquiescence. "I will be honoured to pass the time in conversation with you. What would you know?"
The figure seems to accept her acquiescence as his due. He sits back, settling against the stone wall. The grains of his flesh continue to melt away, the nose now much sorter and the ears deformed.
'What is more valued, wisdom or happiness?" The voice is drier now.
Despite herself, Bo was intrigued by the question. She thought a moment, then said, "I suppose it depends on who you ask. A wise person would say wisdom is more valued, but a fool would value happiness."
There is a bit of disdain in the voice, 'I ask what you say, not others. I care not what a wise person or a fool would say, what do you say? I ask you, half-orc."
Bo cocked an eyebrow. "If you wanted to know what I thought, you should have said, "What do you value more." Right now, I value wisdom more." Maybe with enough wisdom I'll be able to get away from you, creepy melting man.
The dissolving man grins at her impudence and Bo can see the bright white teeth...to her horror they too are melting into flakes. Ting grains of whiteness, dribbling away. The entire face looks slightly softer now, the nose short, the ears nearly gone.
"Well answered. That is much better. Next question...If a heap of sand is reduced by a single grain at a time, at what point does it cease to be considered a heap?" The figure's blue eyes watch her carefully, the eyebrows dissolving into nothingness, like sandcastles falling to the waves.
"Hmmmm...." Bo thought about it. "Tricky. Because what's a heap? More than a pile, more than a handful. Less than a hill. Let's work it up. A handful can be held in a hand. A pile of sand would be more than can be held in two hands. And a heap has to be at least two piles. So...I'd say when the heap of sand was made small enough that I could carry it away in four big handfuls, then it's no longer a heap."
"Not a very romantic answer, a bit mundane." The figure ponders, as his chin slides away into thin air. The face is more distorted now, the cheeks flaking away, the neck covered with rivulets of grains. The eyes themselves are melting inward, as the face turns soft.
"Shows a lack of mental flexibility." But the figure leans back, sighing. He raises a hand, which is nothing more then a stump, grains of his flesh falling like snow onto the ground.
"Final question then." he lets out a sigh and there is a cloud of sand from his lungs and Bo realizes he is dissolving away on the inside.
"Could the Gods create a stone so heavy even they could not move it?"
"That one is just silly," Bo complained. "There are too many gods to be able to answer that properly. Some gods are better at making than lifting, some are better at lifting than making. And anyway, the gods have lifted up all the worlds, and nothing can be bigger than all the worlds. So, my answer is no, and they probably wouldn't even try."
"That is hardly an answer." the man pouts, the lips falling away as he does so. The shoulders are slumping under the cloak, undergoing the same horrible process.
Feebly he shakes his head, "Calling my questions silly. That is not very polite, when you come into my home, and expect to stay dry. Not very polite at all." The chest caves in slightly, like a sand dune crumbling. The top of the head slowly becomes concave, like sand falling through an hourglass. The face becomes a mosaic of falling grains. When he opens his mouth, it is a ragged black hole.
"Shame on you, to insult a vanishing one...." The voice is a feeble whisper.
Feeling bad, Bo apologized. "You're right. I'm very sorry. I shouldn't have been rude. My thanks for the shelter. Is there anything we can do to help you?"
The figure shrugs and what remains of the arms fall away in an avalanche of grains. The head lolls sideways, no longer supported by the dissolving neck. The mouth, barely defined on the shrinking head says, "Just make sure you enjoy your stay...."
With a rush the rest of the figure simply falls away, disintegrating against the stone wall. What was once a human shape is now a mere pile of various colors sands. Even the cloak and other clothes dry and follow the same pattern, becoming mere dust.
Pearl sniffs the remains and growls lightly.
All around the rain continues to fall heavily, but the space is still dry.
Bo stares at the colourful pile of sand and dust, then shudders. "Enjoy my stay?" she mutters. She pushes herself as far away from the pile as she can, without getting wet. "I sure hope that wasn't the last guy who took shelter here."
Trying to stay alert for danger, for whatever had turned the man into a pile of sand, Bo waited out the storm.
It rains all day, driving hard. The heavy clouds are so dark, it is hard to tell when night comes but eventually it is too dark to see the trees at the edge of the clearing. Pearl and Shriek are already asleep, nestled together in a dry corner. Bo has seen nothing, not even any animals enter the small glade.
Bo notices that the weather seems odd. Rain bursts in a jungle like this usually flare then stop. It rains often but usually not all day....
There is no dry wood underneath, apparently the previous occupant didn't use fires. But there are piles of dead leaves and bits of bark. Enough for a small fire for some of the night.
Bo was liking this storm less and less. It was feeling more and more like some kind of...trap? Still, she had waited this long, and it didn't make sense to wander out into the dark needlessly.
Gathering up some of the bark and leaves around her, Bo got out her flint and quickly got a small fire going. She didn't really need it for heat or cooking, as she chewed on some more of the strong dried sausage, but it was a small comfort in this eery place.