The Father of Waters

Game Master Fighting Chicken

===============
The Meeting
===============

Lady Bellet grips the back of her chair, her fingers turning white, while the woman's face slowly deepens to a dark shade of red. Eventually, her voice comes clipped and curt.

"Moson Kahni is where you wrongly imprisoned, accused, and executed my dear son, Shadow. And now, let me verify your identity. What did my son look like? What color was his hair, his eyes? Did he have any birthmarks? What were his last words?"

"They burn my memory like a branding iron."

===========
Istiel
===========

Domhnall grabs your shoulder and gives it a quick squeeze and gasps. "Time is a forked river, Istiel, that has its headwaters at its delta. I see you dead in the woods, had you gone with Scree. You did well, my student."

Your master rubs his hand under his mask, and withdraws it, now sticky with blood. Taking his fingers, he runs them over your mask, drawing a forked circle with his blood around the circumference of the mask.

"Stay with me tonight, Istiel, and I will save your life again."

Rigel's embrace with Issy is prolonged, and only broken at the realisation of how bloodied her clothes are. "Alright honey, I'll be back in a bit - I need to go, you know, pray." She makes various abluting motions with her hands to indicate what she means.

Giving her near-sister one final embrace, she heads out the Copper Coywolf and out to Eel's mound

...

..

.

Shadeholme doesn't have many places of exquisite natural beauty, but one of them is a small lake in the silkwood forest. Water and cleansing are an important part of her rituals; and the tranquillity of the forest is bewitching. The silk groves have stood - and will continue to stand - for an age; the silkworms do not care about the Frozen, or sieges. They know nothing of death, of horror.

As before, Rigel hesitates at the water's edge, hopping from one foot to the other; before deciding that she needs to do this. Letting her knives fall to the ground, she peels off her outer garments - shuddering at the cloying wet feel of partially-dried blood. Taking a moment, she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and wades in. The water is barely hip-deep, but it is cold, enough to make her gasp.

Mentally bracing herself, she holds her nose and ducks under the water, running her free hand through her hair and her scalp, trying to make herself as clean as possible.

Something is wrong. The water is cold, but it stings her eyes and it feels horrible: viscous, like oil. Standing back up hurriedly, she blinks rapidly to shake away the tears that blur her vision. It is foul - the droplets that cascade from her are dark, and leave vile stains where they run in rivulets across her body. "no.no.no.no.no."

Looking up in haste, she sees what she failed to spot before: the nearby leaves are splashed with blood, the soggy ground is saturated with it. All is defiled, all of it.

Oios' words ring in her ears: I fear the days of Anaisa Pye are at an end.

"no..."

Sudden flushing is usually desire, embarrassment or anger. Desire seems unlikely. I wonder if she is embarrassed? How tactless of Oios to bring such an event up. Hopefully she will...
Imix freezes as the two most eligible leaders suddenly prove - violently and viciously, though thankfully verbally - that they have a harsh history. Already teetering on the edge of apocalypse, he sees Shadeholme's last hopes almost ready to come to blows.
Taking a deep breath he interjects "No! My apologies most esteemed lady of the house of Bellet, but an execution would have many witnesses. Your son's physical appearance just as many. Telowo can authenticate Oios."
Turning to Oios he furrows his brows "Are you a child? Do you think this is some game? I said the lady has a man to authenticate her. There is no need, the dawn of the day she lost over a hundred people, people of her house, to rub her face in the death of her child!" Imix looms over the older man "This is not how civilised people act!"
Unconsciously the Suriname's hands curl into fists, then back into claws. His pupil change. He steps forward, again.

Oios waves his hand irritably. Calm yourself Suriname. There could be two skinwalkers and you would have two people from outside who only know each other verify the other is not an imposter? The situation we are in is dire and the history between the Lady and I is tragic but it was hardly a secret and her reaction to it cannot be faked. This is more important at the juncture than the discretion I showed up to this time of overwhelming crisis. Oios turns to the Lady Your son called me a worm grovelling for peasant bread before he died. If I was wrong about him then Damballah will punish me and more for failing in my duty as his shadow. The important thing here is that we put that day off for as long as possible and certainly not at the hands of these invaders. I am at your mercy. You command soldiers and I have volunteered to be a sacrificial lamb. I only ask that any vengeance you may wish to further extract on me be done after we have found the assassins of the mayor and found a way out of this predicament. Whether it be by flight or holding against a siege.

Istiel stares with wonder at her master as he paints her mask with deep red blood, the viscous substance wetly and strikingly shimmering in the moonlight against the lacquered white side of her visage. She realizes it was no hedge-witch's after dinner brew Domhnall has consumed. The toll on his body seems extreme, but these were extreme times.

"Yes, Master." Istiel says with absolute conviction, partly to make up for her earlier refutation of his wisdom, partly due to concern for his well-being, and partly to hear more.

Hazel eyes, wide in the night with reverence, turn to the emptied gourd lying between the two monks before she looks back at his void-like irises. "What potion is this? .... What else can you see?"

"This is a waste of time." Drazan says with folded arms.

================
The Meeting
================

The Lady's nostrils flare, most unbecomingly, almost horselike, as she stares at Oios, face still flushed with anger. Holding her hand up to stay the Suriname, her gaze never leaves Oios' own; it seems almost as if Bellet's eyes are tinted red with rage.

"Were things not so extreme, I'd say that those weren't the words my son spoke, and relish your death as an imposter. But... the words you speak are true, and you are worth more to me alive than dead. For now, Shadow."

Marriet-Ambala Bellet lets go of the chair, her fingers' impressions still left on its supple leather. Straightening and breathing deep, the anger looks to leave her in one exhalation of breath.

"However, I see no need to stay here and be insulted. My man is mine, not a skinwalker. We just had a... private conversation, and I know he is who he is. He is vouched for. Come, Antuk, let's go home."

Nodding, the Lady's man follows her towards the door.

Sighing, the Garrison-Captain makes his own way to the exit. "I agree with the Mountain Man. This is useless. I'm going to get back to what I do best, which is not meetings and arguments."

============
Istiel
============

Your master's head dips, looking momentarily to the gourd. "That is no potion, Istiel. That is my second Journey. Of sorts, I suppose. Yahuasca vine, chacruna shrub, and jimson weed, were in that gourd. But also concentrated mate leaf, mixed with a small amount of acid, which I reduced to an ichorous syrup two weeks ago, knowing my Journey was near, time being a forked river. I am awake and tranced, Istiel. My insides liquefy, my mind is open, my eyes see downriver, upriver, and across both banks, and it is beautiful. The colors alone I have never seen before. Except that, I was always seeing them, in this moment, I suppose."

Domhnall looks all around him, his palms again up on his knees, his torso and head twisting. A sharp intake of breath is followed by a drip of blood from his mask. "Do not feel bad for me, Istiel! I saw this night my first Journey; the fire raging on Monk's Mound, the misty rain, you sitting here, with me. It has been this moment in time that my life has been waiting for, and now I take the last fork. Even now, I am everywhere and nowhere; I will be dead by morning."

Looking to you again, the master monk pivots his posture to sit facing you, his voice coming quick with excitement. "What shall we see this fine evening?"

================
The Meeting
================

One less cook in the kitchen and the Lady's Captain seems like a man who would go along capably with whatever is agreed here in terms of strategy and tactic. And all it took was my more imminent death Oios snorts. Which means that we should proceed with the skinwalker hunt and then onto what it is that the leaders decide on how to proceed. Suriname, I give you leave to demonstrate your power and prove you're not a skinwalker so we can move on.

Uncharacteristically, Istiel gasps when Domhnall says he has taken his second Journey. The sharp intake of breath sucked through her mask only brings the smell of her Master's blood into her nostrils, the metallic smell mixing with the cool, fresh scent of the dewy night. "But... you... You take the second Journey awake? Mate leaf and acid is all it takes to stay conscious?" Her voice is weak, mind barely able to comprehend everything that just occurred. The brief, curious technicalities were the only realistic handle to grasp in the midst of absurdities. "You knew all of this would happen? Was this your Tenent, to wait until this moment? To create this moment? To choose this moment? I do not..."

She lifts a hand to her head, grasping the side of it. The club to her temple earlier in the day was nothing compared to the jarring shock that her Master was soon to die and potentially ascend to godhood right before her eyes.

soon to die

The first sob takes her by surprise, having not felt such a reflexive mourning since childhood; the wretched gasp catches in her throat and refuses to leave until she spits out the words haunting her thoughts. "What am I to do without your guidance? What are WE to do in Shadeholme? I cannot... You are needed... This is not... Everyone..." The young monk studders, before the second choking sob wracks her.

The full weight of today's events, accumulated in a horrendous climax, crash down on Istiel in a bitter wave of despair and anger. Fingers dig into her robes, crumbling the fabric and piercing the flesh beneath as she steadies herself in the midst of a revelation. Realizing she had been averting her eyes, the young warrior-monk meets her Master's transcendent pupils with mortal weakness. "The time of man is coming to an end. Ayida-Wedu will not shine on the same world when she is next reborn." A tear drips from the bottom of her mask, unnoticed and inconsequential in the steady drizzle.

"This evening..." Istiel says hoarsely, voice quivering with fear and emotion as she answers Domhnall's question. "...we witness the beginning of a new era."

Imix, still simmering with tension from the confrontation, blinks one eyelid, and then a second horizontal one. He draws his left hand up, palm flat, concentrates for a second and silently forms a tiny ball of ghostly witchlight.

He nods for Oios to continue.

Then that is the Suriname and the Lady taken care of. Telowo can you test me. And if someone here can test Drazan and the native Shadeholmers test each other we can move on to the rest.

============
Meeting
============

The door shuts firmly behind the Lady, Antuk, and the Garrison-Captain as Imix conjures into being his witchlight.

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

Telowo looks to Oios, his bushy right eyebrow raised ever so slightly. "Remember the sister Abgatl that was in seminary with us? What was the rumor about her unusual hair color?"

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

Hamfatten and Telowo stare at each other in silence for a few moments. The magistrate shrugs. "The poacher we caught along the wooded way, had some of old Alma Slate's worm traps? He wanted to see you before punishment was meted. Why?

Telowo nods. "I remember that poacher well. He said it was Damballah's will. That he was to spin a thread of silk so fine Ayida-Wedu would be drawn to it. Too bad he lost his hand."

"That the Magistrate knows of the poacher is proof enough for me. He is himself, no more, no less."

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

Lijart is summoned, the hunter looking around the room warily, a quick and worried look crossing his face as he makes eye contact with Drazan, his concern easy enough for the Mountain Man to read.

Are you OK, son?

"When you showed up on my doorstep those few years ago, barely speaking a word of our tongue, but so obviously hungry, what happened next?"

Domhnall laughs, his laughter trailing off into a gurgling cough. "The key is the concentrated mate. It keeps one's scalp on edge, teeth chattering. The acid provides pain for the same purpose. Energy and pain override the sleep, bringing the trance into the world." Your master breathes deep, the words next coming on his exhalation, perhaps with a slight grin - or twinge of pain - judging from his uplifted voice. "Of course, a lot of willpower helps."

Coughing again, Domhnall puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Ai, I knew that one day, I would be looking at Monk's Mound burning from atop this warehouse, and you would be with me. I didn't know everything leading up to this moment. Had I... it would have been too much sadness to bear, I'm afraid."

Pulling you close, Domhnall wraps you in a warm hug, pushing the night chill out of your body for a moment. "Do not tell the others, Istiel, but you have always been my favorite student. You remind me very much of myself when I was a young monk. Focused and always moving forward, like the point of a javelin, little time for niceties and decorum. You learn, with age, Istiel, to be thoughtful. To move a little slower, but also a little smarter. I did at any rate. I'm sure you will as well."

Letting go his hug, Domhnall looks back into your eyes, his own large pools of blackness. "Every day is a different world when Ayida-Wedu is reborn. Do not put too much faith in the words of crows, young monk, for they are vain creatures, filled with jealousy and spite. There will be a new era, yes, but what fork in the river the world travels will depend on what you do. Why else would I have seen this night all those years ago?"

Sitting up straight, Domhnall claps his hands together twice, forcefully, the echo of his claps rolling like thunder. "But, enough meloncholy! I was right, Istiel! I am here and not here, and I did this for you. I will ascend soon, but you will still be here, with the wisdom I can share by my not being here. What shall we discuss?"

Drazan's eyes danced up and down Lijart sizing him and the question.

"Ask another." Drazan commanded dismissively, unweaving his hands from his chest and narrowing his eyes.

Imix tensed as Drazan avoided the question. A good choice for infiltration. Quiet. Different enough that many changes might slip past us. And, of course, as a barbarian it is more likely to be familiar with the culture he grew up in.

"You need not announce the answer to all if it embarasses you. So long as Lijart can judge, the test is satisfied."

=============
Meeting
=============

Lijart's eyes widen, before his weathered face breaks into a grin. "That's Drazan allright. But to satisfy the Suriname: what is your favorite dinnertime meal?"

"If it is even Lijart at all." Drazan warned as he closed the distance between himself and Lijart. Drazan locked eyes with Lijart and uttered a stern question, "Where is Helaya or her eldest sister?"

===============
Meeting
===============

Eyes even wider, Lijart holds his hands up in front of him, as if to ward off the man's anger. "Eldest daughter? You know there's only me and Helaya! I-I left Helaya at the alley by the Coywolf, where we've been camped! A-Ask the guard! He saw her!"

Drazan's hostility fades almost as quickly as it was raised. "Good. Good." Drazan nods.

"Helaya's mutton and emmer bread. You can taste the spice." Drazan returns to his crossed arms. "Lijart is truely himself, it would be wise to include him in our plans."

===============
Meeting
===============

Hair red as fire. We all called her Fire-Born. She did not seem to like it, though it caused awe Oios nods at Telowo.

Watching her Master slowly deteriorate in front of her, Istiel wonders if staying conscious during the second Journey is a good thing or not. The recollection of his first Journey instills an unfamiliar existential fear in her- this was all unavoidable, and every choice she thought she had made was pooling in this moment. What else is unavoidable in the future?

Istiel is caught off guard by the sudden embrace, and is quickly moved to speechlessness. She sit motionless, listening to his words, staring off into the night sky and the campfires burning around the eastern watchtower. Slowly, with much trepidation, she lifts her arms to hold him as well for a few brief moments.

When he lets go her arms fall to her lap like stone weights, and she can only blink slowly at his reassurance the crows were full of bluster and pomp. Inhaling deeply and sighing through her nose, the monk finally finds the words on the edge of her mind. "You have been a father to me. Thank you. I will do all I can to make you proud I am your student."

The thunder-like clap briefly energizes her, the younger monk sitting up straight and taking another deep breath. "I have seen their forces. I know fighting them head-on ends in a glorious, forgotten death. What do you see if stay inside the walls and we send for aid from the capital? If we try to flee through the underground passage?" She looks to monk's mound, the fire blazing bright. "What if try to kill their leaders? Or start infighting amongst the Mountain Men? Will the enemy send anyone to talk to us?"

She thinks some more, struggling to predict what could happen. Unable to think of anything else, she asks a personal question. "Master...." She has never revealed her life's goal, her path of ascension, to anyone. "My Tenent is to never turn down an opportunity for glory. To find the greatest glory." The monk's voice quickens, recalling her own fleeting visions from the day of her Rebirth five years ago. "I had visions of great battles. My fists and the ground covered in the blood of my endless foes. I jumped to the top of mountain peaks. I swam across oceans. My name was synonymous with great deeds. Can you see...Where can I find the greatest glory?"

Imix, who has tensed almost to the point of violence during Lijart's exchanges with Drazan, settles down in relief.
"That is all, then. Oios, I turn this meeting over to you. Lijart, could you stand guard beyond the door and ensure we have no eavesdroppers?"

==========
Istiel
==========

Domhnall runs his fingers over his closely shaved head, where they linger, playing along his scalp, as if he's found a particularly curious sensation. "Oh, I have no doubt you will make me proud, Istiel. You already have."

Turning his back to Monk's Mound, Domhnall rises, grunting and makes his way shakily to the south edge of the warehouse roof, where he stares down at Eel Mound. Then, slowly, he turns to the northwest looking into the rain. "A fallen bird on Father's Mound, broken in half, while the city rages against the dying of the light. No message will reach the king."

Sighing, the master monk stares at his feet. "Under the mounds and through the woods we go. It is not the path that is dangerous, but how the path is traveled."

Turning back to Monk's Mound, Domhnall considers the burning bonfire. "Men can be killed, men's masters, the Flame itself? Much harder. We do not fight the Mountain Men, we fight what controls them. Fire is a wondrous and fearsome thing. The boy Drazan knows this..."

Domhnall's voice trails off, his head tilting to the right, almost like that of an inquisitive coywolf. Gasping, his voice comes warm, filled with surprise. "Ai! A woman comes with comfort and a demon's deal. The river forks at her arrival!"

Turning to you, your master's eyes focus on you, brought back to this moment, him and you, on the warehouse roof, silent until you bring up your final question. Taking your hand, Domhnall sits again, crosslegged, pulling you into a similar seat. "Ah. I always wondered why you were so driven. People can recognize great feats like swimming the Great Glacial Lake,* or killing scores of our enemies. But if no one is around to record your deeds, to remember them, and the extraordinary circumstances that brought them about? Then the length of the swim doesn't matter; a race is merely an aimless run. The greatest glory is in seeing the Takayan way of life is preserved. And therin, so you will be. And I as well."

Domhnall reaches up, and this time with a finger wet with rain, again draws a forked river around your mask. "I never thought that there could be any different ending for me. The irony, of course, is that only now that I've reached that moment I always feared would come, I see the possibilities. Nothing is immutable; no river stays in its bed forever. Do not despair, Istiel! Not even my death is the end! It is merely... different. Sit with me, and watch our last sunrise together. It will be a magnificent one, I can already see it."

============
The Meeting
============

Lijart nods and takes his place outside the door, while you talk and plan. A half-hour or so passes when the door opens, and Chukix steps into the meeting room, running a gnarled hand over his balding head. Giving Imix a quick bow, Chukix clears his throat, holding up a small stack of vellum, across which lies his neat scrawl. "Ai. I've been all through Eel Mound. Roughly two-hundred of us remain. Half that I've judged are well enough, skilled enough, and old enough to hold a weapon. What next, Suriname?"

"Thank you Chukix. And the Children?" there is a strange deference in Imix's voice as he asks this question "But first - authentication. How old was I when I first challenged you?"

Istiel sits in the tradition meditation position while listening to the strange and cryptic words of her master; his unsteady movements and slurred speech so unlike the wolf-like prowling and calm rhetoric he was known for. So we must run. He may have just saved all the survivors or Shadeholme.

When he sits again with her the younger monk grasps his hand, completely receptive to any otherworldly wisdom that he may have to offer in regards to her Tenent. While slightly disappointed it was simply regular wisdom, his words still rung true in her ears. "Yes. I see now. My duty is the greatest path of glory. I will dedicate myself to protecting our way of life against those that wish to end it. Damballah, his family, and you, will be remembered until Ayida-Wedu rises no longer."

Taking a deep breath, she turns to the east with him, ignoring the rain, the fire burning to the north, and everything else but this moment. "How does the sunrise look?" Istiel asks, engaging him in conversation throughout his final night.

Our food situation seems more dire because of sabotage but we will not know for certain until the Excise Head finishes her survey. In the meanwhile, militarily we should hold the walls. Hamfatten can you work with the Lady's Captain to make sure of that? And can each of the able warriors take an able bodied apprentice so they at least learn the basics of a spear? Even if the food situation was not dire we would have to ration. I think the people will accept that without much trouble. Remember whatever you order, make it seem like the orders come from me. I will be the bearer of bad news. My purpose is not to be loved but to be a symbol of order. We hold until we know how much rations we have. As a leader I would have a retinue. I suggest Imix, Drazan, and one of the monks attend me while I make my rounds.

==============
Meeting
==============

Chukix nods, grave. "The children are fine, Suriname. I found the missing ones with Texikuk. As for your question... it is curious. The first time, it must have been soon after your change. Eight or nine perhaps. I recall you latched onto my leg and wouldn't let go. Your teeth took a chunk of my flesh with you. Scars fade, of course, but memories do not."

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

The Magistrate nods. "I'll work with the Lady's boy, and the Garrison-Captain as well. It would be good to surround yourself with protection, Oios."

=============
Naira, Gozrhan 21, Just Before Dawn
=============

Many things could have been different, you think, mind numb, as you paddle southwest on the Cheya Canal, the only sounds the splashes of your paddles into the canal’s waters. Most importantly, if Kentl hadn’t fallen into the fire, everyone would be dead. If Kentl wasn’t probably closer than he should have been - considering the alchemist’s fire that ringed his vest - likely to get warmth on this colder than usual evening, you’d also be dead. Careless Kentl, your savior.

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

It was in some ways lucky. Not for poor Kentl of course - but for you and Tetchuix and Apachana - the explosions brought you from a deep sleep. Upright in your blankets before you were even fully awake, Tetchuix was already scrambling, his words flying thick, like the arrows around you. ”Bandits! Raaaakkk us! To the boats!”

The boats! Your gaze swings around the expedition encampment: Kentl dead and exploding, Isua’s form never risen, arrows protruding from her fur-wrapped form, Nashix and Eletl gone, Shingles screaming somewhere in the treeline… Springing to your feet, you follow Apachana down the embankment, sliding in the mud slick from a recent rain, and tumble, sky over ground over sky over ground until you skid to a stop against your canoe. Sitting up, you realize its just you and Tetchuix and Apachana that has made it - not enough to work the keelboat. Luckily, you’d taken the dugout up-canal, a fine vessel made of stone cedar, to check the state of an embankment earlier in the day. It sits, loaded with gear and a couple of day’s food, with just enough room for you three.

Arrows thud into the side of the canoe, and you reflexively draw on the canal beside you, summoning a protecting fog while Apachana and Tetchuix cut the mooring line and drag the canoe into the canal. As you push off, your companions furiously paddling, while you work the rudder, you look back, the fog parting, and you swear you can see a man, rail thin and standing ramrod straight, staring back at you, his face covered with an elaborate mask, lupine in nature.

---------

Apachana’s quiet, her oar slowly moving back and forth in the water, checking for debris. Always methodical, always diligent, she sweeps her oar, even though you three are drifting northeast on the current from where you came, having already cleared the canal of snags these last few days.

Tetchuix grumbles quietly in front of you. ”Gods damned bandits. We’ll get the soldiers at Te-Moak involved, then I’m gonna personally -”

You shush your friend, the shape of the bridge over the Cheya Canal at Lonlan’s Ford black against the night sky ahead of you. And there, on the bridge, torches lit, a large group of men. You realize, a shudder creeping down your spine, the bridge at Lonlan’s Ford looms black because it is backlit; flames lick into the sky, growing ever higher as you drift closer to the bridge. Lonlan’s Ford is burning. The men atop the bridge, stand, looking out over the canal, the torchlight showing them to be tall, with long, wild hair and elaborately braided beards.

”Not bandits,” Apachana whispers, in her flat, monotone voice. ”Mountain Men.”

A quick conference, and you decide to double back, past the scene of the ambush that scattered your party, towards the largest town in the frontier. If any place nearby can provide safety, it will be Shadeholme.

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

An hour or so from Shadeholme, you paddle in silence, and a slight rain begins to fall, more drizzle than anything. The air grows cold, colder even than at your encampment, your breath coming in cloudy huffs.

On you paddle against the current, the road alongside the canal deserted, as seems to be the farmsteads you pass as you get closer to town. Eventually, you turn a bend in the canal; the forest looms to your south and east. To the north, small homes, hovels by the standards of Cornucopia, sit silent in the early morning darkness. You paddle on, working in unison now, one splash instead of three each time the oars hit the water, past the famed crocodile mounds, and a small fleet of boats tied up on the other sides; rafts, canoes, a couple of reeded keelboats, and before long you’re at the ghats. The bridge over the canal is blackened with fire, as if it was sabotaged, perhaps in an attempt to bring it down. Eel Mound towers over you, suddenly making you feel very small, and very alone.

Apachana turns back and looks to you, one eyebrow raised in an obvious question. It is, as the expedition’s surviving ranking member, a question you must answer. What now?

=============
Naira, Gozrhan 21, Just Before Dawn
=============

Naira wanted the dugout ready to escape from Shadeholme should things turn any worse. They hadn’t the time to properly moor the canoe, and should another assault begin, they wouldn’t have the time to push it back into the canals either. She grabs her buoy, hoisting it up with some difficulty. The boat sways as she moves, the others’ hands fall to the canoe’s edge for balance. With a plop, the stone weight falls into the water, the sealed gourd floating at the surface.

The rain falls. The three engineers are silent as Naira rifles through her bag.

The Undine tries to steady her breath as she hops out of the canoe, rope in hand. Her heart beats loudly, pounding thunder-like in her head, though calms when her foot touches the freezing waters. A thin sheet of dim-orange clouds cover the moon and the stars. Did the clouds' glow come from the coming dawn, or the fires that danced underneath them? Did Kentl light up the clouds like this in his final moments?

Grabbing one end of the rope, Naira begins to secure the canoe to the buoy. She tosses the remaining coil on to the dugout for either of the other engineers to tie.

The fleet of boats was a good sign. Had they been gone, the engineers would be on their own in a ghost town or surrounded by the savages who had claimed Shadeholme. Had the boats been razed, they’d be in the company of carrion and corpses. Naira rises from the canal, taking her steps onto the stairs ascending towards the Eel Mound before turning to sit.

The rain falls. Naira looks skyward, wincing as water assaults her eyes. It doesn't deter her gaze.

Apachana tosses the Undine her bag, its contents jostling lightly. The Oread woman follows Naira to the steps as Tetchuix finishes his final knot. Naira hops back to the water, lending a hand to guide the man, unsure if he could see in this light. He scoffs at the gesture, and jumps from the dugout to the steps.

The silence was uncomfortable, and the drizzle did little to comfort Naira. The three engineers collected their belongings and thoughts, taking inventory of everything they managed to secure. The Undine tossed her poncho to Tetchuix. The rain seldom bothered Naira, and Apachana, though annoyed, could brave through the freezing cold better than the man could.

Naira was haunted by her own thoughts. How many had there been just hours ago? Kentl, up in flames. It was probably for the better that he carried those vials of Alchemist’s Fire. Surely it quickened what would have been a slow, torturous death. Naira didn’t even hear Isua cry out, the Undine prayed she passed on wakeless, long gone before the Mountain Men drew near. Nashix, Eletl, Shingles. Maybe still they escaped, maybe they were alright, perhaps finding refuge in the trees, or maybe stray hunters had found and protected them. A forced smile crawls across the Undine’s face. They were dead, she knew she was lying to herself by hoping otherwise.

She recalls something else. In the haze of the fog, had she truly seen a masked man? Had her panicked mind played tricks with the dancing mists? She didn't mention what she saw, Naira saw no reason to. Their mission changes this morning, and it wasn't to change to a fox hunt.

The rain falls. Naira blinks. She wasn't sure how long she was with her thoughts, but Apachana now stares at her, while Tetchuix takes in what remains of the city.

Naira's whisper barely pierces the light rain. The words choke her as they come. Each word paced to allow time to recover, time for the next to crawl out of her. “Shadeholme... they, their... chief engineer. We, we need, need to...to report to her.” She knew it wasn’t the answer that Apachana wanted. Naira couldn’t provide that. What could she do? They were engineers, and it seemed in that moment they were nothing more.

The Undine slings her back over her shoulder. “Matla. That, that was her name. Pachi, take, take rear. Tetch, ah, middle?” It was dawning, and to leave during the day would mean their death. She climbed up the steps, closely followed by the two others.

Naira looks up at the Eel Mound, biting down on her lip. She looks past the building, up to the clouds. Letting out a sigh, she speaks under her breathe. “What a terrible day for rain...”

================
Gozhran 20-21
================

Oios

Telowo stretches and yawns, looking around the windowless room. "Wonder how long we've been here? Must be getting late. Oios, old friend, you'll have to address everyone tomorrow morning. You should get some rest. Here. The Mayor's penthouse is obviously not available, with... the dead waiting for their rites. But, there's guest rooms on the third floor. I understand the Lady took your room at the Coywolf. I'll be sleeping here myself, and then tomorrow, I'll hold a sermon after your address."

-------

A pounding sound brings you out of your sleep, an unfamiliar room. Rubbing your eyes, you realize someone's beating on the door. "A horn!" Telowo's voice, high with panic, on the other side of the door. "Something comes!"

Imix

Chukix runs his right hand over his head, and looks at you, his eyes inscrutible. "I assume we are not welcome at Texikuk's house, Suriname? Where then, shall we sleep?"

A cold evening, the torpor takes ahold. It less like sleep and more like... pausing life, on nights like these. The torpor is dark and deep, and who knows how long you've been being shaken. Opening one eye, you see Chukix crouched beside you, worry on his face. "A horn, seven quick blasts. It stopped maybe a couple of minutes ago. I've been trying to wake you since!"

Drazan

Lijart stares hard at you as you leave the meeting, before looking to the ground. "Don't know what that was in there, Drazan, but I hope I'm never on your bad side. Nor my daughter either."

"We've set up a camp in the alley behind the Coywolf. Some arse has taken to calling it Misery Alley, but there's canvas stretched from the Coywolf to the palisade, and its mostly dry. That funny fellow you brought from the capital is there, and the Mountain Woman. The fellow spends most of his time looking at some book, says he wants to speak with you soon as possible. Come home with us. Helaya's got some pan bread cooked earlier. Its no emmer bread, but it'll fill your belly."

-----------

Sitting up against the wall as you sleep, your eyes fly open as the first horn blast reaches your ears, immediately ending a dream of the slave pits of Fire Peaks consumed in an otherworldly conflagration. Your mind quickly counts off the remaining blasts; six plus the one that woke you. Something is happening at the gates.

Istiel

In the end, Domhnall's sunrise comes. He describes it to you in vivid detail, the slow spreading of light across a cloudless sky, first a deep purple, like a bruise left from a tough spar, moving slowly into ever lightening reds, the red of crushed raspberries, the red of blood, the orange-red of a flickering torch, and on, into yellow, like that of a field of fireflies, the sky turning to a brilliant-

"Blue!" Domhnall gasps, his eyes widening. "Like an endless mid-summer sky over a great body of water, stretching from the heavens to the earth! Oh, it is beautiful! Life is...""

Your master trails off, and then slumps, facing the not-quite risen sun, gone across the crossroads. You sit with him awhile longer in the light rain, when seven horn blasts echo across Eel Mound, from the gates almost due south of you. No time to mourn, something is afoot...

Naira

Apachana and Tetchuix follow behind you, walking silently up the ghats. As you get to the top of the ghats, the gates looming twenty or so feet in front of you, a tindertwig is struck atop the palisade and an pitch-soaked arrow springs to light. The bowman sends the arrow immediately in a low arc, landing five feet in front of you. "Hold!" the bowman, or rather bowwoman says, her voice quivering with adrenaline. "I don't know you, but you don't look like Frozen, so you're alive -- for now. Who are you to approach us in this dire time?"

Immediately, seven quick horn blasts ring out, and five more arrows, flanking the front gates, alight. It seems you've got a few seconds to plead your case...

Drazan shrugs at Oios, "Visiting warm company and filling a stomach with a meal is very important. Oios, stay alive until we meet tomorrow."

If Oios doesn't raise concern, Drazan will travel to Misery Alley to visit with his friends, eat, and rest.

Naira's bounces backwards as the arrow strikes the ground. She almost loses her footing in the rain, near tumbling back. Regardless, the engineer breathes out in relief, glad to see another person alive. As the other arrows burst aflame, she begins to worry once more. The Undine shows her palms, raising her hands to her head.

"En-Engineers, from, um, Te-Moak. I am Naira. This is Tetchuix, Apachana." Naira doesn't bother to gesture to them, afraid to make sudden movements. She breathes in, collecting her thoughts, reminding herself of the mission at hand.

"Our team was tasked to survey the Cheya Canal. Us three are what remain of our original numbers. Chief Engineer Matla is expecting our report, allow us entry and escort us to her."

meeting
Imix closes his eyes for a moment, glad of his nap earlier. The cold of this place is in my bones. "Somewhere warm." he starts - then pauses "With our leader, Oios. We sleep in shifts. If the skinstealer comes we may need Suriname magic to stop it. Let the children sleep with their parents, if they..." he pauses and looks at his advisor, moving on a tangent "How many of our apprentices are orphans?" he asks. How many of the seven hundred who lived here fled? How many farmers took refuge? Nine hundred, with the soldiers Bellet bought. One night has consumed nearly eighty percent of our people. The odds favour [i]all of them are orphans now.
He holds up a hand to forestall Chukix. "Never mind. If they have beds for the night, so be it. They may sleep with me from now on. Any who are orphans I will adopt."

In the morning
Imix rolls to his feet, reaching for his armour as the thick slow blood of the Suriname slowly starts to pump through his body. "It is cursed cold here." he complains. Cannot tell the others it is just as likely because of how hard I pushed myself yesterday. They need the infallible strength of the Suriname now, even if normally I would collapse for a week. "Tomorrow we need more fire. Help me dress."
As he ritually dons his armour Imix intones a hymn of readiness, feeling the links that tie him to century old rituals, legends and sources of power.

The excited words of her Master fill the monk's ears as she is forced to only witness the mundane sunrise with mortal eyes. She tries to imagine what he sees in the embryonic, glowing light that is only starting to creep into the sky, but it is obvious from his descriptions her imagination is no match for his transcendent sight.

When he trails off and slumps, Istiel slightly turns her head, glancing at his limp form. It looked like any other body she had seen or made- devoid of spirit, still and cold, animation revoked by the forces that have it life. This non-functional flesh no longer mattered, as the monks always viewed the body as a simple vessel to carry the spirit. Her Master had left for the Crossroads, an empowered spirit (so she believed), soon to return to influence the mortal world as a god along with Makaya and their ilk.

Her eyes, devoid of feeling, turn back towards the sunrise as she sits silently. A mixture of emotioms whirl inside of her, but she knows from his own words Domhnall does not want her to be sad. Swallowing a burning knot in her throat, Istiel sits next to the corpse and continues to observe Ayida-Wedu's rebirth, confident her Master is still watching it with her. He had already seen it, of course.

The first horn blast causes the monk to whip her head south, and during the rest of the proclamations she tries to observe what is causing the commotion to no avail. A woman at the gates with a demon's deal?

Her muscles complain and ache as she rises from her meditation, slowly stretching to her full height, arms above her head as the first true rays of sunlight touch her. The palms of her hands meet above her head before being slowly brought down to chest height, elbows parallel to the ground. Istiel bows to the rising sun with a popping in her neck and back, slowly straightening again. Please watch over us, Master. A silent prayer for an inevitably chaotic day.

Relaxing, she turns to Dohmnall's corpse and kneels down, fingers loosening the straps holding his mask in place. Carefully pulling the mask away without looking at the face under the construct, she immediately turns and begins making for edge of the warehouse.

Blood drips from the eyeless and mouthless wooden visage as she holds it up to view. I will take this to Cornucopia for enshrinement and worship with the other Ascended. Her hand drops to her side, the mask slaking off blood and leaving a trial of drops behind her as she walks. Fittingly, Istiel descends from the roof of the warehouse, back into the mortal world full of mortal problems, and heads for the southern gate.

Oios sleeps as well as he can next to his old friend and to his new one, Drazan. His dreams are troubled.

He sees himself as one stone in a strong wall dam holding a raging fire back from a pleasant land. But though he remains true and steadfast the rest of the wall crumbles and the fire sweeps through. The scene changes, now he is no longer a stone in a destroyed wall but a stick of a crumbled dam being swept helplessly away by a torrent of dark, polluted, water as it invades what were once calm waterways.

The horns wake him with a start.

All of his life he had played his part as a protector of the ways of the Three People. The ways that had brought peace, prosperity, and justice to the people of the valley for generations. It had been a long life and he was, he had to admit, set in his ways. Imix's rebuke had stung Oios, he had acted in the meeting like an inquistior, speaking harsh truths in order to ferret out even harder ones, in so doing he had driven the Lady further along in her hatred of him. Perhaps it had been the right decision for a different time, but now? The time to reflect made him think that maybe it wasn't. Oios didn't have the wieght of the King's law to shield him and the Lady didn't have her political machinations to

The old ways were dead and there was nothing for him to protect. Now was a time to survive and salvage. If he wanted to remain useful to Damballah and to the peoples then he would have to adjust.

But that was for later. Right now the seven blasts of the horns causes him to fumble with the stolen armor of the strange Frozen alchemist that he had claimed. Damballah had blessed him with strong limbs but his fingers alas were not immune to the stiffening of age.

I must go to the gate Telowo. See what is happening.

Finallya armored and with his old spear strapped to his back Oios strides out towards the gate the Frozen's spear grasped in his hand as his new walking stick and the wondrous satchel hanging from a crossbody strap on his hip.

=============
Drazan, Gozran 20, evening
=============

Misery Alley is dotted with small cookfires, the smoke trailing up into the makeshift canvas roof stretched across the alleyway, before dissipating into the air through various seams. You find Helaya about halfway down the alleyway, and sure enough, sitting atop the quickly dying embers of her and Lijart's fire, sits a warm beaten copper pan, inside of which is a dense pan bread, made from ground corn. Tearing off a chunk, Helaya spreads some butter on it and hands it over.

"Hope our sheep is out there," she says absently, tearing a piece of the bread off for her father. "I wasn't able to grab much butter."

Lijart takes his dinner and sits his back against the Coywolf wall, eyes closed as he chews. "It is good, my guppy."

The apprentice boy, Fulton, sees you and smiles, and ambles over, pulling the book from his pack. Sitting by you, he spreads the tome out on his lap and begins flipping through the pages. "See here, and here, and here, Drazan? I've been studying the writing the past week. This symbol, it means fire. I've been able to figure that out at least. Mostly, I've been looking at the pictures. The bearded ones, they used this book to build something that housed fire."

============
Naira, Gozran 21, almost dawn
============

The bowwoman growls a response, quick and terse. "They just let you walk up the ghats, engineer?"

Then a quick aside - "Aktuk, don't open the gates!"

"We've not seen Mountain Men since spying their numbers at Lonlan's Ford." The young engineer is still. "I did not watch my people be slaughtered and barely escape with my life to be doubted. Open the gates, or we will die." She pauses, azure eyes fixed upon the woman. "You will be as much our murderer as what lies outside these walls if you deny us entry."

Naira presses on: "Chief Engineer Matla Tolita. Fetch her, she will support our claims."

=============
Drazan, Gozran 20, evening
=============

Drazan takes the bread, flashing his picked toothy smile to Helaya, though it is hardly one of joy. Then he asked sincerely, "Could you be well without the butter?

For the remainder of the little time he has left before the fatigue finally overcomes him, Drazan spends time with his 'adoptive family' and his friends and followers. He is somewhat distant from conversation as the troubles and the elusive solutions to said troubles crowd the forefront of his thoughts.

=============
Drazan, Gozran 21
=============

Drazan is quick to arrive at the gates, his weapon in hand and his muscles sore from yesterday's exertions. He climbs to reach the shouting bowman shouting to get a look at what is happening, and Drazan does not seem excited or eager to see the three people, but says nothing.

==============
Gozran 21
==============

Drazan arrives at the gates in time to see Sarre and Aktuk in some sort of arguement. After a few moments, it is easy enough to suss out what the dispute is: Aktuk wants to let some strangers into Eel Mound, Sarre does not.

Imix, Oios, and Istiel meet almost simultaneously, seeing Drazan already on the palisade walk, next to the hunter Sarre, who is red-faced, and now yelling, at Aktuk, the sergeant, equally angry and screaming back.

Her back now completely turned to the newcomers, Sarre's fists clenched tight around her bow, she stares down at Aktuk, who is striding towards the gate, as if to open it.

"I don't give a rakk what the garrison-captain said! Think about it, gar-head! Tolita's gone, dead from what I heard, and these three show up? Use what little brains you've got in that thick head of yours!"

Aktuk glowers back. "Garrison-Captain said to let in any refugees. I'm going to let them in!"

Sarre's hand goes to the quiver on her back...

============
Drazan, Gozran 20, evening
============

Helaya laughs - a genuine laugh - obvious that she's happy to see you. "Could I be well without the butter? Of course! But you must agree, life is improved immensely with a pat of butter on warm bread! It is like, I dunno, melted love!"

==============
Gozran 21
==============

Drazan places his hand on Sarre's shoulder as if to stay here hand just before he leaps and chases to stand in Aktuk's way, laying a stiff arm on Aktuk if necessary, "Let Oios be the one to decide these strangers fates. He has been placed in charge of overseeing the situation Shadeholme is in. He would want to weigh the risk and the benefits here. You wont have to wait long; here he comes now."

============
Drazan, Gozran 20, evening
============
"When one lives without eating melted love for so long, one gets used to having naught. Better to have buttered and lost, than never buttered at all." Drazan looks one last time with longing at his last bite, before he makes it disapear.

On the way to the gate Istiel had unraveled some of her bandages and hastily wrapped Domhnall's mask before placing it in her jutecloth sack. It was a temporary measure, but should provide some protection for blood-crusted sacred relic.

Istiel arrives on the scene, black robes speckled with dried blood. Her hands are coated in a mixture of dried and fresher blood, almost as if she was digging around in the guts of some kind of animal all night. Most noticeably, the monks mask has a circle of dried blood drawn around the circumference, looking partially melted and thinned from exposure to the night's rain.

It doesn't take a wise elder to see the dispute between Aktuk and Sarre was escalating to violence, and the monk quickly breaks into a sprint to jump in front of Aktuk. Falling into a defensive stance, she shouts up at the bow-woman; "Put down your hands, Sarre! We will follow the guard captain's orders."

Naira listens to the faint voices from beyond the wall. The Undine's hand covers over her mouth, and her brow falls in concern. Tolita is dead? She turned back to her fellow engineers, confirming that they heard what she had.

Naira attempts to put names to the voices as she hears them. From their conversation, she begins to form her own narrative of the town. Sarre, she's the bow-woman. Oios is the leader, newly appointed, so their old leadership either fled or was slain. Aktuk is at the gate. Garrison-Captain is letting in refugees, a good sign. Another man's voice, and a shouting woman. It seems all but Sarre seek to let us in.

==============
Gozran 21
==============

Yes, and the guard captain gets his orders from me. The firm hand of Damballah is what is needed to get us through and the rest of the leaders have agreed to this. Oios says firmly. Sarre. You will stand down. This is an order. I will take personal responsibility for these newcomers. If they are in league with the enemy then we will find out and then we will deal with them. But I will not have us stoop to the level of the Frozen by turning away or killing unarmed seekers of shelter. Let them in.

Oios also takes a moment to glower at both Sarre and Aktuk

'He undermines...' he starts to say, then catches himself in time. The Suriname chides himself, his inner voice eerily reminiscent of Chukix No. Be careful Imix. You must let him enforce these first decisions, or his leadership will be stillborn.
Imix stands firmly behind Oios - literally and figuratively. Silently he looms behind the old man, shield and ceremonial armour adding more bulk to an already impressive physique.