The Fiddleplayers Son

Game Master Chewbaccawakka

‘It was only thunder,’ Mkali Moto Kipande realized, laughing gently at herself, only to then flinch an instant later as a distant bolt of lightening appeared far past the kitchen windows to her left. The bright, enigmatic display of power forked down from the dark night sky to the forest treetops below and lit the rooms around Mkali Moto Kipande in a harsh blue glow as the bolt lingered, strobing in place for a moment, before it winked out just as quickly as it had appeared. A new wave of thunder rolled in just in time for the next flash of lighting to streak into existence. Over the next few minutes the distant flashes moved ever closer and the waves of thunder came ever sooner. Before long, the lightening and thunder was joined by a steady heavy rain that swept in as a single impressive wave. The storm which had been lingering out past the overcast horizon for the past couple of days was finally rolling in, but aside from her brief, post slumber startle, Mkali Moto Kipande wasn’t worried. She’d been through this kind of thing many times before. Warm and content in front of the nearby fire, with her sister sleeping sweetly against her side, Mkali Moto Kipande leaned back against the sofa and watched in ceaseless wonder. Soon, the sky remained lit more often than it was allowed to grow dark, and loud, sharp, immediate cracks of thunder took the place of the comparatively gentle rumbles she’d felt earlier. The heavy rain hammered the roof and pelted the windows while gusts of wind whistled through the forest outside and buffeted the walls of sturdy home Mkali Moto Kipande had watched her parents build two decades before, back when she herself had been well and truly young.

“Wha..?” Mkali Moto Kipande’s sister asked drowsily a few minutes later as a particularly loud crash of thunder shook the house and finally woke her from her post supper slumber. She raised her head from the comfortable spot it had found resting on her older sister’s stomach only to quickly bury it again as a nearby bolt of lightening flashed before her wide, frightened eyes.

“It’s all right, Inapita Sasa. It’s just the storm we knew was coming,” Mkali Moto Kipande answered as she stroked her fingers soothingly though her sister’s shorter walnut colored hair. “Sshhhh, it’s ok,” Mkali Moto Kipande repeated as more thunder had her sister grabbing hold of her waist and whimpering quietly into her shirt. Inapita Sasa was some twenty-six years of age now and had already started her long journey chasing her older sister towards adulthood. She too had certainly been through similarly powerful storms before, but at times like this Mkali Moto Kipande could not blame her for reacting like the child she still by and large resembled.

The storm raged around the Njia’yawazi sisters for well over an hour before the heavy rain and strong gusting winds began to die down. Mkali Moto Kipande moved to get into a more comfortable position, but there still wasn’t much she could do with her sister draped over her. They’d been in the same spot since they had concluded their celebratory family dinner some three or four hours before and her lack of movement had begun to take its toll on Mkali Moto Kipande’s neck, legs and back. Inapita Sasa had even fallen asleep once more despite the waining storm. She looked so peaceful that Mkali Moto Kipande delayed waking her for a time but eventually she simply had to move.

“Sit up, Sasa. You’re hurting me,” Mkali Moto Kipande whispered to her sister as she gently rocked her awake. Her sister groaned and almost went to asleep again, but reluctantly rolled fully onto the floor… after playful shifting more of her weight onto her older sister first, of course. Apparently unsatisfied with her new position, Inapita Sasa sat up so her back rested against the sofa, just as her older sister’s did. A few moments later she leaned over so that her soft cheek and heavy head found their way to her big sister’s warm shoulder. This new position would not remain comfortable for long, either, Mkali Moto Kipande knew, but she could not help but smile at the tenderness of the moment.

‘…me and my sister, quiet and warm and cozy in front of the fire…’

“The storm is ending, it is time for bed you two,” Mkali Moto Kipande heard her mother’s soft voice say from somewhere off to her left a short time later. She looked around, but did not spot anyone until she noticed her mother’s beautiful long white hair move past the dining room window.

‘How long had she been watching us and the storm? All along?’ Mkali Moto Kipande wondered with a small smile.

“Time for bed,” her mother said again as she gently separated her younger daughter from her older one’s side. Thankful for the help, Mkali Moto Kipande extracted herself from the tangled blanket and stretched long and tall before moving over to the fireplace’s hearth. The fire was still roaring with life even though she had built it four or maybe five hours ago. In truth, she’d probably built it too big in response to a long, hard day’s work helping her father out in the cold, but it felt great in contrast to the chilly air that had greeted her as soon as she’d pulled free of her blanket. Mkali Moto Kipande held her hand and arm out near the fire for a long moment, basking in its heat, before drawing back as the heat began to sting her finger tips. She drew her hand away then moved back to the edge of the hearth where the temperature was a bit more reasonable.

“I want to sleep down here tonight,” Inapita Sasa complained over by the sofa as her mother worked ineffectively to get her to stand. Mkali Moto Kipande could not help but laugh.

“There might be more storms to come, Sasa,” Mkali Moto Kipande chimed in, but her sister held tight to the covers that were now wrapped around her body and refused to move.

“All right,” their mother said, relenting. “But I do not want you too close to that fire,” she said to her younger daughter while giving her older one a decidedly incredulous look.

“…I’ll clean it up first thing in the morning,” Mkali Moto Kipande confirmed, before quickly looking away from her mother’s disapproving gaze. She rose and pulled the heavy, cast iron screen in front of the fireplace then tried to angle past her mother but was unable to resist being pulled into a loving hug.

“You did good today. I know you would have rather been off hunting or exploring these last weeks, but your father was very grateful for your help,” her mother whispered lovingly into her ear. Mkali Moto Kipande returned her mother’s embrace then pulled away and continued on to the straight staircase built into living room’s back wall. She quietly scaled the twelve steps that led to the short hallway that, along with her room on one side and her sister’s on the other, made up the entirety of their house’s second floor. A long rumble of rolling thunder to the southwest drew her tired eyes to her small window once she’d climbed the stairs and entered her room. The streaks of lightening that flashed far in the distance seemed to confirm her prediction of the approach of a second wave of storms, but by now Mkali Moto Kipande’s fatigue of a hard day’s… month’s… work had caught back up with her and she was too tired to give the idea much care. She climbed into her cool, welcoming bed and within minutes found her dreams once more.

***

Mkali Moto Kipande drifted back awake some minutes or hours later to a strange, pungent smell. At first, she thought maybe an animal had died somewhere nearby. A bird that had found its way inside, maybe? But there was something more to it, something… sweeter… that nagged at her in the darkness of her room. Wood? Was somebody cooking downstairs? In the middle of the night? The odor itself was odd enough, but even stranger were the solitary little specks of hot, irritating dust that kept finding their way into her mouth and nose with every few breaths she took. She tried to ignore it all, at first, but soon found that she could not. Every time she would near sleep she would be jolted back to wakefulness! Fed up, Mkali Moto Kipande sat upright in her bed, thoroughly perplexed by the strangely warm air she tasted around her. It was still dark outside, and still raining, but the lightening and thunder had passed on by… Or so she thought until a muffled crash shook her room!

“That was not thunder!” she told herself, now fully awake.

Whatever it had been had sounded more like a tall tree crashing to the ground. Or maybe it had felt like one hitting the house? Still more curious than worried, Mkali Moto Kipande slipped out of her bed oddly thankful she had not taken the time to change out of her sturdy work clothes. She took a few moments to properly lace her ragged shoes the opened the door to her bedroom and… nearly choked on the hot, foul air that rushed in past her. Her eyes went wide as the smell that had been so hard to place hit her full force. The air was hot and thick and smelt of wood and ash and smoke and… FIRE?!

‘The house is on fire!’ Mkali Moto Kipande realized as she slipped into a panic.

For a brief moment, all she could do was recall the tragic scene of the burnt out home she had seen years before, during one of her family’s trading trips to the nearby city of Dutos. The townspeople had told of how the bucket brigade had formed in time to prevent the fire from spreading. Of how they might have very well saved that section of the city. But how the family trapped inside, a husband and wife and their children, had, tragically, not survived. The thought that her family might soon suffer the same fate pulled Mkali Moto Kipande back to the present and pushed her out into the hallway that separated her room from her sister’s.

“Wake up Sasa!” Mkali Moto Kipande called out as she reached for her sister’s door. Not waiting for a response, she began to turn the handle. That it was hot to the touch did not register in her mind until well after she had begun to push the door inwards, but by then it was too late. A swell of smoke and fire swirled then surged out into the hallway with enough force to slam the door shut even as it knocked Mkali Moto Kipande backward into her own door frame. It was all she could do to remain standing after the harsh, unexpected impact. Mkali Moto Kipande could hardly see, her eyes were watering so badly, but the realization that her sister was trapped with those flames pushed her forward once more. She sank low and braced herself this time before attempting to push the door open. Fire and smoke again briefly rushed out into the hallway, but Mkali Moto Kipande pushed through it only to have her heart broken when she opened her eyes.

“Inapita Sasa!” Mkali Moto Kipande half screamed, half sobbed, not willing to believe the scene in front of her. Before her, her sister’s room was fully ablaze and had been for multiple minutes. The wood paneled walls were all but consumed, her sister’s oak desk and dresser had both already collapsed and been torn apart by the flames, and there was smoke pouring up through a large hole to the left of her sister’s burning bed. Mkali Moto Kipande wanted to believe she was trapped in a nightmare, but, rationally, she knew that she was not. But… there was no body! Mkali Moto Kipande checked a second time. Her sister’s room was all but destroyed, but her sister was not in it…

‘She had wanted to sleep downstairs!’ Mkali Moto Kipande remembered. ‘Please have let her slept downstairs…’ she pleaded before pulling back out of the doomed room. She turned to the nearby stairway but could not seem to take the necessary steps forward. She had been so worried about her sister she had somehow missed the column of smoke and glowing embers that rolled up the slanted ceiling above the stairwell. The thick black clouds billowed up towards her before spilling out onto the wider hallway ceiling overhead. Mkali Moto Kipande clenched her fist and summoned her courage the forced herself to move to the top of the stairs only to cover her mouth at the sight she saw.

What had been her way down to a new, promising day each morning and her way up to the comfort of a good night’s rest each evening now looked more like a passage descending down into hell itself! Many of the stairs had been been blackened by soot or ash while a dozen small streams of smoke were pouring out from cracks up and down the supporting wall to her left. Worse, the floor below that should have been too dark to easily make out was disturbingly visible, lit orange-red by the constantly shifting light of unseen fires. Mkali Moto Kipande hesitated. The staircase was her only way to safety, she knew that, but already she could feel the heat carried upward by the smoke. How much worse would it be down at ground level among the flames themselves? Another loud crash shook the floor beneath her feet and the entire house seemed to try to lurch out from under her. The thought that the house might come down around her spurred Mkali Moto Kipande back into action.

“All I have to do is make it outside. I’ll be fine no matter what happens as long as I make it outside…” she told herself before she took one last clear breath and started her descent. She moved quickly, surefooted even amongst the heat and smoke, but Mkali Moto Kipande knew she was in trouble from her very first step. What had always been a solid, sturdy staircase creaked and shifted as soon as she put her weight onto it. The wall to her left groaned under the added stress and the smoke that had been streaming from multiple points was quickly joined by small licks of fire as what unburned material remained within the damage wall caught fire. Mkali Moto Kipande grabbed hold of the railing to her right, sure the stair beneath her feet was about to break way, but instead the entire staircase broke free of the gutted wall with a long sickening crack and smashed apart on the hard floor below. Mkali Moto Kipande hit the ground hard then screamed in silent agony as a large section of the staircase crushed her right ankle. She could actually hear the meaty snap as her bones broke!

For the first few moments Mkali Moto Kipande was unable to think, she was in so much pain. But the pain in her leg quickly gave way to the stinging heat she felt on her face, arms and legs. Forcing her eyes open, all she could see were the flames that surrounded her with only glimpses of the fireplace where she’d built her large fire visible between them. Horrifyingly, the thick metal screen, with its curving, flowery patterns, was not where she had placed it. Instead, it had fallen… no… it had been pushed outwards and off the brick hearth. And there on the scorched floor, past the screen, was what could only have been the charred ash of spent firewood.

‘Am I responsible for this? Did I destroy my home and kill my family?!’ Mkali Moto Kipande asked herself as the heat from the nearby fires began to scald her face. She coughed and choked on the fumes and screamed at the pain and pulled her legs up to her chest as instinct forced her to curl into a ball in one last, ineffective attempt to protect herself from the burning heat surrounding her.

‘It hurts! It hurts it hurt it hurts it hurts!’ Mkali Moto Kipande cried out in her own mind until the pain became so overwhelming that even her thoughts were pushed aside. Her only instinctual hope now was that the pain would come to an end… and then it did… though not in the way she expected.

The intense heat that had been smothering her lungs and eating at her skin and bones vanished in an instant. A moment later, a familiar surge of energy passed through her body and the pain from both her grievous burns and smashed leg was simply gone! Somewhere, deep within her overwhelmed mind, a memory surfaced of how it had felt to jump into a cool lake on a hot summer day. For a time, Mkali Moto Kipande relived that jump from the tall grassy hill down to the swimming hole below. She squinted into the blinding sun, and felt the hot grass crunch beneath her bare feet as she ran. Her mind latched on to the warm whistling air that blew her long white hair back away from her face as she jumped and fell towards the water below. She clung to the memory of the sudden forceful upward jolt of the water as it broke her fall and enveloped her within its shockingly cool, movement restricting weight. Mkali Moto Kipande hung there for a long moment within the cool waters of her memories then went to open her eyes expecting the see the muted browns and greens typical of the murky lake, only to find herself back in the hell that was the burnt remnants of her house with… with her mother’s burned and bloody face unmoving inches above her own!

Initially, Mkali Moto Kipande tried to recoil away, but there was no where to go. Pinned on her back, she could see rain clouds through the debris above her mother and herself, but it was far too heavy for her to budge by herself. She tried anyway, of course. She brazenly pressed her hands to still smoldering sections of wall and pushed with all her might but felt no give. But she also felt no heat and no pain. How could that be? Lightheaded and confused, Mkali Moto Kipande did the only remaining thing she could. She embraced her mother and began to cry. It was only then that she felt the shallow movement of her mother’s chest. Her mother was still breathing!? She was alive!? Mkali Moto Kipande’ joy was short lived, however, as she again began to cough on the fumes still rising up around her. Soon, she found it difficult to keep her eyes open. It felt as if the world were spinning around her even though she couldn’t move. She fought it for a long minute but soon her world again faded dim and narrow until everything went to black.

***

There were strange moments and sensations before Mkali Moto Kipande woke again. Half remembered dreams of bleary vision and muffled sound. Of being pulled from her hell. Of looking back at what little remained of her home as she was carried away. Of her father and sister hovering worriedly over her. Of having cool water flowing over her parched lips and down her aching throat. None of it seemed real. And all of it did…

***

The first thing Mkali Moto Kipande felt when she finally awoke was radiating heat. The first thing she smelt was smoke. The first thing she heard were soft snaps and pops. The first thing she tasted was burnt wood. The first thing she saw was FIRE. Without even thinking, Mkali Moto Kipande flinched away from the flames leaving behind the old, patchwork blanket she’d been covered in. She could hear someone calling her name behind her but it didn’t matter. She had to get away from the fire! Wet, rain soaked ground squished beneath her feet as she tripped and stumbled her way blindly forward only to fall to her hands and knees as she came to the edge of what had been her family’s home. All that was left was ash and glowing embers and a single tall pane of glass that somehow did not shatter as the house had come down.

A smaller hand gripped hers then her sister swung around to stand between her and the devastation. Inapita Sasa was dressed in one of their father’s old set of work clothes, like she herself was, Mkali Moto Kipande realized. Her sister was hurt and limping, Mkali Moto Kipande saw. Even in the early morning light she could tell her sister’s face and arms were red with blisters and burns, but she was alive! They both were alive! Together, they embraced each other, both trying and failing to hold back their combined tears of joy and sorrow.

“Are you all right?” Mkali Moto Kipande asked after a minute.

Her sister stepped back and took a deep breath before answering. “I used all my power on mother…” she managed to say before her lower lip began to quiver and her brave facade fell away. Mkali Moto Kipande pulled her sister into and equally tight, but oddly different, hug. Before, they had been equals who had survived a tragedy. Now, she was the older sister again, and it was her job to stay strong and fearless.

“It’s not your fault. You did everything you could,” Mkali Moto Kipande said, even though she had not been there to see it.

“I’ll try more when I can tomorrow. I… I just don’t know if I can do any else.”

“But you saved her?” Mkali Moto Kipande asked. She felt her sister nod into her shoulder. “Then you did enough.”

“Inapita Sasa? Mkali Moto Kipande?” their father called to them from somewhere behind. Mkali Moto Kipande rose to her feet and turned to see her father emerging from the small animal pin and storage shelter she had helped him build over the last month. It was the accomplishment they had been celebrating at dinner the night before. And though it was a fraction of the size their home had been… it was their home now, wasn’t it? She and her sister trudged up the gentle slope to the shelter where their father embraced each of them in turn.

“I thought I’d lost you, my daughter!” he said to his older daughter as he gripped her tightly.

“I thought you had too, sir,” Mkali Moto Kipande replied. “Where is mother?” she asked after pulling back.

“Around the corner,” her father answered, indicating the only truly enclosed room in the small barn. “She is very badly hurt and cannot yet speak, but she will know you are there. Just let her know you are all right then let her rest, ok?”

Mkali Moto Kipande nodded, her throat suddenly going dry. Trembling, she left her father and stepped through the doorway. There, under a sheet, on top of an old dirty mattress, lay her mother, her crippled form easily the most shocking aftermath of the fire.

Just hours before, U'tulivu Nyeupe-nywele Malaika Njia’yawazi had been elegant and beautiful. What Mkali Moto Kipande had hoped to be in another fifty or one hundred years. She had been thoughtful and knowledgeable. Qualities Moto Kipande knew she herself was still working on. And she had been spiritual and magical. Two things Mkali Moto Kipande had long struggled to mimic with hardly any success. But now, her mother might not be any of those things ever again, Mkali Moto Kipande realized. The woman lying before her was burned and broken. Her face and skin were disfigured from the heat of the fire. Much of her long, glowingly white hair had been burned away and what few patches and strands remained only served to deepen the impact of her injuries. Even the way she lay at an odd uncomfortable angle, mostly hidden beneath the sheet, spoke to how severely she had been affected by the fire and the collapse of the house around her.

Mkali Moto Kipande stood frozen for a long while with a heartbroken expression on her face. She was too shocked to really cry but somehow could not turn away. Finally, when she could bear the sight of her injured mother no longer, she made to leave, but just then her mother turned her head and spotted her. Though obviously in a great deal of pain, her mother pushed the sheet partly aside and shakily raised one badly blistered hand up towards her daughter. Gasping in sorrow, Mkali Moto Kipande stepped forward and knelt down so as to allow her mother’s rough hand to stroke her flawless skin and hair and face…

It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t even close to fair what had happened! Mkali Moto Kipande wanted so badly to reach out and return her mother’s love, but at the same time she was far too afraid that her simple touch would cause her mother more pain. Instead, she sat down nearby, and rocked herself as she cried tears of guilt that seemed to burn her face nearly as badly as the fires had. That her mother was crying alongside her made it all the more worse. Slowly though, Mkali Moto Kipande’s sorrow turned to anger and determination.

“I owe you everything, mother. I… I caused this, so I promise you, I will find a way to fix this.”

***

After three long, hard years of helping to support her family, of helping them to rebuild and survive, Mkali Moto Kipande walked through the familiar gates of Sharlstown with a plan. Though it might take two decades, she would restore life and vitality to her hobbled sister and to their mother who had nearly sacrificed everything to save them both.
Things didn’t exactly go as she had planned…

- This was a story I began working on back during the game stoppage back in May. I did more work on it in July and August as evidenced by my discussion posts were I had figured out the names of Sparks’ sister and mother and father. I had a full working copy long before my October 11th discussion post but there were a few areas such as the opening description that weren’t flowing right until just the other day. Not that I was banging my head against the wall for months of a time or anything. It was more like I went back and tweaked things from time to time when there wasn’t anything else to do.

- Though the game stoppage prompted the creation of the story, my lack of an exact understand of Sparks’ backstory was what motivated me to write it. Before then I knew Sparks had come to Sharlstown to earn enough money to heal her mother and that a house fire was the ultimate cause of everything but the story went through a few variations before it settled to what it is now. In one, Inapita Sasa died in the fire. In another, it was Sparks who went back in and rescued her mother. In that variant she would have had scars from the fire that could be used in Gameplay during some dramatic moment or another. Sparks would note her past injuries to prove she was tough, or that she had in fact dealt with tragedy in her life, or show that her fears weren’t unfounded.

- The rainstorm helps get the story started but it also served as a more secret purpose in providing an alternate method for the fire to start in the form of a lightning strike. What really started the fire? Sparks’ badly built fire or the storm? Only Sparks’ mother knows and her injuries left her unable to speak and unable to move enough to write. This would be a long term plot point with the big reveal only coming when Sparks reunited with her mother healing spell in hand.

- Although it wasn’t originally intended, I thought it was a lot of fun that Sparks’ first visit to Sharlstown was to have the windows made for her family’s house. It’s those windows that she would have traveled home with at the end of The Failed Scheme that rattle in the thunder in the beginning of The Fateful Storm. Little things like that make me smile.

- Even though the story is fiction and not gameplay, it mostly stays within the Pathfinder rule set. I wasn’t rolling dice to determine the outcome of the plot or anything, but I made sure I knew what spells Sparks’ mother used. Sparks was protected from the flames by a high level Resist Energy spell and was fully healed with Regenerate, for instance. It was a good thing her mother beat her concentration rolls. :P

- Sparks seasonal visits to Sharlstown stop for three years after the fire. In that time it is just her and her father caring for her mother and sister. Her mother would go on to lose limbs to her injuries and would need significant constant attention for several months until she gradually stabilized into poor but livable condition. Inapita Sasa came out a lot better off, but over the next few days it would become apparent she’d suffered some sever respiratory injuries which along with her various burns greatly reduced her ability to use magic. Strenuous activities like hunting or traveling soon became impossible for her. It’s only once her family is completely safe that Sparks starts thinking about finding a way to make good on her promise to fix everything.

About Sparks:
- She was born as a character when I accidentally capitalized “sparks” in one of our Hangout chats. There was a lot of appeal in a character who was animated, excitable, and who could jump between a range of moods very quickly. Especially when Nme’an was largely locked into his all work no play mode.

- As The Fiddleplayer’s Son took shape Chewie and I had a couple of back and forth message about the world and how my new character could be in it. These helped shape Sparks and moved her a good deal away from her original innocent persona to someone who had suffered a tragedy in her past that she thought was her responsibility to fix.

- Still, I wanted Sparks’ elven nature to shine through in that she is still quite fluid in terms of her moods. Even in her first post she goes from being excited at the possibility of a good job board offer, to depressed and ready to slink back to her hard life, to accepting an unspoken challenge just because it was issued and ends up racing through the streets. And her moods continue to swing throughout the story. One minute she’ll be angry and the next she’ll be insightful or will be cracking a joke. She is not unable to control her emotions exactly. It’s more that her natural state is to latch on to each new emotion as it comes. But she can be serious or calm or whatever when it is necessary.

- One of the funnest things I did with Sparks was make a list of reactions that would be triggered by different gameplay elements. We’ve seen a couple of them, like her fear of fire or her reaction to being healed by Umros. The latter of which was interesting as it was far more a reaction to the tragedy in her past than to Umors. With her mother badly injured and her sister not in terribly good shape following the fire, Sparks had not felt the familiar energies of healing magic in a long time. To be healed by a total stranger after so long caused a surge of emotion before she was able to grab hold of herself.

The other two main reactions I had planned involved combat. The first was to be Sparks’ adverse reaction to being injured. Nme’an just took whatever came and would often risk his life in battle while largely ignoring anything that happened to him until after the battle ended. Sparks would not have done that! Instead, she would have clutched a wound and fallen to the ground if it was bad enough. I’d would have even had her give up turns or be out of battle completely if it was clear the rest of the party could have handled her absence. She would get significantly better about this in future battle after the others (hopefully!) counciled her and the importance of dealing with the pain and continuing to fight even when injured.

The second planned reaction was to have Sparks be very reluctant to use her bow on any humanoid targets. She is a skilled hunter of animals, not people. Again, if it wouldn’t obviously endanger the party, I would have had her stay out of a battle fighting against her conflicted feelings instead of against the enemy. There would have been all sorts of opportunities to snap her out of it though. If someone attacked her directly or if another member of the party was to be injured would certainly push her strongly to engaging. This also would have been a growth opportunity as she was to learn to fire into melee, likely as part of being forced to kill her first thinking person.

- There’s so much to explore in the contrasts of the way Sparks would see the world vs those with a shorter lifespan and how they must see her. Do humans see her as timeless since she will still be fairly young when their children grow old and die? Do they see her as foolish or inexperienced or unwilling to improve herself since she is nearing 80 years of age but has not done or seen or felt nearly as much as they did in their first 20 years? I had really hoped to get to poke into those kinds of subjects at some point.

…Oh well. :(

Umros Whippoorwill glanced up at the tongue of flame above his candle. He had used some of its hot wax to stick it to the inner wall of the ship. Six hours left. Not enough time. He turned a page and the ancient tome spine crackled faintly in protest. Not nearly enough. Sighing, the reader pressed onward. The wind above deck would tear the frail book to shreds, and the possibility of sea water splashing the ancient ink was not a risk Umros wanted to take. Not after the great ordeal the gnome went through acquiring the book. His young knees were still sore from the flight away the Imperium Acadamae guards. It was silly that the intelligentsia of the empire would so jealously lock away a tome written in the language of dragons. “Draconic, even…” the thief mumbled to himself, still puzzling out the mechanics of the tongue. Immersion was the best teacher, Umros knew.

There was heavy thudding on the boards overhead. Footfalls were easy to ignore, but these were too many, too frantic, for a normal day at sea. Shouted commands and a bell clanging. Some of the night crew were beginning to stir in their rocking hammocks, and the gnome was considering putting out his candle to investigate when the top hatch flew open. Umros noticed that the beam of light streaming in was quite faint. Clouds, maybe? “Storm blowin’ in!” Ah. “Rikken, Tom, Bosti, Griff, Sham! Up n’ tie off!” All of the night crew seemed to be awake now, but only half of them groaned as they tumbled out of their hammocks. “Passengers stay below!”

There was no way Umros was going to miss this. As he snuffed the candle, he cast a glance at the two other passengers of the small ship. One, a pudgy, pale boy who gripped the edge of his hammock as it swayed, and the other, a half-orcish woman who seemed undisturbed by news of the storm. The gnome packed away the ancient tome with all the hurry his care could afford, covered his pack with a blanket in his hammock, and slipped behind the path of the last crewman ascending the stairs leading above deck. The storm was too loud, or the shipmates too groggy, for the stunted sneaker to be noticed following topside.

Umros was met with a torrent of wind-driven rain and seawater, and despite his coat, was soaked in moments. The crew was lively with efforts to follow the captain’s bellows -wrestling the wind over mastery of the bulging sail, wet hands desperately grasping taut wet rope, and cursing when feet slipped on the surging, foamy deck. The gnome had the presence of mind to close the hatch behind him, and then looked up to take in the dark, rumbling clouds. Beyond the gunnels, tin grey hills pitched the small ship so sharply it tested the knees of the orange-haired wanderer. While still unnoticed, he takes in the scrambling crew, pounding waves, groaning wood beams, sheets of rain, and flashy rumbles overhead, and sensed a chaotic beauty to the entire scene. He took in a lungful of the wet, salty sea air, squinted through the rain that splattered his face, and hurried to help the struggling crew.

He ignored the half-hearted commands to return below deck, and quickly showed his worth as his deft little fingers fastened firm knots where they were needed. Young and spry, he clambered up the mast to assist in rolling up the sails, and shared in the defiant, victorious shouts of the crew when the last of the canvas was tied down tight. By the time he reached the deck, anything loose was secured or heaved below deck. His hand shielded his eyes against the pounding rain, and watched the captain expertly man the wheel, old eyes that glanced from the sea to his instruments to his crew. It seemed now, all there was to do was to wait out the storm, and try to remain on course. Umros decided to worry about drying off later. He strode up to the prow, his little wet fingers gripped the railing, and felt the sailboat dip in-between waves. The adventuresome gnome grinned, as the deck pitched back up. FOOM! The front of the ship burst through the crest of a wave, sending a cascade of foamy seawater over the thrill-seeker and the deck behind him. He felt as he did, weeks ago, vaulting the rooftops of the university: so gleefully alive, that his being threatened to burst.

The storyteller listened to the chaotic, thudding rhythm of crewmen feet, the howl of the winds, and the roar and hiss of the sea. The Music; his own laughter drowned out by the sheer volume of it all. Up, and down, the ship groaned with each refrain, answered by rumbles overhead. A new sound entered the composition, one the gnome first thought to be thunder. But unlike the sounds of the storm, this growling was too ...repetitive. Umros wiped the saltwater from his eyes and followed his ears to the grey surface of the sea, which began to churn alongside the ship. His silvery eyes narrowed when little orange lights in the deep, trailing white bubbles around a dark shape, seemed to grow larger as it neared the surface. “Watch ou-!” A wave crashed over the prow, filling the young wanderer’s call with seawater. Sputtering and coughing, he waved at the captain and frantically pointed at the starboard side. The old seadog peered from the helm just as the surface broke with a deafening roar.

A monstrosity of steel burst with from beneath in an explosion of water, steam, and fire! The surge violently rocked the small sailing ship. Luckily, the crew was still tied off for the storm, and their life lines were taut as they clambered back to their feet. The little thief gasped in fright as his grey eyes took in the black, bolted metal panels that formed a craft with a sharp nose and fins. A jagged opening in the front belched hot flames and wreathed the steelwork with salty steam. Black smoke issued out of large pipes near the back of this underwater vessel, and the guttural chugging of iron mechanisms shook the wooden deck on which Umros stood. Portholes on its sides glowed a hellish yellow, and the bizarre craft resembled a giant, fire-breathing shark of black steel blotched with angry red rust. His heart skipped a beat, and that is when the small Desnan worshipper whispered a prayer in realization. Not a shark... These were the Iron Seadragons, fiendish, fanatic reavers who left fire and blood in their wake.

Though Tam was one year her junior, he had the strength of their father and he knew it. Indeed it was apparent enough in the way his practice sword held steady even after these hours of drills. Amber's mind worked quickly, he'll come in fast and heavy her younger brother shifted his weight forward, overhand. A cocky smile started to take her face, but she saw her father studying her from the edge of the sparring circle. Quickly smothering it, the girl fought to emulate his expressionless visage as he watched the bout.

With no more warning Tam launched his attack, fast, heavy, and overhanded, yelling his child's war-cry the whole way. Amber reciprocated with a sprint forward, bringing her own blade parallel to the ground. Ducking under her brothers clumsy vertical swing she slashed at his exposed stomach. Everyone heard the air rush out of his lungs and with it Amber knew he'd be down for the count. Still, she couldn't resist a quick little spin, whacking her little brother on his leather-padded ass with the flat of her blade as he fell to the ground.

"STOP." Lord Aaron Xavier Langblade commanded his two children in the practice circle. Amber instantly regretted the extra blow as she straightened up and held her sword at rest. It took Tam a moment to catch his breath and stand up straight again, shooting his older sister a dirty look in the process. Langblade waited until both of the children stood at rest before he turned to his third child and asked, "What did they do wrong?" His face was expressionless as it always was when he was training new fighters. But as ever the gaze behind his eyes belied the storm of thoughts foaming in his generals mind.

Amber almost laughed as she saw her second brother, Eddric, jump to attention, hefting his own heavy blade off of the ground where it had been resting. He quickly looked at his older siblings, first Amber, then Tam, but neither would offer to help explain what their father was asking about. At least not in-front of the old man himself. Eddric floundered for a moment before offering an answer.

"Well, Ser, Tom, he- uh, he stuck his foot forward again. Before he charged at Am. Like he always does." He looked up at his father expectantly before adding a quick "Ser."

The seasoned warrior held his younger sons gaze. "And?" He prompted.

Emboldened by his fathers neutral tone Ed continued. "And Am! She hit him again! After he was beaten!" His enthusiasm at pointing out the perceived faults of others was summarily dismissed by his father's one word reply.

"Wrong." Eddrics face fell but quickly brightened again as Lord Langblade continued. "You're correct that Tam, once again, broadcast his intent with his body language." The elder swords man turned to his second born, "Something that must be rectified soon." Amber and Eddric both tittered quietly at Tams discomfiture. "But your sister wasn't wrong in striking twice." The father turned to look at his three children each in the eye. "Out there," He pointed a gauntletted hand at the rolling hills outside the keeps walls, "people will not hesitate to capitalize on your weakness. If they see an opening, they will take it. And you will suffer the consequences."

Turning to Eddric he continued. "No, where Amber failed" his eyes flicked up to the young swords-girl. "Was in waiting for Tam to attack." Lord Aaron straightened up a bit before continuing. "Nine out of ten fights are won by the first person to strike. And outside these walls, losing a fight means dying." A dark look takes his eyes as the Lord gazes out over his holdings. But it quickly fades as the father looks back to his children. Taking a step back the drill master barked at his trainees once more, "AGAIN!"

"But Dad!" Amber started, "-Ser! We've run this a dozen times. And I've beat him every single time!"

"That's not true!" Tam interjected quickly, "I won the third one!"

Amber rolled her eyes and continued addressing their father. "When are you going to give me a real challenge? I can beat Tam-Tam any day of the week!" Her younger brother and sparring partner stuck out his tongue at her and again she rolled her eyes.

General Langblade seemed to consider this a moment before quietly saying "Fine. Eddric, assist your brother." Amber looked just as surprised as her youngest brother, she never thought he'd actually call her bluff. As quickly as he could, Eddric hefted his blunt practice sword and joined Tam, approximating his brothers ready position as much as his significantly weaker frame allowed.

Amber was swift to adopt her own en guard stance as she saw that her father wasn't joking. After a moment she started to grin again, this would actually require some effort from her. Eddric is quicker, she thought to herself but he's not as strong as Tam. She watched her brothers under the beating of the hot sun. Still, he's better at hiding his tells. Better to take him down first, and quickly.

This time the first born child of Lord Aaron Xavier Langblade did not wait for her brother to strike. Launching herself forward she rushed at her youngest brother, smashing her shoulder into his chest sending him flying. Tam for all his predictability was still a strong kid, strong and fast. He swung his blade at his sister as she bowled over their little brother. It was all Amber could do to intersperse her blade between his weapon and her stomach. But the fighter in training was able to do it, and push him away before swinging her own sword at his upper shoulder.

It was an easy block, one that Tam was able to pull off with little difficulty. But the second, true, strike caught him unawares as Amber swung hard for his right leg. The blow landed with a muffled, but still painful sounding, 'paff.' Tam groaned a little under the strike, but kept his feet.

Reveling for a moment in the solid hit Amber didn't notice Eddric rising to his feet from where he lay on the ground behind her. The younger brother swung as hard as his spindly arms would let him at the back of his sisters knee. The blunt weapon connected and Amber fell forward with a yelp. Seeing his opportunity for a little payback, Tam rushed forward and knee'd his sister in the gut as she fell forward.

Eddric brought his own sword up in a winning blow, but the young girl saw it coming from her place on the ground and quickly rolled along the dirt and grass to dodge the falling blade. Tam tried to rush over to keep her on the ground, but at the same time Amber got a leg under her and leveraged herself to back to her feet. Punching with all her strength at Tams padded stomach as he closed the distance between them.

The 'oof' he made was a sweet sound to her ears as she brought her blade up to ward off another strike from Ed.

"Arggh!" She exclaimed as a piercing pain shot through her foot. Falling to the ground she saw Tams sword where it had struck at her un-armored boot. She saw that, and the surprise on Tam's face, as if he didn't truly expect the blow to hurt her. Her own sword lying forgotten on the ground she clutched madly at her aching foot as she heard her father bark out:

"STOP." In two long strides the man was at her side down on a knee. Quickly and expertly he removed her boot to examine the damage to her foot. The limb was already starting to swell and turn a deep purple where the blow had landed. The young fighter bit her tongue to not cry out again as her father handled her injury. After a moments probing he said quietly "It's broken, but it will heal." He rose to his feet, hefting his daughter up in his arms in one smooth motion. "We're done for today." He looked at his three children before his eyes rested on Amber's. "You did well. I'm proud of you. All of you."

His long legs eating the distance to the keep, Amber held on to her fathers neck, holding back tears of pain and yet, smiling.

The storm had come and stayed and stayed and finally gone, but had left so much changed. To Mkali Moto Kipande Njia’yawzai's young eyes each new downed tree, flooded lowland, and reshaped hill was an adventure that called, no demanded, to be explored. The eleven child, appearing no more than eleven or twelve human years of age, seemed only to know how to laugh and run as she carved a curving path from her parents' small, sturdy home. Trailing far behind, the child's long haired mother walked slowly, her steps somehow regal, her face calm but for an occasional smile at the antics of her offspring, as she too surveyed the damage the swirling winds had done during the long dark day and even darker night.

The scene proceeded as such for over an hour with few words spoken between mother and child, excepting when Mkali Moto Kipande would come running back with some curiosity in hand, eager to show it off and win some small amount of praise or rebuke from her parent.

Then came the odd stillness.

"Where have you gone, my child?" U'tulivu Nyeupe-nywele Malaika Njia’yawazi, called to the surrounding woods when the sounds of quickly moving feet and awed giggles did not soon resume.

"Mother, it is awful..." came her child's reply so very soft and sad.

For the first time in their morning outing, U'tulivu Nyeupe-nywele Malaika picked up her pace. Her regal, serene walk gave way to speedier movement far too elegant to be termed a mere run or dash. The worried parent soon slowed once more as she caught sight of her grief stricken child kneeling and crying on the now smooth, washed out slope of what had the day before been a notable hillside. Beyond her crouched form, bones and still decomposing flesh half emerged from the soft soaked soil.

U'tulivu Nyeupe-nywele's right hand moved to cover her mouth as her child turned and looked up to her with eyes made large and glistening by fear and despair.

"It is Ddaear," Mkali Moto Kipande informed her mother before she brought her own hand, shaking as it was with grief, up to her face forming a miniature mirror image of her mother.

U'tulivu Nyeupe-nywele knew the name well, better even than her daughter though the gnomish boy had been one of her child's closest friends. She had counseled the Dodohyd'iaeron family to allow her to attempt to heal their sickened eldest son, but very little could be done to dissuade gnomes of their traditions once their minds had been made. Ddaear had passed not two months before and both elven mother and daughter had attended his burial just weeks earlier.

"Do you remember, my only and dearest child, what you asked me the day he was laid to his final rest?" U'tulivu Nyeupe-nywele questioned gently as she moved closer.

The tiniest shake of a head was the only reply she received.

"You asked why we buried our departed. This is why,” the mother told her daughter. “Because the body rots once the soul has moved on. We respect the life that was but place the body out of sight so we can remember our friends as they were, not as their empty shells become.”

For a long while Mkali Moto Kipande sat and considered her mother’s words. Eventually her gaze returned to the remains of her friend only to be soon turned away once more by her mother’s gentle hand.

“I miss him,” she told her mother.

“I know. But it is not right for us to look upon him as he now is. Instead, we shall take a trip to Dodohyd'iaerons and inform them of what has happened.”

Now, daughter and mother journeyed side by side, small fingers gripping tight to offered hand, in saddened silence.

Sparks Clearpath continued along the unfamiliar forest trail before her not at all sure of where she was being lead. Dressed in her soft, warm hunting gear with little more than a bow and a handful of arrows in a quiver across her back, she had, two hours ago, realized she was being hurried along to parts unknown during the clear, chilly morning. Ordinarily, she might have preferred a slower pace, but that wasn't an option, not with the Dymestl-aeron siblings keeping pace and goading her onward with her every step.

Somehow, her four Gnomish friends seemed to have no lack of energy, darting in and out of the foliage around her, even though they very nearly had to remain on the run for their short legs to keep up with her brisk walk.They were laughing and fighting and playing little games that Sparks was sure she'd never fully understand, even having observed them for the better part of two decades.

At a little over fifty years of age, Sparks was a good ten years older than Tân, the oldest of the Dymestl-aerons, though one could hardly tell, what with the differences in the two races heights and aging patterns. It was the most unapparent of facts that the four Gnomish brothers and sisters, who were only half Sparks' height, were all nearly considered adults while Sparks herself was only a few short years into her long transition to maturity.

"How much farther?" Sparks asked in elvish, addressing the four gnomes darting and scurrying around her. Even she was beginning to tire despite being as fit and at home among the trees of the forest as she was.

<"Somewhat!"> the white haired Gwynt answered with unhelpful cheer in Gnomish as she, and her long, hair breezed by.
<"It's too late to turn back now..."> Blue eyed Dŵr gushed.
<"You promised you'd help!"> Tân said, almost accusingly, so quick to anger, as always.
"Why do you care?" Galon asked sincerely in return, the only one of the four to reply in elvish, even though they had all learned to speak it years ago.

"We're getting pretty far out..." Sparks answered. <"And I will help, Tân, but I told my parents I would be back by nightfall.">

<"They will understand you had to keep moving forward,"> Dŵr insisted.
"Will they? I would think they would worry, they lov..." Galon inquired of his sister, his tone ever kind.

<"It doesn't matter now, 'cause we're here!"> Gwynt interrupted.

Here, it turned out, was a curious clearing that seemed to have no place so deep in the woods. There was no stream or river or solid, growth-impeding rock jutting out of the soil to block plant growth. It was only as she passed out of the tree line and into the bright sunlight that Sparks got her first hint as to the cause of the clearing. A dozen steps closer and she had her answer for sure. Though it was still a good twenty feet in front of her, she could now make out the rounded rocky lip of what had to be a massive vertical drop off. It was a large depression, at the very least, or maybe even a deep, deep sinkhole of some kind. Slowing her movements to careful, creeping steps, Sparks edged closer, eager to know more.

"Whoa..." she exclaimed as she reached the edge. Before her was no depression or minor sinkhole. No, somehow the Dymestl-aerons had found a huge, ten foot wide shaft of a cave that dropped almost one hundred feet straight down. Along the way were a multitude of outcroppings, divots, and patches of rock covered in moss or vines, but beyond a very good grip and a whole lot of rope, there was seemingly no safe way down... which is why Sparks was entirely unsurprised when she turned around to find her four smiling companions all holding one of the longest lengths of sturdy rope she'd ever seen.

"No." Sparks told them at once. "Very much no... and where... how did you keep that rope hidden all this time?"

<"Magic?"> Gwynt asked, as if she too were unaware of the true answer. Her brothers and sister all nodded in tentative, unconvinced agreement.

"Fine, keep you secrets..." Sparks said, knowing she had no choice but to relent, at least on that point, "but there is still no way I'm going down there. Even with the rope. One false move and I'd be killed!"

"But look!" Dŵr replied, moving over to the cave's mouth. "Can you see it? At the very bottom?!"

"See what?" Sparks asked. She walked around the circular opening until the sun was at her back and shielded her eyes from the bright, cloudless sky, but even then the deep shadows that covered the lowest parts of the cave made discerning much of anything impossible. Except... Sparks squinted harder and angled her head and... yes, there was something there. Something... "Glowing?"

"It's glowing fungus!" Galon explained.
<"It is a pool of moldy water."> <"No! It is a firebug,"> <"A mirror!"> the other three Gnomes disagreed all at the same time.

"So none of you know what it is but want me to risk going to find out?" Sparks asked once their explanations ceased.

The four Gnomes looked to each other for a moment, then in unison nodded and begged in their best Elven, saying: "Please? We just have to know!"

Sparks sighed. She turned back to the cave and began tracing a route from crag to outcropping to handhold. It looked...doable, and her friends had helped her with more and required far less... It was only fair that she try.

<"Okay, I'll do it,"> she answered in Gnomish, causing a small cheer to pass between them. "I want this tied double tight," she indicated as the four Gnomes jumped into action. Tân and Galon helped her with the rope while Gwynt and Dŵr scouted around for the best place for their Elvish friend to begin her descent.

<"There's a smooth patch of ground over here for the rope to slide over!"> Dŵr called out a few moments later.

When everyone was ready, and her four small friends had taken their positions in a line holding the rope, Sparks carefully lowered herself over the edge and began her long climb down. It was a slow, trick process, dealing with unyielding rock, crumbling dirt, and thin unhelpful plants. She'd spend minutes just testing her weight on the next ledge or next set of roots before proceeding. She slipped twice, but each time only dropped a few inches as the uncharacteristically quiet Dymestl-aerons did their jobs holding the rope. After nearly an hour of slow, tense work, Sparks was finally a few feet from the bottom.

"Let go, give me slack!" she called up. A second later she felt the tension on her safety rope fall away and was free to hop down to the cave floor. "I made it!" she called.

Above her, four small heads poked out over the edge of the drop off, each casting a comically large shadow on the sunlit section of the cave wall some seventy feet above Sparks' head.

<"Well? What is it?"> Tân's voice echoed down in impatient irritation.

<"Fungus?">
<"Water?">
<"A mirror?">
<"A fire bug??">

"No, none of those..." Sparks called back as she stooped down to inspect the glowing object before her. "It's... like a torch, alight... but not on fire...It seems about done for..." She smiled at the distant, excited chatter that filtered down from the Gnomes back up at the surface.

Taking a moment to really examine the dimly glowing torch, Sparks put it in her quiver along with her arrows then began her climb back up. In truth, she should have taken some time to rest, but the Dymestl-aerons' joy was so infectious that she'd forgotten just how much her arms and legs had been aching just a few minutes before.

Some twenty feet up, Sparks stretched to reach the next obvious handhold, only to find her her other fatigued hand unable to keep its grip. For a long, desperate moment, Sparks felt her fingers slipping and slipping and slipping free, and then she was falling. One of the Dymestl-aerons must have remember their job though, because a moment later the rope went tight, causing her head and body to slam painfully into the cave wall. Dizzy, and in pain, Sparks felt herself being lowered back onto the cave floor. She shifted to lay on her back but when she clutched at her forehead her hand to came away wet with blood!

Sparks stared up at the circle of light coming in from the surface, but could hardly seem to move. Distantly, she was sure she could hear the cries of her friends, but answering them... it seemed... but she couldn't... to her thoughts... line up properly...

Then, far above, she saw a small shape, complete with hands, feet, and long blowing hair, jump out over the mouth of the cave. Despite her throbbing, dizzy head, Sparks managed to sit up in terror as she watched Gwynt... jump over the cave edge?! For seconds Sparks watched the insane Gnome fall down the center of the shaft, only to have a sudden gust of wind kick up along the cave floor. Sparks shielded her eyes from the sudden gust and a moment later there Gwynt was, kneeling by her side.

"Sparks? We're so sorry! Are you ok?"

"No... Not really," Sparks answered. "How..?"

"Magic." Gwynt replied, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. "Can you hang on to the rope? We are going to pull you up."

Sparks nodded and, placing one hand above the other, weakly gripped the length of rope stretching upward before her.

<"Ok! Pull!"> Gwynt called up to her brothers and sister.

Inch by inch, Sparks felt herself being lifted out of the cave, even as Gwynt remained on the floor below. Sparks helped where she could, stretching out a hand or foot to push herself out away from the cave wall when it was necessary. At the cave's mouth several pairs of small hands helped pull her back up over the edge, and then...

...she must have walked back home along with the Dymestl-aerons, but Sparks could remember very little of the return trip. It was almost as if one minute she was being helped back into the noonday sunlight and the next, it was night time and her mother's worried arms were encircling her outside of their forest home.

"My child, you must not be so reckless! If you had hit your head any harder..." her mother scolded before trailing off. Not even she wanted to speak the dreadful words that would have finished the sentence. Instead, she placed a firm palm on her daughter's gashed forehead and closed her eyes.

Sparks shuttered slightly as her mother's powerful magic flowed into her. She sobbed her apologies softly into her mother's shoulder and then was sent to her room for bed without supper as a punishment for putting herself in as much danger as she had.

It was only late into the night, when the memories, good and bad, of the past days events kept playing out in her head, that Sparks realized one of the Gnomes had swiped her hard won magical torch!

It was going to be fun getting it back, tomorrow.

In this story, I wanted to try and give the Gnomes this sense of inexhaustible energy and strange and almost delightfully comical magical powers that don't make much real sense. I see elves as mysterious in their age and wisdom and ability to remain calm, but I tried to give the gnomes a magical quality that was completely different and bewildering.

Another fun part of the story was making the gnome's prize something mundane. They drag their more physically capable friend miles away from home all for what they think might be some common glowing fungus at the bottom of a deep cave! I loved writing them and their reasons. :)

A metal wheel on the top of the smoking steelcraft spun and a circular hatch popped open. About a dozen bodies scrambled and swarmed out of the hole, like angry black ants. Their trousers and bare chests and arms were black from soot. Shaven heads, bared teeth, and yellow warpaint around the eyes of these reavers was a frightening visage to behold. Umros did not even realize he was running until he bumped into a sailor. The crew drew knives from their belts, or balled their hands into fists, though it seemed to be a paltry answer to the barbed tridents, curved scimitars, and the handfuls of glass phials waved by the hollering Seadragons. By the fumes trailing out of the phials, the fledgling alchemist knew that was highly volatile alchemist’s fire in those containers. The fact that a reaver was shaking them around was dangerous enough! I have to save the book! was the only thought in the Whippoorwill’s mind. Sliding between the legs of another crewman, Umros heaved up the hatch. A sudden, hellish cry pulled his eyes back to the yellow-eyed reavers. “Witneeeeessss meeee!” shrieked the one with the armload of wildfire.

“Witneeesss!” answered the reavers in fanatical unison. Their faces were rapt with awe and reverence on their comrade, already mid-leap toward the sailing ship. The gnome saw in greater detail and to his horror: his belt and bandoleer were also lined with the glass containers of alchemist’s fire.

His lean, muscular body slammed onto the wood deck in the most painful bellyflop Umros had ever seen. Glass shattered and liquid fire roared as it spread over the deck and deckhands, while the hysterically laughing deliverer writhed and burned in a way that sickened the little wanderer. He had to warn the others.

Umros dropped below, with the hatch bump the top of his head in his haste. He had to blink away the sudden dark as he fumbled about over unseen luggage, equipment, and trade goods. “Reavers! Wildfire!” he cried out to those in bunks. “What do we do?!” A litany of curses spilled out of fearful sailor’s mouths as the night crew thundered up the steps, some of them mindful enough to grab something better than a dagger along the way. The reopened hatch flooded the cargo hold with sounds of battle: of rage, terror, and bodies colliding. An odor of burning wood and flesh followed the sounds too, and once again Umros hated his excellent sense of smell.

The little thief scrambled for his hammock, just now noticing the simpering pudgy boy in the corner, and the half-orc who sighed as she casually pulled on a chainmail shirt and hefted a shield from under her pack. “Right,” she growled, in a bored tone, dropping a steel helm adorned with curled rams horns onto her head. “Let’s see what this is about…”

She trudged up the stairs with all the enthusiasm of a cabin boy ordered to scrub the deck. “Wait!” Umros lunged out, and she paused long enough for him to grab her elbow. “Good luck.” He sensed that Desna’s favor would follow this half-orc stranger, though she indifferently shrugged off the well wishes and shouldered the hatch open with an axe in hand. The gnome was already at his pack when the door slammed closed, gently nestling the ancient tome into the center of the backpack, away from wherever seawater might enter. He did not have a plan of escape, but he knew he could not stay where he was for very long. The Iron Seadragons were not the prisoner-taking type. The muffled sounds of battle overhead nearly drowned out another whimper from the corner, but the Desnan worshipper heard it.

His sympathy for the boy, perhaps near the same age as himself, was only checked by his annoyance at the young fat man’s lack of initiative. Umros buckled his pack tight, and strapped it to his back. He approached the round, sobbing huddle of fine furs. He slapped the greasy head of hair on top. Glistening eyes peeked out from the expensive garments. “Listen,”, he said, using his stage training to contort his orange eyebrows into the frowniest face possible, “Things aren’t looking good up there, but hiding down here isn’t gonna save you either. Do you know how to swim?” The round face looked as though this was the first time in his life he thought about swimming.

“Yeah, I’m not great at it either,” admits the gnome. “But unless you’ve got a set of wings hidden under that bundle, I suggest we jump ship before we get tossed into a stew.”

The soft boy’s eyes suddenly widened at the terrible idea, and wailed in helplessness. The young gnome rolled his eyes and took a moment to scan the belly of the ship for any cargo that could serve to keep them afloat. The barrels wouldn’t stop rolling… and we wouldn’t last long on a bolt of linen, either… The crates, sacks, barrels, and chests packed tightly into the hold were not forthcoming with options. A blast from above deck shook the ship, and some of the containers shifted. A big green melon rolled out from somewhere above in the towering storage and bonked Umros on the head. Rubbing the soreness from his frizzy-haired scalp, he started to chuckle. His eye followed the large round fruit as it rolled with the pitch of the sailboat. He had seen melons like those, when he was a wee boy at a summer solstice fair on Lake Fiousrc, and what’s more, they were the object of the water sports that took place at the festival. These head-sized green melons can float.

His silver eyes searched upward, to the ceiling of the bottom deck, the idea already formed in his mind. There, up at the top and wedged between two large crates, he saw one more melon! The shifting stack of cargo looked climbable, but not with his backpack on. Very carefully, Umros set his pack near the foot of the stairway, and called to the sobbing lad. “All that crying is just going to season your face with salt!” The young gnome snickered at the joke in admittedly poor taste. “I need your help, quick! Wipe your eyes and find a burlap sack. I’m going to climb up and drop down some melons for you to catch. Hurry!”

He heard movement behind him as the young man stirred from his corner, but Umros was already clambering up the barrels and chests. From floor to ceiling was no more than ten feet at the lowest point of the deck, so the climb did not take long for one as nimble as the orange-haired gnome. Once he reached the melon, he found four more in the nook between the two crates.
“We’re going to get out of here just fine,” he beamed down below. A hopeful smile grew over the young one in fine furs. Umros dropped one, two, three melons into the awaiting burlap sack. He squeezed into the tiny dark crawl space between the two crates and took hold of the last green melon when he heard the top hatch rip open and the sounds of battle pour below deck. He tensed, and heard a shriek followed by the shattering of glass. He felt the heat of the blast from the nook he was tucked into, and his heart skipped a beat. Wiggled out quickly, he saw the young man frantically wrestling with his furs, which appeared to be on fire. Parts of the deck were on fire, too, and the rows of hammocks spread the flame like a wild rumor. Umros hurried to the bottom, melon in hand, to help the flailing boy with his expensive burning coat. When the heavy garment was dropped in a blazing heap, the gnome thief’s heart sank when he saw the center of the alchemical blast -his backpack and the treasured tome within. There was no saving it, the fires burned too hot and the pages kept too meticulously dry. Without that book, how else was the great Wizard Davian Mambrino going to accept him as apprentice? Umros winced.

His remorse was short-lived. Fumes from the chemical fires filled the bottom deck, and in no time the two were choking as Umros fumbled some twine to tie the burlap sack closed. He had no idea what to do once at sea and away from this battle, or how long the two of them might drift, but he had to trust Lady Luck for now to see him through. The battle still raged above deck as the pair groped for the stairway and helped each other haul the melons up the steps. Desperate for air, Umros threw back the hatch and pulled the young man’s shirt to follow him. Much of the smoky top deck roiled with red fire and black reavers. Most of the lean, sooty ravagers were focused on the remainder of the crew, cornered at the prow and clearly on the losing end of the fight. Boldest among them stood the lady half-orc, a furious storm of steel and strength that kept the Seadragon reavers at bay. With a tinge of regret for the sailors’ plight, Umros prayed that the goddess of all travelers would swell the boy’s courage for the daring escape, and as luck would have it, in no time the two of them had darted to the railing of the ship.

A sudden shriek in their frightening tongue turned many yellow-eyed heads to the escapees, and Umros knew he had to act quickly. The lad stood, clutching the railing and frozen in fear. But, unlike the plucky gnome, the railing came up to the waist of the pudgy traveler. Summoning all the strength in his small form, Umros spun the melon-filled sack right at his companion’s chest, bowling him over the railing and the floatation device following him down with a buoyant splash. A cry of victory escaped his lips, and the gnome is about to hop over when he sees over a dozen reavers rush him with upheld weapons.

Time slowed for a second, and the young thief experienced a moment of clarity. Or insanity, the two can be so similar at times. A wild grin spread over his face as he tumbled between his assailants, away from the railing. If I can distract these reavers from the boy and the sailors… maybe, just maybe we can live to tell the tale! The wandering feet pounded hard on the blackened deck, dodging attackers and tongues of fire. Zigzagging and spinning to avoid the barbed tridents and curved scimitars, his eyes fell upon the plated hull of the Seadragon vessel. He wondered just how much they would hate to have their ship captured by one so small as he. The gnome could not stop the manic laughter that shook his chest as he vaulted for the half-burned rigging up the mast of the sailboat, to get a better look at how to cross the expanse of water between the two ships. A few pronged projectiles soared towards him, and one was a near miss, but he clambered up the knotted handholds as quick as a spider on web. From high above he saw the half-orc spreading her savage work to the distracted reavers, and he twisted around to spot the pale young lad, soaked but clutching the floating sack, gawping up at him wide-eyed. “Go!” he waved a hand at the one overboard. “Swim! I’ll catch up!” Umros was unsure if he lied or not, especially when he scarcely knew what he was going to do next.

A large hand wrapped around his ankle! Below him snarled a reaver than had followed him up, with bared yellow teeth and crazed yellow eyes. In his other hand hissed a curved blade! Umros narrowly dodged it, and the swing partially sliced through a line in the rigging. An idea sparked in the young gnome’s mind, but he hadn’t the time to sort it out as the blade whipped around again on the back swing. Pushing his luck a bit further, he grabbed a rope at random and spun to avoid the blade. He heard a line snap and felt himself free falling, still gripping a rope. Uh-oh. I guessed wrong! A few seconds of panic later, Umros felt the rope thrum taut and he swung over the deck of the sailboat, out over the water, and high above the smoking machine of iron and fire! It wasn’t until he ran out of breath that he realized he was screaming -out of fear or excitement, he could not tell. It was now or never.

He let go of the rope.