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Awenasa finds Perey walking out of the stream, soaked to the bone including his boots. Unsurprisingly the bard looks quite displeased with things as he struggles to the bank. To Awenasa’s surprise however, his countenance doesn’t change when she relates the battle and their victory. Instead, his frown seems to deepen.

”Oh, so you and Thak did all the brave, heroic things while I had to hide in the water like a child.” he finally says, struggling onto dry land, water sluicing off of him. He shivers in the thin mountain air. ”Just the usual, I guess. Perey can’t be trusted with anything too dangerous. You are just like the quah, it’s never enough, no matter what I do. Even heading to…wherever this is!” He shouts, waving a hand at the trees, the river, the surrounding snow-clad peaks. ’You should have just left me at the Halls. Or better yes, back at the Mordant Spire. Maybe then I wouldn’t be holding you back.”

Without waiting for a reply he stomps off, leaving very wet footprints as he goes.

In one sense he is correct. Only being half-Shoanti Perey never became a full adult in the quah, as Awenasa did. Never underwent a ritualistic adulthood ceremony, always left out of the true quah membership. Very different then Awenasa whose life always stood at the center of social and religious life (not always to her benefit).

Still, he did grow up among the Shonati and their ways. How would Awenasa have viewed being told to run and hide in danger? To cower in a stream while others did the fighting and bleeding?

It takes little skill to attack a stunned opponent but Awenasa has no compunctions. In the wild struggle of nature, the weak suffer and the strong survivie, here is no room for niceties. This beast chose to attack and she chose to defend herself, nothing could be more natural. What wolf would pass up the young or the old? And what deer, chased by a lion, would not avail itself of any trick to escape?

Awenasa's fists rain down on he beast, an unrelenting torrent of force. She can feel the body break under her attack, bones snapping, muscles tearing. Soon she feels like a child beating a gourd into paste. It squeals in pain, soon reduced to a unhealthy wheezing, smashed to the ground.

"And leave you alone? Not likely!" Thak shouts over the tumult. He steps around the heavily injured monster and lays a hand on Awenasa's shoulder. She feels a pulse of soothing magic enter her, healing some of the bloody ruin of her chest.

Healing Channel: 3d6 ⇒ (1, 1, 6) = 8

Then the creature does something Awenasa did not expect. Battered, pummeled and bleeding it suddenly spun, the teeth facing downward. It started to spin, much as it had on her chest. In the blink of an eye it started sinking into the loose gravel and sand of the riverside, vanishing underground as quick as a gopher.

Then it is gone, somewhere underground.

Thak looks very nervous at the soil. "Um, now what?" The cleric starts to scramble toward one of the boulders near at hand.

Garin shakes his head, ”Nothing official. Only the top places get prizes, or those with connections. Still, like I said, you can win outside of it. Made some friends, some good contacts in the city. This is where I found out about an old temple worth exploring, enough to make a season of profit. Nantambu is a hells of a place, and the Games make you a minor celebrity.”

The others seem a bit awkward when Bjorn lays out his history, clearly unsure what to say. Gtou adds, voice obviously musing internally, ’So strange, these families. Outsiders talk about them so much. Must be important.”

Garin laughs when Bjorn admits he has not idea what the top level reward is for the Mthani. ’You came all this way without knowing?” He laughs loud enough to get the priestess to glower at him, but the little trader ignores them. ”Amazing. Maybe you cats look before you leap, eh?” He shakes his heads at his little joke.

Gtou breaks in, ”The top prize is always same. An item from Magaambya, whatever the winner wishes. Items of great power there, old and strong. Enough to change world, maybe?” The frogman considers this for a moment, ”Maybe even something to solve math problem?” He touches the bone square with a rubbery finger, somewhat sadly.

Any further talk is halted when there a sudden silence descended over the previously noise crowd. All three of them look up and see Kwamena Yeboah has stood up, pushing back his bench at the high platform with a clatter. The huge Mwangi native towers over the crowd, gleaming in the bright firelight and the final rays of the dying sunset. The light played off the bangles on his powerful arms, seemingly to flash to molten gold and silver, the jewels leaping to life. Even his skin seemed to shine and glow, every muscle defined.

The former champion spread his arms wide in a gesture of welcome, teeth nearly as bright as the jewelry.

”Welcome, friends, strangers, travelers from distant lands. It is my great honor to welcome you to the Mtihani!” Kwamena threw his huge hands upwards at this. The great festival fires roared as well, suddenly shooting up into towering columns of swirling flames. They shifted colors as they grew, changing to brilliant blue, green and amethyst. From the skies tent thousand shooting stars appeared as well, streaking across the velvet jungle sky in a dazzling net of criss crossing lights.

Yeboah laughed at this, a rolling roar that mingled with the crackling flames and sizzling meteors. It faded even as the display did.

”Yes, a great honor. I once won great fame and glory here, and it has been a privilege of helping birth this year’s Games.” He nodded, ”But I did not do this alone. I would also like to honor some of the others who made this all possible.”

He waves a hand at the seat of assembled arbiters. ”Master Teleayo of the Hued Market and Glasswork’s Guild!” A stocky man stood and bowed, colorful robes spilling down his chest partly hid by a bushy beard.

”Mistress Jummai of the Peacock Houses!” A tall Ekujae elf stood up, wearing simple but elegant robes of white and gold. A decorative gold mask covered the top half of her face, leaving only the lower paint halved revealed. She bowed shortly.

’And finally Elder Chelsoshi of the Magaambya and the Learned Ones.” A nondescript man takes to his feet, wearing basic common clothes. A short trimmed beard covers a wrinkled, aged face. The only thing of note is a long necklace of beads around his neck, glass of every color, winking in the firelight.

”Fellow Arbiters, we honor you. Tonight, and all nights, would fail without you.” Yeboah said grandly, and bowed low to them. Many in the audience clapped and a few, Bjorn guessed locals, stood and bowed as well.

This finished, the Laughing Tower turned back to the assembled crowd. ’I only have two things left to say, a relief to those with full stomachs and weary backsides.” he laughed, ’One day we will get cushioned benches!” Some laughter from the crowd.

”First, the Oath of the Mthani. And then,” His eyes twinkled, ”I shall reveal the first challenge, which will begin tomorrow at mid-day.” This set off a tidal wave of whispers, mutterings and outright gasps from the crowd. Clearly this was unexpected.

Through the dust in her eyes, the gravel on her tongue, Awenasa has one job. She needs to prevent this creature from eating her friends and herself. Ignoring the blood and pain, she focuses entirely on that one thing, summoning up her will. Then she lashes out at the flying beast, aiming for what she hopes are the sensitive eyes around that horrible, grasping mouth.

Her fist cuts through the dust storm like a sword, slamming home. The beast shudders from tooth to tail at the sheer force of her blow.

Whirlmaw Fort Save, DC 17: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16

oh!

She follows up with another set of punches, some missing in the dust, some landing. The Shoanti isn't clear of everything but one seems clear, the creature is stunned by her barrage, confused while floating in mid-air. The dust slowly settles as the monster stops kicking up the windstorm, and Awenasa can see Thak on the ground, covering his head against the dust.

Monster is stunned, -2 to AC, no actions. It is your move again. Nicely done. It is injured but not critically so, you' guess. Then again, maybe it isn't going to fight to the death, it does seem to be hunting.

Blood loss, confusion, concern for her friends or maybe a touch of the ethereal clinging to her. Whatever it is, the usually powerful Shoanti's blows are feeble and weak. The onrushing monster doesn't even seem to notice them, eyes fixed on her exposed, bleeding chest. The tail lashes it onward in a fevered drive directly for her-

Then Awenasa looks past it and sees something she did not expect. Thak is running at her, book, sack and everything forgotten. She has seen her friend in many moods. Happy, scared, irritated and even injured but she has never seen the Vudran like this. His face is a mask of fury and power, jumping from rock to rock with abandon. He raises his hand and Awenasa can see it is shimmering with magical power. The flying creature ignores him, perhaps not even noticing him.

A mistake.

Thak jumps off a rock and manages to grab the thing's tail. As he does so a burst of bright blue energy explodes from his hands. It envelops the beast in a ball of searing light, and Awenasa can hear sizzling skin. It shrieks in a high pitched squeal of pain.

Damage, Inflict Critical Wounds: 4d8 + 7 ⇒ (6, 5, 4, 1) + 7 = 23

It halts it's charge, hovering in mid-flight. Obviously injured (but by no means crippled) it lashes its tail and flexes the many small wings along it's body. A sudden burst of wind erupts, kicking up the dust and grit from the ground. Suddenly, Awenasa finds herself in a cloud of reddish dust, choking and blinding her. The beast becomes a shadowy outline and Thak vanishes entirely.

Dust provides 10% miss chance to everyone

Out of the malestroms he can hear Thak shout, voice shaken, "Make it count, I can only cast that once!"

You are next to the creature which is happily now flanked. I wouldn't waste much time, Thak might be a tasty snack to this thing.

Garin peers at the bony shapes for a long moment, eyes squinting in the festive firelight. He moves his fingers a bit, cocks his head and then nods gravely in deep understanding. The trader turns to Bjorn and says, confidently ”No idea. I can barely count to ten, twenty if I take off my shoes. Sorry, friend.” He adds to the grippli who seems unsurprised, if a trifle disappointed.

”I have found this before, among others.” The frog-man offers, politely, as if defending them. ”Numbers…not major part of lives. Very strange.”

When Bjorn mentions a nickname (or something else he can pronounce) the grippli seems unaffected, ”Names not very important. People….Grippli people,” The frog-man says the word with obvious dislike, ’Not use names often. Small group, name not really required among so few.” Bjorn isn’t sure he agrees but then again, he isn’t a frogman. ’More important is who someone is. Not what they call themself.”

The mathematician's bulbous eyes lit up as they speak of the Mtihani. ”Never before. Not many of my people have entered. Three hundred and thirteen Mtihani so far, less than one hundred have come. As far as records go, not all lists survive.” They say this very quickly, voice rasping. They look at Garin, ”You return after failure? Why?”

The trader looks surprised at the question and shrugs, ”Why not? It is a thrill, beats watching my goods rot in the rain. Besides, you never know what you might win. There are ways to win without winning, you know?”

The grippli seems puzzled by this and turns their gaze to Bjorn, ”What say you? I come to win, to prove myself in the eyes of others. To show myself as worthy. No greater proof than the Mtihani, yes?” They say this almost as if to convince themself of something, but then they go on.

”Why you enter? Dangerous to enter Mtihani, everyone knows this. Small odds of victory.” The frog pauses, looks around and says, ”One out of one hundred and ten.” They say this like the punchline to a joke.

Awenasa has rarely seen her friend so confused. First there is the flying ravenous beast, darting toward him in a whirl of teeth and tail, obviously strange and abhorrent. Then there is Awenasa flashing to visibility like a conjurer's trick, shouting out strange commands. Still, they have traveled long enough together that Perey obeys.

After only a second of thinking her friend darts toward the water. He jumps off a boulder and lands in the rushing water with a spraying splash. Slipping and sliding, he vanishes below the surface. Awenasa hopes it is on purpose and not that Perey fell into a deep hole.

Farther away she sees Thak standing near their stopping point, book still in his hands. The small man is looking horror at the flying creature.

The monster pauses then, a moment of hesitation. Clearly it sees Thak as well, but is aware that Awenasa has re-appeared. Surrounded on all sides by danger and prey, it seems unsure. Then, after a moment it flips in mid-air and hurtles right back toward Awenasa, clearly deciding she is the greatest threat (or perhaps judging her to be the tastiest).

It is charging right at you, but you'll get an action when it closes this time.

Bjorn notes that this time, Garin follows him over, clearly more interested in the grippli then her quasi argument with the half-orcs (or the drunken revelry of the gnomes). The frog-like being ignores her for a moment, still intent on the geometric shapes laid out on the banana leaf. The catfolk gets the idea that the grippli is not being rude, instead they are merely engrossed.

When she speaks however, they seem startled, rising out of their reverie.

Garin replies first, commenting, "Just looks like bones to me."

The grippli looks at them both with large, wet eyes. They swallow (which is quite a process for a being with a mouth nearly large enough to inhale a small human child). Their skin is a soft green-ish yellow, seemingly perfectly smooth. Their clothes are not much to speak of, just a simple belt with many pouches hanging down.

When they speak, their voice is a wet sound croak, perfectly understand but heavy with some exotic accent.

"It is not ritual. Ritual for foolish people who believe gods care." They shake their wide head in obvious distaste for such things. Instead they point at the bones, "This is...how to say....numbers." There is a pause as they search for the right phrase and then their eyes lit up.

"Math. A math challenge, you understand? The task is to make a square with the same area as circle, yes? Very difficult. Maybe impossible." They sound delighted at the prospect of an impossible mathematical puzzle. After a moment they let out a little gurgle and adds, "Apologies. I am unused to strangers. My name is gtoukekan."

The name sounds like a weird combination of swallowing, gargling and croaking to Bjorn, utterly unpronounceable.

"You are here for Mtihani, yes? First time?" The frog looks solemn, "Very important, much to win."

The orcs seem surprised when Bjorn talks in their own language but it doesn’t seem to put them at ease. Instead it seems to make them more wary than ever. They lean back on their benches, eyeing the catfolk as if he was some sort of dangerous animal.

”You think we need your help?” The younger half-orc says dismissively, ”Ҡағылған” The last word is clearly Orc but not one that Bjorn knows.

The older half-orc gestures sharply at this and mutters, ”Silence, Kozban.” he uses the inflection of an elder speaking to a child, a harsh thing in orc. The young half-orc shrinks at this, shoulders dipping.

The older half-orc turns his full attention to Bjorn, ”There is no problem, stranger. Please, forgive our intrusion.”

Before we can say more, one of the sloshed gnomes breaks in, ”Yeah! Quite yer fightin’, this is a happy occasion. Look at the food! This is ‘bout getting yer fill before the Games start.” He wildly waves a full tankard of some sort of spiced rice drink. Bjorn’s sharp nose can only tell one thing. It is very, very strong.

The two half-orcs take the chance to take their leave, retreating to a different table. Bjorn can’t help but notice that they glance over at her a few times as they whisper to each other. Strange.

The gnomes get back to serious drinking, toasting the city, the Games, the athletes, the birds, sun and anything else they can think of.

Anything else?

Seeing few other options, Awenasa taps into that inner reserve of power that lurks just below the surface. She lets the power surge through her body, filling her like a cup with sparkling clear water. It takes hold of her and then, with a sensation like that of sinking in warm water, the Shoanti…leaves. She shifts somewhat out of this world and into another, more Ethereal one.

Her ragged pain subsides then fades away entirely, even as the world grows muted and distorted. She can still see things, the boulders, the beast, the rushing mountain stream but it seems distant, secondary. Awenasa has to force herself to remember that is the real world and this place, whatever it is, is not.

The biting beast seems at a loss when Awenasa vanishes from sight, and from touch. The grasping teeth mouth at the air, surprised that the tender flesh is gone, even as they drip with the remains of Awenasa’s blood. A dozen gleaming eyes flash as they search for their misplaced prey. The flying creature even starts to circle the spot, clearly very confused at this turn of events. It’s long, sinuous tail thrashes in frustration at the missed meal.

’Awenasa! What is wrong?” Awenasa can see from her vantage, Perey climbing over the rocks. Obviously her friend was drawn by her scream of pain and anger. ’Did you see something?” The bard hasn’t seen the flying creature yet, busy scrambling over the rough terrain.

Meanwhile the hunting creature has frozen in place, eyes fixing on Perey. After a moment of hesitation it streaks toward him, fast as a hunting cat.

You are still Ethereal

Awenasa grabs the repulsive thing and tries to tear it off, but it's grip is too strong and the greasy skin too slippery. Her fingers slip off, failing to get a good hold. The Shoanti has a feeling this is not good.

It isn't.

Wriggling against her like some kind of unwholesome maggot, the creature starts to rotate quickly, rolling into a dizzying spin. As it does so the slicing teeth burrow directly into her with a wet meaty sound, cutting through clothes, skin and muscle with agonizing pain.

Damage: 4d3 + 6 ⇒ (1, 1, 3, 3) + 6 = 14

The sudden outpouring of blood seems to excite the creature and it picks up the pace of spinning, spasming and thrashing.

Awenasa approached the corpse, the smell filling her nose ever more strongly. The air was filled with the rasping buzzing of flies, drowning out even the rushing of the nearby water. She was quite close to the quick moving water. Perhaps the person had been trying to get a drink, crawling among the boulders?

Awenasa squatted down and looked closely at the body. The Shoanti was not unused to death. Her homeland had not been kind to eithe rman or animal, and she had seen her share of bodies. Those killed by heatstroke and frostbite, claimed by battle or animal attack. Once, she had seen three men swallowed up in a mudslide, washed away to be broken on the lower slopes. Such was the way of the Plateau.

But she had never seen anything like this.

It was a human male, of the local variety. Purple eyes, reddish skin. They were wearing rough leather and rusty armor, a slapdash attempt at a uniform perhaps? Or maybe bits of pieces of many, gathered up over years. Nothing seemed to quite match and things were not kept as well as she might have expected. The chain mail shirt was spotted with rust, the belt was simply tied in a knot after a break. A battered sword lay close at hand, notched blade stained with blood. Still, it was not the clothes that confused her.

It was the wound. Death tended to attack the extremities first. The hands, legs and head. But this body....those were all intact. His boots were still on, a leather cap still on his head, and callused hands untouched. Instead it looked like someone had chewed right through his torso, a bloody wound punching him clean through. It was as if someone had used a giant rusty drill to do the grisly work, grinding through flesh, bone and steel with equal abandon. From a few inches below his neck to his waist, was just a bloody ruin. There were no signs of organs or anything else, just stains of blood and viscera on the stone. Whatever had happened, it had happened right here.

Yet there were no bloody footprints, animal or otherwise. No sign of what had done it.

What chewed holes through people?

Awenasa Perception: 1d20 + 17 ⇒ (8) + 17 = 25
?: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (12) + 15 = 27

Awenasa was alert, ready for danger, a lifetime of training. It didn't matter.

Suddenly out of the trees across the creek a reddish shape blurred toward her, flying through the air as fast as any bird. The Shoanti barely got a look at it, some sort of horrid cross between a lamprey and tumor before it was upon her. Glistening maw of razor sharp teeth glittering for a second before trying to close in on her flesh.

Whirlmaw Attack: 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (4) + 16 = 20
Damage: 2d6 + 9 ⇒ (3, 3) + 9 = 15

grapple: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (13) + 15 = 28

The biting, ravenous mouth locked onto not her arm but on her chest, latching tightly through her clothes. She felt the cut of a dozen sharp teeth breaking her skin. The wriggling mass pressed close to her, securing the bite, pinning itself to her with unwholesome, powerful thrashing. The creature was sickly warm to the touch, unpleasant against her skin and it smelled like death.

For some reason I have a hard time describing this monster. Here is a picture

Whirlmaw

Your move, you are standing but grappled.

Perey and Thak don't mind being told to wait. The bard stretches out on a mossy stone, rubbing his tired and worn feet, heavy pack on the ground. For his part Thak eagerly takes the book, barely waiting to sit down. Awenasa wonders what could be so interesting in the strange pages, but she has her own task first.

The Shoanti takes her time and uses a highly trained set of senses. She walks slowly over the ground, examining it closely for any disturbance, anything out of place. She starts quite aways out from the water source and spirals inward, careful to only walk where she has already searched. Awenasa follows the lay of the land, trying to predict how a lowlander might approach this stream, what was the easiest, most likely way?

She doesn't expect much. Footprints, broken plants, disturbed rocks would all be gone by now, worn away by weather. But garbage...that may last a long time. A bit of fabric or leather may reveal much. Head bowed, eyes sharp, Awenasa begins her search.

To her surprise, she instantly finds signs. Lots of it. Not from the direction she and her friends came, nor backwards down where they intended to go. Instead along a small game trail from the west came signs of passage. Not just one lone student either, but at least a dozen humanoids. Wearing boots and heavy gear. Awenasa sees footprints, shifted gravel, crushed plants. Whoever it was, they were only here...yesterday?

They were not gentle and clearly not trying to hide themselves. They might as well have painted a line on the ground, for Awenasa to follow. Instantly she is on her guard. Clearly there was more in these mountains then just a lost, possibly starved student. Careful as a hunter, keeping her friends in sight, Awenasa followed the trail to the water, looking for anything, ready for anything.

She smelled it first. The ripe scent of rotting meat in the open air. Not fresh but still rank. The Shoanti peeked over a boulder and saw the source. A fly covered humanoid corpse, wedged between two rocks.

Awenasa is not expecting much and it becomes clear she was right. It was clear this door is little used and the ground around it relatively untouched, nothing like the road at the other door. Time and weather tended to destroy signs of human passage, reverting things to a more natural state. Yet, Awenasa was well aware of nature and how it should look. This was not virgin landscape, even if it might appear wild to a outsider.

So she found no direct sign, no tracks, but it was clear anyone who left here headed a certain direction. They were fairly forced up a narrow rocky ravine that crept, slithering back and forth like a snake, higher in elevation. The way was steep and rocky as it rose, vanishing into the highlands above.

Perey sighs heavily when Awenasa points up, but shoulders his pack as they head upward. For Awenasa's part though, the hike is soon lifting her spirits and she knows exactly why.

It reminds her of home.

After the sandy desert and the strange Halls of Reason, the Shoanti would settle for anything but this...as they climb, it seems they are climbing right into the Stroval Plateau. Every step makes the place more familiar. Oh, a few things are strange, of course. The rocks are too red, the sky too pale and the air is a bit too thin but otherwise....

For one thing, there is more life as they climb. While the desert below had been quite sterile and dry, here plant life starts to proliferate as they gain altitude. Tough bushes cling against rocks, knots of grass in sheltered nooks, even bent trees dot the landscape. Moss and lichen appear, covering the large boulders in a patina of life and color. A few times they startle animals, some taking flight. Not just birds though, but some kind of small flying lizard, swooping away with orange-wings. Others dash for hidden burrows, various types of ground squirrels.

Around them the mountains loom ever larger, high towering cliffs of stone hundreds of feet high. To a lowlander it might feel intimidating but to Awenasa it felt like comfort. A world she understood.

The only real problem was a lack of sign. The way is clear enough but she has spotted no footprint, no trash left behind. So far she was relying on the lay of the land and little else. That could get Awenasa far but not far enough. She needed some luck.

After midday they hear a new sound, one that raises even Thak and Perey's heads from their struggle to climb. Rushing water, strong and fast. Peering ahead they see a small mountain stream, racing down a cliff. It leaps among boulders, gurgling and falling in a thousand little waterfalls and rapids. The water looks fresh and clean, surrounded by the thickest set of trees and plants yet.

"Can we at least wash our feet?" Perey says, looking over at the water.

The festive drums rolled loudly, making it hard for the catfolk to hear her acquaintance.

At Bjorn’s comment on the food Garion shrugged, ”Sure, it all looks nice but I can’t help but feel like a sheep, being fattened up before…well, you know. What happens to sheep.” He glanced around the Zenj Garden, as if expecting a butcher to suddenly appear.

None did.

Instead Bjorn found himself attracted to the grippli. Not only were they a novelty of themselves, but the bones were interesting. The catfolk had run into any number of fortune tellers, Harrow deck dealers and soothsayers during their time with the family caravan. Many had been hucksters of course, simple charlatans telling marks what they wanted to hear but some had been true seers. Capable of seeing the threads of fate. What would assume that the Mtihani would only attract the best, right?

Bjorn looked as closely as he could at the collection of chicken, fish and…rabbit (?) bones for anything he recognized. It didn’t look like any fortune telling the catfolk had seen before. Instead it simply looked like a set of circles and squares, laid on top of each other. Bjorn cold not make heads of tails of the bone laid out on the banana leaf but maybe it was the grease and bits of gristle that threw him off.

Garin looked over at the grippli and clearly couldn’t make heads or tails of the shapes either. ”Who knows? Some sort of good luck ritual? The grippli are strange folk, they live deep in the jungle and don’t deal with outsiders much. They have a reputation for stealing, but I think that is just talk. Supposed to be great trackers and such, no match for them in the jungle. Following signs and all that. Wouldn’t know, I stick to the rivers. Gods only know what you’ll find among the trees.” The Bloodcover trader picked at a some friend beans before finally trying one. He made a grimace. ”Still, nothing wrong with saying hello. This whole feast is about making friends and stuff. All a lie, of course. We’ll be at each other’s throats once the Games begin.” he seemed unfazed by this rather bleak prediction.

Meanwhile Bjorn was pricking his ears toward the half-orcs near bye. He had picked up more than a smattering of orc years ago, from the caravan guards and such. Not always the most chatty people, but helpful enough as far as it went. It was difficult to hear over the roaring fires and general frivolity but Bjorn’s ears could make out most of it.

One of the half-orcs was older, covered with scars and burns which seems too regular and even to be random residue of battle. Ritualistic, perhaps? The younger one was leaner, stronger, with bigger tusks and made Bjorn wonder if he was full blooded. That wasn’t too rare in the Expanse and wasn’t viewed with distaste like in Avistan. Still, everyone knew orcs had a temper. Whatever the case, these seemed to be arguing about something.

”All of this! They act as if nothing is happening outside! As if there is no approaching…” The younger orc says, looking around with obvious displeasure. [b]”And all of this food, they could have fed a hundred villages with it.”

The older half-orc shrugs, shoulders rolling easily, ”They do. Nantambu is one of the Great Cities there is no danger here, and they treat the villages better then most. This is a special event, Kozban.”

Kozban shakes his head, ”I am sorry Elder, but it seems so…wasteful, especially when-” They cut off, looking at Bjorn suddenly, black eyes penetrating.

Raising his voice and using Common Kpzban says roughly, ”Do you have a problem with us, eh? Or do you always eavesdrop on your neigbors?”

The older half-orc frowns and, using the same language, ’Pardon my friend, he is a bit temperamental…” He trails off, staring hard at Bjorn, hard enough that the catfolk’s fur rises on the back of his neck. The half-orc sniffs the air, face hardening. Still, when he speaks his words are soft enough, "Again, forgive Koban. He means nothing by it, just so many strangers put us on edge.”

Koban frowns and then sniffs the air too. A strange look comes into his eyes, fixing on Bjorn, surprise mixed with....concern? But he says instead, voice grudging, ”Yes, forgive me. It is all the noise, and food. So much..” Bjorn gets the sense the two half-orcs desperately wish to speak privately …about him.

Thak gives over the book but whispers, "We can talk about it later. I think I found something interesting about it." They say no more, merely gathering up their packs and baggage. It all feels heavier but, assuming those blocks are food, they should be supplied for an extended trip into the mountains. In any case, it will be nice to get out of this very strange building.

Asny's student, as taciturn as ever, leads them through endless hallways and curving corridors, down ramps and past enough doors to fill a city. Awenasa sees few others this time and the place seems to echo with a fundamental emptiness. It is impossible to tell anything with the magical lighting, the bare floors and lack of windows but the Shoanti gets the sense this is a less used part of the Halls of Reason. Even the air felt ever so slightly stale and unused.

Finally after what seems like an least several miles, the hallway abruptly ends in a door. The student pulls out a strange looking square and touches the door with it. Silently it opens revealing.....

The outside. It isn't the doors they came in however, the grand main entryway near the old road. This time they are facing not a broad valley of sandy soil but steep rocky slopes rising dead ahead. Awenasa looks around and, gradually places herself.

This must be the far side of the huge Cube, the side facing away from the road. They had cut through the center, like a worming eating through an apple.

Asny's student hands Awenasa the key, "When you come back, just tap the door with this, and it will open." The key, which is a tiny flimsy rectangle of shiny...something, is very light in her hand. "Someone will come to lead you back to Asny's quarters." A long pause and then, "Uh, good luck I guess." With that, he walks back down the hallway, leaving them alone, standing on the thereshold.

The fresh air and sunlight is like a tonic, after the weirdly claustrophobic Halls of Reason. Thak glances at the vanishing man.

"Not very chatty. I wonder if Asny told him not to reveal anything. She didn't seem to want to tell us anything. Seems to prefer treating us like the hired help."

Perey shrugs, "I'm just upset we didn't get to see a library or meet anyone. I bet they are hiding some secrets in there."

The student seems surprised Awenasa wants to inspects the crate but freely allows her to do so. They shrug, "I will wait in the hallway."[/b]

Once they are gone, Awenasa carefully opens the crate. You never know what a Ulfen may hand you. Even if Asny meant well, their sense of humor wasn't something Awenasa wanted to test. When she flips open the metal lid with a clatter however, she doesn't find a nest of vipers or exploding smoke.

Much of the small crate is filled with small paper-wrapped cubes. Picking one up gingerly, Awenasa can't tell what it is. Sniffing it, she detects, with some surprise, a scent that reminds her of dried meat and vegetables. Was this food?

She unwraps the paper and finds a block of compressed....something. It is lumpy and soft and looks about as appetizing as road mud.

Putting it aside for now, Awenasa looks at the rest. She finds some tightly rolled blankets, some thin rain ponchos made out of a smooth unknown material, and another small metal box. Opening it, she finds a bunch of tiny wooden sticks. Tinder?

"Matches." Thaks says over her shoulder, "You can use them to start fires. You rub the end quickly over a rough surface and it lights in flame. Easy way to start fires." Awenasa, who has known how to lit a fire with flint and steel (or even a spun stick) since she could walk, finds it odd. What happens when you run out of matches, freeze to death?

At the bottom, she finds a small bottle of some sort of liquid and, oddly, a tiny paper ant. What could it possibly be? Thak once again explains it is a magical object.

Origami Swarm

All to Play For

“The important thing in life is not victory but combat; it is not to have vanquished but to have fought well.”
― Pierre de Coubertin

This is the last time I shall control your character. Enjoy.

The celebratory drums rolled through the jungle twilight, echoing among the shadowy ruins in the Zenj Garden. They were loud enough to drown out both the crackling of the immense festival bonfires and the roar of the jovial crowd. The Garden was on the outer edge of Nantambu, far from the elegant canals, vast temple plazas and university grounds that made up much of the city. Instead it was a sunken clearing full of ancient ruins older than empires and trees even older than that. It had long become the traditional site of most local festivals from Crystalhue to First Rain. Most special of all, of course, was the opening festival of the Mtihani, which it hosted every four years.

One hundred and ten competitors had arrived this year for the Great Games (as it was often known locally) from all over Golarion. Some had come from ever farther afield, drawn by the fame of the event. Even for the citizens of Nantambu, quite familiar with all forms of magic, visitors from Castrovel were not commonplace. As was traditional, all had been gathered in the Zenj Garden at dusk, and given the great feast that would serve as the opening of the Mthani.

The food was, quite simply, spectacular and the heavy tropical wood tables groaned under the sheer weight of the offerings. Several whole roast gazelles turned on spits, slathered with pepper paste. A huge catfish, over eight feet long, sat in pride of place on a teak wood platter, heaped with onions and garlic. Huge pans of spiced rice sat steaming, ringlets of vapors vanishing into the darkening jungle sky. Entire pyramids, taller than a man, of every fruit from breadfruit to coconuts gleamed in the fire light. Trays of nuts, baskets of breads, pots of savory stew deep enough to drown in. A dozen types of glazed desserts winked and shimmered, topped with honey and icing. The smell alone was enough to fill the stomach.

There was entertainment too, the best the city had to offer. Dance troupes and jugglers, puppeteers and sword swallowers, all had amazed with feats both magic and mundane. Women had danced with flaming scarves, twirling in and out of pungent purple smoke. They were followed by a gang of laughing acrobats who tumbled under chairs, turned over plates of food and flipped backwards over startled crowds. Another man sang raunchy songs while a partner conjured up magical images to match the tune, staying just on this side of socially respectable. Last was a collection of junior mages from the city, dazzling all with spells. They made miniature storm clouds, complete with lighting, race among the tables, scudding through the fragrant air. They summoned glass swans and brass foxes to chase them, vanishing into the roaring bonfires. The finale was a sudden storm of icy blue flowers, settling on every surface.

The setting matched the festivites. The Garden was an expanse of open grass, dotted with crumbling pillars and towering trees that reached hundreds of feet in the air. The fires set dancing shadows into the green murk, making the trees shift with each leaping flame. Beds of flowers bloomed in every color, muted by the rising tide of dusk into pale pastel versions of themselves. The waiting jungle was close, the hungry wild near at hand yet pushed back by the light and festivity. Its bloody dangers and fertile promises waited for another day.

The festival took place in the center of the Garden, with long wooden tables drawn up in concentric circles around the main spectacle, the High Table. Here sat the Arbiters that governed the Great Games, from the creation of the ever shifting set of challenges to the enforcement of the rules during the events. Being an Arbiter was a great honor in the city, and often the capstone to a long career of successful civic, academic or commercial life. Most were, of course, drawn from the faculty of the Magaambya, the great magical school of the city, famed throughout all of Golarion as perhaps the oldest center of magical learning. Among these, most renowned were the Tempest-Sun Mages, who commanded the defenses of the city and its allies. Today however, they had the much more joyful task of overseeing the start of the Great Games, their magical powers turned to spectacle and sport, rather than war.

But even among the Arbiters, one stood out, neither mage nor soldier, nor city elder or merchant prince. He was a massive man, muscular and athletic, his every movement betraying power, of reserved strength. His clear skin was the color of old mahogany, dressed in the finest robes of the local style, gold and white. Gold bracers flashed from his arms, gilded with jewels of many colors. A crooked smile hung on his lips, revealing bright shining teeth. Kwamena Yeboah, The Laughing Tower and the winner of the last Mtihani, four years ago. Unlike so many he had remained in the city after his great victory and had become a driving force in the preparations for the current Games. Yeboah sat like a king surveying a new realm, dark eyes seeming to roam from table to table, as if seeking the next champion among the crowds.

Of course, he was right. Somewhere among the hundred and ten lay the next victor of the Mtihani. A glittering future of power, glory and honor lay ahead of at least one. The rest would, naturally, be losers…or worse. The Mtihani had claimed many a life, and it would surely feast again on the unwise, the foolhardy and simply the unlucky. Some among the contenders were unnamed, unknown even to the Officials. Even so, the people of Nantambu loved gambling as much as they enjoyed sports themselves, so soon running odds would be formed. Entire fortunes would rise and fall, cresting like waves on the stormy sea of victory and loss. But that all lay ahead, as distant as the sunrise.

For now they feasted, celebrated, stored up vigor and excitement for the challenges to come.

Bjorn sat at one of the smaller tables, on the outer edge of the arrangement. There had been no assigned seats yet a natural hierarchy had seemed to form. Those closest to the High Table seemed to be those held in higher prestige in the city, either well-born locals or those that had competed before in the Mtihani. Bjorn had never really considered repeat competitors but apparently there was a sizable population of them, a tight-knit group that were clearly on first name basis with each other. The outer rings were filled with people more like Bjorn himself, first timers to the city and the Great Game. Still, it wasn’t much of a slight. The food and entertainment was still just as good. The catfolk scanned the crowd, slit-like eyes working fine in the growing murk. As usual, Bjorn found himself the only catfolk present among the milling crowd but otherwise it was quite diverse. Most were human, divided up with a majority of dark-skinned locals and a smaller percentage of lighter skinned ones. One bronze-skinned man built like a bull was amusing his table-mates by lifting the table over his head with a roaring laugh There were dwarves, a smattering of half-elfs and at least one or two full elves. Others were stranger races that Bjorn didn’t recognize. Was that stocky fellow with blueish skin an oread? Did that woman two tables over have flames flickering over her head?

Even her own table of a dozen held unusual sights. Four were a group of priestesses from some rival Mwangi Expanse city, wearing jaguar robes. Next to them were a pair of gnomes, toasting each other into alcoholic oblivion. On the end was a solemn looking Avistanti wearing fine robes and an icy expression that dismissed all of the gathered finery. Ignoring them pointedly was a Grippli, the frog-people that lived in the jungle. Their large wet eyes were fixed on the table in front of them as they laid out a strange pattern of chicken bones on the rough wood. At the other end were two half-orcs (or maybe full orcs) talking to each other in low, guttural voices. Which left Bjorn and the one other person he knew, Garin, the short man seated next to her.

They had met on the long journey upriver to the city, threading through the jungle expanse. An excitable little man, Garin claimed to be a former agent for the Aspis Consortium turned private trader. Very much a small-timer, he made a living exploring the Sodden lands and selling what trinkets he found. Most interesting, to Bjorn, Garin had competed in the last Games, four years ago. He had washed out early, but Garinstill had far more experience than Bjorn could dream of having. At least, he knew the city well enough.

”Not bad,” The light skinned man said, looking around at the grand festivities still ongoing. He poked at his banana leaf plate at a small pile of spicy red shrimp. ”But some simple bread and honey could go a long way, eh Bjorn?”

'Before sleep, what about that book?" Thak says quickly, setting down his pack without a care. "I have an idea that-'

Awenasa stops him with a knowing look. She gestures around at the bare blank walls, as if they are filled with eyes. The Shoanti hands her friend the book but places a finger on her lips. Thak's eyes lit up and he nods, "Ah yes, of course. Of course."

While not feeling safe, it feels silly to set a watch here. If danger was to come, being awake would do little. Still, it took her a long while to fall asleep. After weeks of sleeping on the ground, the bed, even this thing one, felt strange and bulky. Worse was the utter silence. No rustle of the wind, clatter of stones, or night insects. Only the breathing of her friends and her own heartbeat which sounded loud and hollow in her chest.

What she would have given for a fireplace.

Still, she eventually drifts off, even as Thak pours over the book.

Awenasa wakes at a knocking at the door. Instantly she is alert, ready for anything, springing to her feet. The door slides open, to reveal their guide from last night, one of Asny's students. He carries a metal (was everything metal here?) crate under one arm.

"I am to take you to the front doors." He gestures to the box, "And some supplies from my teacher."

"It is not for you to know." Asny says, unhelpfully. Clearly the Ulfen was hoping Awenasa would blindly rush off to do her bidding without so many questions. Maybe she was used to ordering people around here, but Awenasa was not her student, or her servant. If she was going to risk her neck, she wanted to know what she was up against.

This whole thing with the book was unsettling. What was this thing, exactly? Hopefully Thak could provide some answers.

She sniffs slightly at Awenasa's bending for a night stays indoors but shrugs, "It can be arranged."

And so it was. Somehow (Awenasa saw no bell or message sent) one of Asny's student's arrived and led them through the maze of corridors. Awenasa could tell the student was a native of this strange place (planet, was what Thak called it), with the usual purple eyes, reddish skin and slightly longer limbs. He isn't very chatty however, merely saying he has come from a great distance to learn from Asny The White.

The room given over to them is...spartan. It is a perfect square of bare stone, lit by those strange overhead squares. No carpets, no wall hangings, no artwork. The door seems to lock however.

Inside are three flat thin beds of some kind of mushy material Awenasa can't place. It doesn't look like plant or animal. There is no other furniture, not even a bench.

"Homely." Perey says, looking around. The student indicated a room across the hallway that served as a toilet but none of them had explored it yet.

"A strange place." Thak said, looking at the bare walls, "Dedicated to logic only as a choice, or perhaps those that live here simply do not enjoy comfort?"

Asny looks distant for a moment, as if staring at something only she could see. After a few unnerving moments her eyes refocus and she says, 'It's mid-afternoon."

Before she can go on Perey whispers in her ear, "What, right now?! We aren't going to stay inside for a single night? But a bed..."

"And a bath.." Thak adds absently, but he seems more focused on the book.

Asny doesn't comment on the little domestic dispute although Awenasa thinks her cool smile sharpens slightly. In any case the Ulfen goes on, "I will merely add the way will be dangerous. The high country is treacherous for the uninitiated. Little more then bare rock, ice and wind. Alongside the usual dangers of rock falls, bad weather and I hear more then the usual collection of dangerous predators. "

Sounds like home to Awenasa.

"Also, as far as Harrod is concerned, I do not much care what happens to him. There is no need to punish him personally. Alive, dead, or injured, it makes no difference to me. I merely wish to have the book returned, in one piece, and unopened."

"Maybe there is a reason I did not answer you." Asny says coolly, "The internal politics of the Halls of Reason are not yours to know, quite frankly. This is a simple affair of doing an assigned task, in exchange for a stated goal. Do not complicated further then that. Speak of it only to me, if that is what concerns you."

The Ulfen waves at the book, "Yes, assuming you bring it back in reasonable condition. Despite being a copy, it is still of value. or, at least, we hope it is."

"The more you know of something, the less dangerous it is." Asny says simply to Awenasa's question. the Shoanti isn't so sure. If the book was so dangerous why not simply burn it, or bury it in a hole somewhere? Why study it? Strange lowlanders.

Asny goes on to describe her student's last known location, a valley several hours hard hiking up into the rough mountains. She also gives the thief's name, Harrod, who apparently is a native of this planet but not a local to this region.

Asny looks as if she is holding something back but says, "I do not believe he has help...yet. I do fear we may find confederates eventually. Or, more likely, simple perish in the backcountry, leaving the item even harder to find."

The Ulfen woman looks a bit scandalized when Awenasa doesn't seem to take a book very seriously. "It's dangerous because I say it is." Asny finally says, clearly not used to her views on things being questioned.

The former hero does wave a hand when Awenasa asks to open it. "Yes, it is just a simple book, copied using some advanced technology of the Halls. It was lent to me along with the original, I assumed it might be useful for you to have a reference."

Awenasa lets the book fall open in her hands. The pages are made of a thick, soft paper unlike anything Awenasa has seen before (not that she has seen many books. Even in the lowlands they were rare). Inside, the pages are covered with lines of a swooping strange script.

"You won't be able to read it." Asny says, with the surety of someone saying a dog can't talk. "It's an unknown language, at least as far as I can tell. The resident of the Halls hoped I could translate it, that perhaps I had come across it in my travels. Alas, it is a mystery to me as well. "

Yet Awenasa isn't looking at the Ulfen woman. Instead she glances at Thak who is looking over her shoulder at the book. The man is hiding it well but after so many miles, the Shoanti knows him well. Clearly the book, or at least some of it means something to him.

Awenasa's attention snaps back however when Asny speaks again, "The book must not be opened. My student should know better but it is always possible he has been derelict. " She pauses for a long moment, obviously debating what to say next., Finally she says, "I cannot say, what would happen. I merely ask you give me your word, an oath, to not open the book, if you find it."

"I can give you directions to the last known location." Asny says somewhat dismissively, "Although I imagine he has moved on since then. Not far however. He is not great outdoorsman. Frankly, I'm surprised he has survived this long in the wild. The mountains here are quite unforgiving to the novice."

The Ulfen woman ponders this for a moment but whatever comes to mind, she doesn't share it. Instead she says, "The item he took....hmm. You must understand, I am favored with several secrets of the Halls of Reason. I may not be a full member, but they have entrusted me with certain favors." She smiles that cold, dangerous smile.

"The item is a book. A most dangerous book." She pauses, looks to the bookcase on the wall. After a moment she pulls out a large leather-backed tome. It is deep black, the papers a worn ivory.

"This is an inert copy." She hands it over to Awenasa, [b]"The same in all physical characteristics." The tall Ulfen woman's voice grows a bit sterner, 'The original is a much more dangerous relic. If you find it, you must not open it, under any circumstances. The results would be....most unfortunate."

Asny considers this barrage of questions for a long, silent moment. Long enough that Awenasa wonders if the imposing woman has changed her mind. The fire shifts in the fireplace, again, logs crumbling as they turned to ash. Behind her, Perey coughs nervously.

Then Asny gives a short, cool nod. "Fair enough. If we are to talk, let us become more comfortable then." She turns toward her desk, pulling something out of a drawer. Awenasa is ready for anything, up to and including a sneak attack but instead it is merely a dusty glass bottle. It is still sealed with a cork and paper. She hands it to Awenasa.

"A gift from a former student." Then she waves at the small room, "I would offer you seats as well, but I do not entertain often."

Still standing straight (it was hard to imagine Asny Kolbeindottir leaning or sitting), the Ulfen woman went on.

"We shall return to the item last, I think. I can answer your other questions in short order. My other trackers failed because they are not trained for such things, they were merely my students, those that have come to learn the ways of war." A frosty smile, "Not fighting, Shoanti, but leadership. Strategy, logistics, the operational art." Awenasa had no idea what most of those words meant.

"It is of little help in tracking a lone man in the wild. As I said, I myself cannot go, and the native inhabitants of the Halls are, of course, entirely useless in this regard. However, I imagine you have some skill in this matter? It seems something innate to the Shoanti."

Asny, that's racist!

"He was last seen a week ago in a certain valley, perhaps fifteen miles from here. Not far, perhaps, but it is rugged mountain country. The usual monsters and such, but no locals. Even the Shobhad-neh give the Halls a wide berth. At the least, your hunt will not be interfered with."

Asny shrugged, "I wouldn't expect you to understand. I knew Eivind well, or at least I thought I did. The quest for glory, for adventure, even for just the bloody-mindlessness of violence all of that I understood. Even if I did not always partake. But when why he set out for this place, this strange planet...I do not know. I still do not know. I fear now, I may never know."

"As for where he was going...I only have a guess. Supported by a rumor or two that has reached my ears."

When Awenasa calls out the clever remark, the Ulfen seems unbothered, "I have no grudge against your people in particular. Indeed, some of the Shoanti I encountered were quite...bracing. My judgements remain my own, not blocked by blind prejudices or stereotypes. That is for lesser minds."

"I wonder what stories of Asny Kolbeindottir the White you have heard. And yes things change."She ponders this for a moment and looks down at Awenasa when the Soanti steps nearer.

Softly she says, "I would be careful with that, Shoanti. Too many steps forward and who knows what might happen."

But then the Ulfen frowns, the gesture marring her stern features. 'However, I perhaps do have a service you can provide for me, as unlikely as it might be."

"One of my students absconded with a valuable item, and vanished into the hills. I have reason to believe he is in the local area, living off gods knows what. Lizards and rainwater, I imagine. In any case, for various reasons I cannot pursue him myself and my previous trackers proved...inadequate to the task. If you can reclaim the stolen item, I can tell you all I know of where Eivind might be. Even my guesses. "

A quick smile flits across Asny's face and, for a moment, she almost looks human. "Ah, Stjórna is still with us then. This is good. It has been a long time since I have seen him." The regal looking woman is lost in thought for a moment, bright blue eyes growing distant.

Soon she is back to her icy self however. "What advice did he not ignore? Near the end, Eivind went....strange. As you say, I used to keep his counsel, and my word was highly regarded. But this last adventure...I never understood. I still do not quite understand. The why, of things. So I wait, as I am sure gives Eivind no end of amusement. Wherever he is."

Asny pauses for a moment and then looks up at the graceful spear, hung in a place of honor. There is not a trace of dust on it, although Awenasa is not sure the Halls of Reason have dust. That seems unfitting, somehow.

Then she turns to Awenasa and gives a flinty smile, "I must admit you are clever. Using my desire to be free of you, as an incentive. Yet, it has a flaw. I am a teacher here, with certain rights and privileges. I could simply ask to have you escorted from the premises, it is within my power. Then you would be adrift, perhaps, but not longer a problem or concern for me."

"Like, are you sure this is wise-" Ozzy just had time to stay before Sigmar smashes the door with enough force to shatter it. A small blizzard of splinters showers Vrilu's room, filling the air with the scent of sawdust and pine sap.

Sigmar Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (19) + 6 = 25

Sigmar's kick is rewarded with that rarest of events, ranked with solar eclipses and double rainbows. A flicker of surprise across the Company Woman's face. She is seated on the bed, as if staring at the wall not the door. There is no sign of the lizardman, but Sigmar notes, on the floor in front of the woman, is a small bit of bone. It is jagged and broken, as if someone had snapped it in half.

In an instant though, Vrilu's mask is reapplied, cool indifference, with the usual hint of annoyance. Still seated she raises a hand, 'Oh, that is quite enough of that." She snaps her fingers, the sound oddly loud in the small room. Then Sigmar suddenly finds himself in mid-air because the previously solid ground below him is gone, replaced with a neat cube of entirely empty space.

Sigmar Reflex, DC 15: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18
Sigmar Reflex 2 Save, DC 15 (*second* save? What? This seems awfully unfair.): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9

He still almost made it. With cat-like reflexes the youth reaches for the side, fingers spreading out. Yet, at the last moment, as if a vindictive god is playing tricks, he misses the ledge and falls downward. The dragon-ling hits the bottom of the new pit with a thump, finding the floor to be rough-cut stone, cold to the touch. He is probably ten feet down, the walls sloped against him slightly.

Looking up he spots Vrilu at the edge, looking down.

"Now, stay still for a moment." She says, like one trying to reign in a troublesome child at a public event. The Company Woman flicks off a bit of splintered door off her shoulder, the bit of wood sailing down into the pit.

"Judging from your actions, you overhead some of my conversation. I am curious why the golem allowed you entrance, I instructed it to prevent all guests." The Company Woman ponders this for moment before nodding to herself, 'Ah, I see. Be glad, then. Clearly the golem considers you a member of the party and not a guest. An oversight on my part, one for which now I must pay the price of explaining myself. To you, of all people."

She pauses a moment, girding herself for an obviously unpleasant and difficult task. Vrilu muttered something arcane and moved her fingers again, but Sigmar didn't noticed anything change. The pit remained as cool and solid as ever. There was no fireball or bolt of lightning.

Then, voice still casual, Vrilu spoke. "Have you ever played whipball?"

Sigmar's head actually hurts at the sudden change of topic, a entirely unexpected changing of gears. Even his desire for revenge and anger is thrown off track for a moment, a wagon wheel jumping the expected rut, even if only for a moment.

Because the answer was yes, of course.

Whipball was a simple enough game. Every player got a 'home', a bit of cracked curb, a rock, this old stump. Then all players tried to kick the one ball toward enemy homes. if the ball connected the owner of that home lost a point and the last non-defender to touch the ball gained a point. The winner was who reached the established points needed. It was a street game that lent itself to the making and breaking of sudden alliances. More importantly it was a game almost exclusively reserved for orphans and urchins, the gutter sweepings of the street.

Sigmar knew it well, of course, but how did Vrilu know it?

Something on his face must have informed the Company Woman for she gave him a frosty smile. "yes, I assumed you would. In any case, I am playing whipball. I hope you can perhaps understand that?"

"Protect him? From what?" Asny says, obviously confused. Then her icy façade cracks into a brittle smile, cool and unkind "From you? My my, aren't you a bold one then."

The fire crackles loudly, as logs shift in the grate. Awenasa feels a drop of sweat form behind her ear and roll down her neck, brought on by the overly warm room. Asny seems unmoved however, skin free of even the slightest hint of moisture.

"Curious. I did not know my final words to Eivind were a matter of public record. Clearly there were spies about that night, and they like to talk. Disappointing but not entirely unsurprising. Lesser people enjoy gossiping about their betters."

A short pause and then, "I am not quite sure how you expect me to help you. As you may or may not have noticed, I am still waiting for him. Eivind has, in his usual lack of wisdom, chosen to forgo both my advice and company. He is not here, and has never come here. I doubt he ever will, but one never knows. My words still stand, I wait for him."

Her eyes bright and clear she adds, with calculated casualness, "I am also afraid to say, I do not know where he is. I am of little help in this quest of yours."

Behind her Perey lets out a short sigh of disappointment.

Asny shrugs, "And even if I did, why would I be inclined to help you? I bear no grudge against the Soanti, but no favor either. You come from a stubborn people, one with little love for Ulfen."

Devers grins, revealing a mouthful of battered and wayward teeth. "The best on the island." He wastes a few moments trying to rub off the sticky tar-leftovers before giving up and going on. "My wife used to be a galley cook in the Andoran Fleet, and she is raising up my daughter in the craft. If it's food you want, food I can give. It'd be an honor to break bread with you."

Sigmar is about to demand a feast right here and now, but Oyok insists they wait. They should report back to Vrilu and, more importantly, at least bring some of their own supplies to share. Sigmar isn't so sure how well hardtack will go over but his tengu friends is persistent. Besides, Devers claims her needs some time to get ready and clean up (he once against tries to brush off the noxious black slime Sigmar affixed to him).

Promises made, Oyok and Sigmar head back to their temporary abode in Fort Holiday. They pass among the shacks, hovels and other buildings of the little settlement. A few times Sigmar is hailed or saluted as a victorious warrior. Worse things, the young man supposed, then being lauded.

Still, would it have killed any of them to hand him a sandwich?

They reach their own house on the edge of the square without adventure but, curiously, the wood golem is standing at the door. Like an old man taking in the day, he simply stands in the sun, just past the door lintel. Both Oyok and Sigmar speak to the construct but it ignores them, reacting to them no more then the harsh tropical sunlight playing over the varnished surface.

Eventually they come inside. Oyok heads down to the kitchens and sends Sigmar to tell the Company Woman they are alive and victorious.

"She might care." Oyok whistles, eyes twinkling.

Sigmar heads to her room and finds the door closed. He pauses though because he can hear voices inside. Orphan habits die hard and he can't help but eavesdrop.

"I upheld my end of the bargain." Vrilu says, using her most formal, corporate voice.

The reply is a snarl of hisses, spits and snarls like a snake dragged over sandpaper.

After a pause, Vrilu goes on, clearly replying to the weird sound. "Well, that is hardly my concern. I merely provided the information, what you do with it, that's your own lookout. If you troops can't uphold their end, that is no skin off my nose. It was merely a gesture of good faith, in any case. Open a possibly profitable channel of communication."

More hisses and then Virlu says, "Fair enough. Very well." A last spat of hisses, a sizzle of magic and then silence.

"Preforming?" Asny said, her already cool look turning frosty as a Plateau night."Do I look like a dancing bear? I am teaching, these are my students."

She turned to consider the four or five local people clustered around. So far they have been silent (except for the few exclamations at Awenasa's arrow trick). After a moment the tall regal Ulfen inclines her head saying, "Class dismissed. All of you, practice with the bow for two hours and read chapter's three and four of The Ways of War." Another predatory grin, "Read carefully, you will be tested,"

Silently, the students file out, walking right past Awenasa without a word (although a few give her a curious look, up and down).

Left alone Asny folds her arms and surveys Awenasa again, face an unreadable mask. "Fair enough, I suppose you are right. I must confess my interest has cooled somewhat however, Eivind no longer interests me. Still, follow me. We can speak somewhere more comfortable."

Without further explanation, she slips out a small side door. Feeling like a sheep being led, Awenasa and her friends follow after. They enter into yet another unadorned identical passage but luckily, not for long. Only after a few moments, they manage to find a small room with an open door.

For the first time since entering the Halls, Awenasa sees some signs of normalcy. It is a room with stuff in it. A writing desk and a bookcase take up one wall, books and papers neatly organized. A few rather amateurish landscape paintings hang on the walls, showing wintry landscapes of bare ice and gray rock. A small fireplace is crackling in a corner, providing a bit too much heat for the small room. Over it, a long spear rests in honor, gleaming slightly in the dim light.

Asny is standing near the writing desk, still surveying Awenasa and her friends. She doesn't offer seating or drinks. Instead the Ulfen Hero says simply, "So, Eivind? It has been many years, what brings you to my door asking of him?"

Awenasa bats the arrow out of the air as easily as a child playing with sticks. There is a low whistle from some of the local people near Asny, but the Ulfen merely nods, as if confirming something. Carefully, she unstrings the bow and leans it against the wall.

She turns toward Awenasa and, raising her voice to carry over the fairly long distance.

"Greetings, strangers. It has been a long time since I have seen someone from Golarion, from home. You have traveled along way to find the Halls of Reason." She smiles, revealing perfectly white teeth. It is a predator's grin, hungry and knowing. "Or perhaps you seek other quarry. " Her eyes narrow for the first time, as if really seeing Awenasa closely.

"A Shoanti." She raises a white brow in mock alarm, "I hope it isn't vengeance from some family blood feud, handed down? If so, I admire your persistence. The endless expanse of space would deter most would-be vindicators." Asny sounds a bit pleased some past crime of hers is worth such a pursuit through the years.

She says all of this in perfect, upper-class Ulfen. Of course.

Your page doesn't say you know Ulfen, but it seems fair you can at least understand most of it.

Oyok lets out a raspy whistle of dismay at Sigmar's placing of the bloody tooth among her his own pearly whites.

"Gods, lads. Do you know where that's been? I get keeping trophies, but clean them first!" His feathers ruffle in real disgust at the rather barbaric display.

Arianne gives him an off, somewhat confused look at his words. Even Sigmar slowly realizes calling her beautiful might send mixed message. Quite apart from romance what did it say about him that he applied the label to a rather scrawny woman covered in mud, blood and probably worse? Nothing good probably.

Happily, the fiery tar seems to be dissipating without the need for water. The fuel seems to have run out, leaving him with arms and hands covered in acrid charred goo, like someone liquefied fireplace ashes. It smelled something awful too, combination of damp forest fire and kitchen mishap. Still the dragonling had no time to dwell on this because Herluf was moving them out.

Something seemed to bothering the old man as they marched back up the steep, cider strewn hill. Sigmar wasn't the only one who noticed because Kell marched the older man's pace and asked, 'What's wrong? We won, if you didn't notice, Her."

The old man shook his head, like a cow shaking off a irksome fly. "Timing bothers me. They picked the exact time when our defenses were weakest, with the vote and all. How did they know?"

"Scouts?" Kell offers, shrugging.

"Maybe." Was all the old man said, eyes narrowing at the top of the hill, lost in thought.

They reach Fort Holiday without adventure and are greeted with a hero's welcome by those who had not come to the battle. People cheer and wave, celebrating the victory. It isn't much of a parade however, as people quickly spilt off into small groups of friends and family, eager to confirm life and limb.

A young man Sigmar doesn't recognize comes over to him, holding out a sunburned, callused hand. "You saved my life, my friend. You ever need something, just ask. My name's Devers." He proffers the hand rather aggressively.

The strange shape says nothing, and seems as emotionless as any natural rock. Awenasa's friends hurry after her, looking quite confused.

'Floating rocks?" Perey whispers, as they step into the shadow of the vast cube.

"I wonder if they are naturally those shapes or they chose them?" Thak says musingly, "Many of my countrymen would envy them. No emotions, no feelings, no passion. Only logic and reason, encased in a perfect shell." Seeing Perey's look the small man shakes his head, "I am not one of them. Still, if they do not feel....they acted as if they did, when in disguise."

They cross over the threshold and Awenasa fins herself inside the massive structure. The inside is much like the outside, made of smooth polished stone. There is no decoration, no artwork, not even carpeting. Awenasa doesn't see a single scuff mark or bit of dust. Just dully gleaming stone, cut into a perfectly square corridor. The only outlier is the ceiling, which every few feet, glows a soft red, providing light. There are no windows.

Awenasa wanders along the corridor for awhile. Other hallways branch off at right angles, endlessly long and unmarked. There are no maps or signs, no labels. How was she supposed to....

"Awenasa Windkeeper." A voice says behind her. Awenasa whirls, surprised anyone can sneak up on her, even in this strange place. Her elders would be shocked.

Standing behind her friends is...another Shoanti elder. This one a woman, carrying the many tattoos that show great age and wisdom. She bows slightly, "You seek Asny Kolbeindottir. I shall guide you. " The elderly woman smiles, revealing a few bent and gnarled teeth.

"It can be confusing for outsider. We do not provide much in the way of direction, I am afraid. Follow me."

And they venture ever deeper into the vast Cube, until Awenasa is totally lost. Indeed, it feels as if they are entering a vast mine or cavern deep in the bowels of the earth. Even Awenasa, who fears little in this life, gets a growing sense of claustrpobia. She knows, if left on her, own, she might wander here until she runs out of food or water.

Perey leans in at one point however and mutters, "I have magic that can get us out."

Their guide says nothing.

Their are no stairs, just long, smooth ramps leading up and down. Now and then, they pass other rooms. Most of these are empty, of sizes ranging from tiny cells to vast amphitheaters that could fit entire towns. Awenasa sees no furnishings, no furniture. Just blank walls of stone.

A few times they spot other people, all appearing as Shoanti elders, some less aged or with less tattoos. Once or twice however, they see other people that Awenasa marks as natives of this planet. The reddish skin, purple eyes and dark hair. Other pilgrims? Students? Wanderers? Merely magical phantoms conjured to put her at ease?

They keep walking, the silence so thick Awenasa can count her heartbeats. Finally, after what seems like hours they reach an open door. Their guide pauses and beckons them on, "Inside, Awenasa Windkeeper. Good luck with what you seek."

Awenasa passes through, Perey and Thak close behind, happy to be leaving the endless maze of hallways.

They find themselves in a long, low room. At the far end a few humans stand, none of them Shoanti illusions. Most are local people but Awenasa's eyes focus only on one.

A tall (taller then Awenasa even), imposing woman of indisputable Ulfen descent. Pale skin fairly glitters until the dim lighting and her hair is a snowy white, braided and coiled. Her clear face is sharp and angled, intense and stern. She is wearing light armor, clean and well kept, if old. Asny Kolbeindottir the White, it must be.

But this woman was young, not much older then Awenasa herself. How could that be? She was from her grandmother's time, at least. Magic?

"So you can see, every general must be aware of all aspects of war. Even as something as shooting a bow." Asny said to the other, turning. Her frigid blue eyes caught Awenasa, widening slightly. For a moment she surveyed her new guests and then, rasied her bow.

Without a change of expression, she shot an arrow directly at Awenasa's face.

The Shoanti smiles but says gently, "Let us keep the terms of our agreement, all shall speak privately in turn. And then we shall see what we see." The man pauses, cocks his head, and adds, "Dangle a carrot. An interesting turn of phrase. Curious."

So it goes. Awenasa withdraws from her private sphere and Perey takes her place. Her friend looks very nervous and is sweating far more then the rather cool, dry day would suggest. His talks with the elder, while unheard, seem to go much longer then Awenasa's.

At her side Thak is silent but obviously excited. He shushed Awenasa when she mentions something saying, 'I want to be a tablua rasa for this experience. Has it occurred to you, we might be the very first people from our world to undergo this initiation? The very first! How valuable."

Eventually Perey walks back, looking quiet and thoughtful, but no longer anxious. He merely says it was 'interesting' but leaves it at that. Thak trots off like a dog to a bird hunt, moving quickly enough to stir the ancient dust. Curiously Thak's interview doesn't last very long. Awenasa wonder if the little man simply chattered so fast the Elder dismissed him in bemusement.

In short order all three of them are in front of the Elder, the path to the inside of the Halls just off to the side.

"You have all been judged worthy to enter." The aged man says, nodding, "Indeed, it has been many a year since we have had such an unusual and varied group. You will honor us by sharing things you know, if you wish. You may find such discourse to your own advantage as well. The Halls have much to teach."

Then a small smile, "I have been asked to...offer a carrot. Awenasa Windkeeper has asked to see my true form. If you others allow it, I will indulge." Thak nods so formerly, Awenasa is afraid is neck might snap. Perey looks more uncertain but eventually shrugs assent.

The Elder spreads his arms slightly and starts to shimmer, like hot air above a rock. His shape twists and flickers. Awenasa wonders what might appear in the place of the Shoanti. A demon, with wings and barbed tail? A slavering pile of teeth and eyes? Perhaps a hyperintelligent shade of blue?

The shimmer slowly fades and the aged, Shoanti elder is gone. In his place is....not much. Simply a floating triangular pyramid floating in midair, about the size of a large dog. It is seemingly made of the same shiny stone as the vast cube behind them. It gleams in the weak sunlight, casting a slight shadow.

"A tetrahedron?" Thak says, naming the shape.

Yes Sounds a voice inside Awenasa's head. It is a dry, clinical voice devoid of all emotion and inflection. And it seems to come from somewhere inside her, not from the floating shape at all.

You may now understand why such forms can be off-putting to strangers. A pause and then, You may enter the Halls. Others inside will guide you further.

A long pause and then, Good Luck, Awenasa Windkeeper.

The huge beast stands still for a moment, the massive head swinging from the forest to Sigmar and then back again. It stamps the ground once (in doubt?), and lets out a bone rattling bellow, more felt then heard. Then, without further ado it ambles down the hill at an easy pace, not even pausing as it casually crashes through two hedgerows and a wooden fence. Sigmar can't be sure but it seems, for now, to avoid the exact same trails as the lizardmen took.

Who knows?

Well, that was nice. Freedom and stuff. Good vibes.

A tiny whisper. What was that?

"I said, GOOD VIBES!" Ozzy shouts in his battered, mangled ears. "Dude, I've been talking for awhile but I think you checked out there. Everything ok?"

Before Sigmar can answer his sandy friend, another voice can be heard.

"You got lucky." Turning, Sigmar is confronted with Herluf, the old soldier carrying a bloody rapier in one hand. His tattered uniform is a bit mud spattered and he is missing a boot, but otherwise seems unharmed. In fact, he seems more spry then ever.

"Very lucky," He goes on, sniffing a bit, 'Going off on your own, no plan, no reserve. Grabbing an enemy mount and stomping around the battlefield. Could have killed half a dozen of our own men."

A long frosty silence but then the old man shrugs, "But you didn't. My old commander used to have a saying. 'Better to be lucky the good.' Well done, young man." he claps Sigmar on the shoulder. He turns to the slowly growing assembly.

"Casualties?"

The Fort Holiday force seemed to have gotten off lightly. There had been no deaths, only some injuries. Even now they are being healed by a ramshackle collection of potions, a wand and a few spells by the gifted locals. Even Oyok is pressed into service, the ranger helping heal a shattered leg.

Quite a few dinosaur corpses are scattered around and three dead lizardmen. They stink to all the high heavens, a acrid scent that reminded Sigmar of old milk and bad eggs mixed with more then a touch of dead animal. A few of the other sailors report two other corpses hauled off by the enemy.

Most credit Sigmar and Uzhg as the two most stalwart defenders. The short-lived debate between the two factions is still ongoing when Arianne comes over, covered in blood from head to foot. The mute is grinning like a madwoman, and holds up a bloody hand to Sigmar. He watches as she reveals a sharp dinosaur tooth, nearly the length of his finger. Some of the fleshy root is still clinging to it, hacked out by the gunslinger. She holds it out, indicating Sigmar should take it.

'Well done, men and women." Herluf says shortly, "That could have gone a lot worse. We saved the farms so we will eat next month. Let's head back up to town and tell the others. Gods only know what they are doing."

Despite her whisper, Awenasa's words ring like a cracked bell, filling the air. There is a long quiet moment, under that strange sun. To Awenasa's surprise the Shoanti elder looks moved by her words, face creasing in pity. He raises a scarred, battle tested hand as if to touch her shoulder but halts, shaking his head instead.

"A weighty answer.' He says simply, nodding. He pauses in thought and then goes on, speaking carefully, not too loud.

"We study many things in the Halls of Reason, Awenasa Windkeeper. Craft and industry, nature and the world. History and the guessing future. Good, evil and the gods between. The structure of the very universe itself, of all seen and unseen. But I have found, it is really the study of one thing."

"Cause and effect. How one thing causes another, how a stone thrown into a pond makes the endless ripples. It is complex, intricate and often beyond our understanding, this interlocking of the world. A man takes the step and all is changed. It is a subtle, dangerous study that one can dedicate a lifetime towards. 'The cause is hidden, but the result is known.' , one of our thinkers said once.

A short pause and then, "Do not be overly sure, Awenasa Windkeeper. Causes come from many places and to holding guilt over something unsure is unwise. The world is more complex then you know, then any of us know and even the wisest cannot foresee all the chains of action that bind us together."

The man straightens then, blinking up at the sky, "Or maybe that is a comforting lie we tell ourselves. Maybe you are the wiser one." A small shrug, "You are worthy of passing into the Halls, Awenasa Windkeeper. It has been a pleasure to learn some of your mind, perhaps we may learn more, to both of our benefit."

He waves idlily at the gargantuan Cube only a short distance away. As Awenasa watches, the landscape changes slightly. The simple sand around the Cuba's base dissolves, replaced with a fine flagstone plaza, and the road intersects. There, at the base of the mindbogglingly huge building, appears a grand double door, flung wide open. There are no guards or other wardens, just a quiet invitation.

"I shall test your friends, you may wait here or proceed inside. Your choice." The Elder says gently and then, with a slightly child-like smile, "If you remain, and your friends agree, perhaps I shall reveal my true self. Even if it is unimportant.' A wink.

The would-be elder grins at her unimportant truth, showing bright white teeth only slightly stained with age and wear. "Ah, a bold start. Saying I am unimportant." He chuckles slightly but then went on, "Or is unimportant because my true form is not material? That the mind inside, the internal world of logic and thought, is all that matters?"

"Or, perhaps," The old eyes are piercing now, "Is it because you value your own wishes and desires as unimportant? Hmm, telling, very telling."

The old man looks away, staring at the sky in obvious thought. He scratches at his face, idlily tapping fingers along a long tattoo that signifies he once bested ten men in a fight. All lies? Are they important ones?

When Awenasa speaks her important lie the man's eyebrows narrow, "An interesting statement, reversed from the previous. Here the importance is obvious, but where is the lie? That you are not indifferent is perhaps the most obvious but there may be other lies hovering there. Perhaps home itself is a lie, if an important one. For nothing stays still and unchanging. One cannot step into the same river twice. Perhaps home is not waiting for you?"

The sham Shoanti elder clearly ponders this for awhile before saying, "Curious. It bears further thought. Thank you for suggesting it." A pause and then, "Your question, Awenasa Windkeeper."

“What truth do you believe would remain true even if no one remembered it?”

Sigmar's rough handling of the dinosaur climaxes with a blow to the nose of the unruly beast. It does not growl, snap or hiss at the dragonling. Thoroughly chastened, it simply takes off running, clearly heeding his last command. The fleeing creature leaves a slightly smoky trail, vanishing back into the undergrowth of farm and fence.

Around them, the battle seems to be dying down. Sigmar's capture of the titanic beast of war has turned the tide. The former sailors have also done yeoman's work about the cornrows, sheds and hay bales. Eve as Sigmar studies the scene he spots lizardmen heading for cover, often with a limp or bleeding wound. Half a dozen dead dinosaurs of the type he just bested lie on the field, mere corpses.

But not all. Close at hand, a seeming twin to the one Sigmar just spanked runs alongside, snapping at the massive trunk-like legs of Sigmar' steed. Before he had do anything though, Arianne is moving. She hands Sigmar her weapon, still smoking, before drawing a long knife. With a wild glint in her eyes she gives Sigmar a roguish wink. Then, without delay she jumps down and tackles the running reptile to the ground. Soon both are a muddy mess of leather, scales and a single gleaming knife. Quickly though it turns from fight to butchery as the mute quickly dispatches the dinosaur in a series of cuts more suited to a butcher's shop then a battlefield.

Around them the other sounds of battle dissipate as the lizardmen retreat. Under him, Sigmar feels the huge beast grows restive, stamping the earth. Did it desire to follow it's former comrades into the bush? Or was it merely celebrating victory?

Or, like Arianne, was it just reveling in destruction for its own sake?

"I don't think you can keep it, lad." Oyok shouts, coming up from behind a hedgerow, apparently unharmed. "I don't think Vrilu would allow a pet. Although, I have to confess, it has style."

The seeming elder seemed unsurprised by Awenasa's request and says freely, "Yes, Master Kolbeindottir still dwells within these walls." A moment and then, "I hope your intentions are peaceful, for we allow no violence or barbarism in the Halls. We are an outpost of thought, exploration and discovery, not a hotbed of thuggery. If you have old scores to settle, leave them here, outside. Such transgressions are....not allowed."

It was strange to Awenasa to hear these words in the tongue of her own people. It was Shoanti words but not Shoanti thoughts. Transgressions? That wasn't even a word among her people, and the 'elder' had to use a workaround or two. Curious.

"But with that in mind, we accept your promise." He looks at the others. He doesn't need to wait long.

"If Awenasa will do it, so will I." Perey says, shrugging, "Besides, lying is part of good music anyway."

"I also agree. I greatly desire to see your Halls, master." Thak says, "I come from a people who greatly value learning and study." The elder smiles at this and nods, accepting their agreements.

"Very well. Then we shall take each in turn as they agreed. Please walk away and give Awenasa Windkeeper and myself some privacy. No need to avoid eyesight however." A glance toward Awenasa, 'I understand some travelers are wary of being spilt apart. Have no fear, we do not resort to tricks here. Although, I suppose that is what a deceiver might say!" The elder chuckled to himself.

Perey and Thak took a few long strides backward down the ancient road, close enough to still be at hand in a moment, but too far to hear anything but a shout. A thin wind rises, just enough to play with the dirt and sand around her boots. The air feels oddly cold.

The elder waves a hand at Awenasa, "You may begin. Please, an unimportant truth and an important lie. As you say, which is which is in the eye of the beholder. Perhaps that gives you an insight into why we do this."

Awenasa is still speaking when, to her surprise, Thak also starts talking. Not that her Vudran friend is usually silent, but he usually has the good graces to not interrupt. Even more surprising is his words. The reddish man shuffled forward, bowing low, obviously surprised.

"Master. I did not expect to see a Champion of Iro-Shu here, particularly one wearing the Platinum Chain. You have traveled far indeed." A small chuckle, 'I must admit, I hoped to be the first."

Perey laughs, "Thak, what are you talking about? It's not a Champion or whatever. Awenasa is right, it's a Shoanti story-master. You can tell by the drum."

Story-master? Awenasa's people do have such traveling bards, those who know all the old sagas and tales, who roam from quah to quah, part priesthood, part entertainer, held in equal among all the Shoanti. But this man is not one of them and he has no drum, at least as far as Awenasa can see.

The old man chuckles, a rich, throaty sound only slightly tinged by dust.

"Ah, yes. The downside of the enchantment." He waves a hand, gesturing to himself, "A champion of Iro-shu or a ..what was it? A Shoanti story-master? I hope I do them justice." His language is pure Shoanti, down to the exact right accent and yet....there is something off about it. The words, the phrasing...it is like listening to a skilled actor play a part. It is almost too convincing to be real.

He smiles but goes on, "I am the door warden of the Halls of Reason. What you see is a reflection of yourself, a form of the what you consider authority and rightful leadership. We find it helps. Our natural forms can be....difficult for strangers to interact with. At least at first."

"You wish to enter the Halls then? Few come this far for any other reason." The elder nods, "It is open, for those with minds and eyes to see. We ask for no payment, no fee. Instead, we only ask the following. You tell me a unimportant truth, an important lie and answer one question of my choosing. Then I shall judge if you are permitted to pass."

The figure bowed, "Each answer will be held in secret, and not shared with your friends, so do not fear that." Then the misplaced Shoanti looked up, face inscrutable yet so familiar "Do you agree?"

The dinosaur lets out a guttural bellow that rattled deep in Sigmar's stomach, like a miniature earthquake. The huge frilled head tossed back and forth, for all the world like a racing horse before a sprint. Then, feet digging into the turf, it took off at a rumbling gallop that shook the ground.

Arianne clung tightly to his waist, caught off guard by the rolling gait, more like a wagon with a broken axle then a gallant steed. Sigmar can feel her hot breath on his neck as she is thrown against him. She smells of sweat, oil and, of course, bat guano.

The dinosaur rampages into the cluster of enemies like a bull amongst a flock of crows. Clearly expected the huge beast to be friendly, most don't realize the danger until it is far too late. Two are trampled into the mud, churned into little more then battered remains. Another is gored by a huge bloody horn, and tossed twenty feet into the air. There are hisses and screams by the strange creatures, as they start to break.

One holds their ground however, a thick-set lizardman covered in moldy old bones. They have a staff in their hand, which they raise high. It starts to glow with an unwholesome green light, that swirls around it. The lizard starts to chant something, eyes focused on Sigmar. It begins to point toward him-

KA-BLAM!

With a roar like a thunderstorm, blacksmith accident and a dozen trumpets, Arianne's long barreled weapon goes off. Sigmar's vision goes pure white for a moment and his head rings like a bell. By the time the dragonling regains his bearings, the gunslinger's weapon is a spouting a thick plume of black smoke, acrid enough to be be smelt among the blood of battle.

The staff-wielding lizardman is dead, head smashed like an overripe melon dropped by a careless merchant. The staff rolls away, magic dissipating. The other lizardmen either run or die, crushed by the stampeding dinosaur.

From above in the tree, the sailors let out a lustily cheer.

"Sigmar and Arianne!"

Around them the battle is flowing against the attackers now, and the Fort Holidayers clearly have the upper hand. Sigmar is debating where to steer his mount next when he spots a shadow out of the corner of his eye.

A brightly colored two-legged dinosaur is leaping up toward them, claws legs and arms outstretched.

Jump to Pounce: 1d20 + 22 ⇒ (9) + 22 = 31

Raptor attack: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15
Raptor attack: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25

Bite: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16

Crit Confirm?: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8

Damage: 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3

Despite the surprise of the attack, however, most of the claws and teeth miss. Only one long talon catches Sigmar's leg and it is more of a scratch then anything. Still, the hissing dinosaur is clinging to the harness like a sailor at sea, remaining close and within range. It snaps and kicks, long tail thrashing wildly.

Perey and Thak are both intrigued by Awenasa's idea of having to break into the building. Clearly both expected welcome parties and open doors, the concept of a test seems to surprise them. Yet it seems natural to Awenasa. Nothing worthwhile was given away for free.

"Maybe it is not the season." Thak said when she asked where others are. "There are many pilgrimages in my land that are seasonal, and only take place once a year. The Yellow Night for example. Thousands come and it is the biggest gathering in Vudra, but the rest of the year it is an empty field. A traveler would not even notice if they came out of time for the celebrations."

The cube grows larger as they approach. It gains little more detail though as their are no windows, no towers, not even any art to break the monotony of smooth, straight lines. The stone does gleam slightly, as if wet and it reminds Awenasa of obsidian from her homeland. Had this place been carved out of an impossibly large block? Impossible.

Surely?

The road becomes a fair avenue, broad and straight, flagged with broad stones. They are fit together so tightly, there is barely any grit or sand between them, neatly aligned. Wide gutters stand on each side, and Awenasa even spots a few old benches here and there. Boulders begin appearing, scattered over the flat, dusty ground. They are larger, standing taller then Awenasa, but seem unworked and natural. Awenasa, to her growing alarm, sees no farms or gardens.

If these are the Halls...where are the people?

Finally the road....ends. A few hundred feet from the base of the cube it simply cuts off, vanishing into rough dirt. There are no ruts or footsteps beyond, just unbroken ground that leads to the base of the strange monolith. There are no stairs or doors there, just smooth stone.

Perey leans back and stares up the vast cliff, huge beyond reason. He almost falls over, craning upwards. Thak blinks, "Maybe there is no one home?"

Awenasa is grappling with this horrifying possibility when she hears something. Footfalls on the stone. Instinct flaring, she whirls toward the sound. Out from behind a massive boulder steps a humanoid shape and Awenasa's jaw drops. Whatever she expected, feared or hoped for, this was not it.

She sees a Shoanti elder standing there, half in the shadow of a mighty rock. They are small and wiry, stooped slightly with age. Braided white hair blows slightly in the wind, slipping over their shoulders. Their skin is windburned and criss-crossed with burns, scars and, most importantly tattoos. To Awenasa's shock she can read them perfectly well, they are of the same type as her own quah! They tell a lifetime of raids and battles, of leadership and struggle. Successes mostly, a quah leader of a life well lived. This is the epitome of a Shonati leader, proud and brave who lived to the quiet dignity of old age.

The figure silently watches them all, making no move. The wind whistles over the sand, but there is no other noise.

As a youth in Magnimar, Sigmar had once snuck into a local amphitheater during a Shoanti rodeo. The event, a highly regarded local affair for both the participants and the vendors, made quite an impact on the dragonling. Wiry, scarred men and women riding, wrestling and roping all forms of livestock, ranging from wild oxen to fiery mustangs. The loud colorful event of man versus beast appealing to Sigmar but he had had special regard for the last event. A battered looking Shoanti woman, covered with inky tattoos had clambered bareback onto a snorting, restive stallion. Then, with a slap to the backside, the horse had been sent onto into the arena, galloping, jumping and bucking for all it was worth. The woman had clung onto to for dear life to a single leather strap provided for the purpose.

She had lasted for eight heartbeats before being thrown to the ground, and nearly trampled. Yet, to Sigmar's surprise and delight, the woman had come up with a smile clear even in the cheap seats.

Now he understood why.

Clambering off the side of the great beast wasn't easy but the bizarre array of straps, stirrups and handles helped. Besides he was already half-way up, and the tossing of the monster nearly threw him right into the saddle. Controlling it was a different matter. Granted, it was at least somewhat tamed, and was used to having a master. Once Sigmar got a firm grip in the reigns, the mighty lizard slowed its stride and did not fight him. Instead it rumbled to a stop, churning up a turd and grass wake, as if it was a mighty landship.

The lungs heaved under his legs, blowing like great furnace bellows. There was furnace-like heat too, as the animal's warmth radiated up through the strange saddle. For a moment the world was still and then, to his surprise, he saw a shape bound toward him.

Arianne, holding her smoking weapon, ran straight up at the snorting beast. At the last moment the mute leapt upward, grasping for the straps. Easy a child mounting a pony she slipped into place, snug behind Sigmar. Not that the saddle was built to accommodate two. Indeed they were pressed so tightly together, they would have scandalized most dance halls.

She grinned, eyes sparkling. She pointed a hand at a knot of lizardmen clustered around a tree, where a few sailors were trapped. Beckoning like a huntswoman commanding her guide, Arriane silently gestured forward and leveled her weapon on Sigmar's shoulder, using him a rest.

The night passes quietly, with no sign of animal or human (or what passes for human here). Yet, Awenasa doesn't detect the creeping dread of the emptiness that, for example, surrounded the festrong's lair. No, this is more the natural absence of nature from a place people frequent. This road must be frequently traveled, or at least was not long ago.

Awenasa sees other signs of that as well. Old fire rings are evident beside the road, where pervious travelers made camp. Broken wheels and other cast offs dot the dry ground too, sometimes have hidden by swales of sand and grit. Here and there she spots wagon ruts that veered off the road, leaving traces. Much of it seems old but not ancient.

The next day dawns bright and clear, the sun still harsher then Awenasa is used to. The sky that same pale white that lacks the rich blue she would prefer. What she wouldn't give to see clouds, real clouds, instead of the constant wispy streaks high above. They must come, for plants live here so it must rain...eventually.

Around them the mountains are rising into real peaks, sharp knife-like peaks outlined against the sky. Their shoulders are bare of snow or glaciers, just bare rock and reddish gravel. Still they look imposing, huge tumbled masses of clefts, fissures, massifs and ledges. Impressive, even for a Shoanti of the Plateau.

At about mid-morning Awenasa can see mountains ahead for the first time, looming in front. The path must leave the valley then. Did the Halls lie beyond them, somewhere in the peaks? They walked on.

Awenasa has spent her life in wide open places and she, more then most, knows how flat land can deceive. How scale and distance tricked the eye, how something that seemed close was actually days away. So it was when Awenasa saw ahead she simply assumed her eyes were wrong.

Because it seemed they headed for an impossible object.

But as the day went on and her vision sharpened, she could no longer deny it. Dead ahead, right along the still ruler-straight road lay a cube. Its artificial angles stuck out, entirely alien in the otherwise natural environment. That was strange enough but what made Awenasa was the scale. It was a cube not the size of a house or a hill but a mountain.

One could stack an entire low lander city inside, if they packed up the houses like eggs in a crate. Vast, huge, beyond understand. How could such a thing be made by man? Impossible...right? And yet it lay ahead of them, straight-edges gleaming slightly in the morning light, like a distant river or gold seam.

Could that be the Halls of Reason?

Anno takes the fossil, after a momentary pause. He grins, "We'll consider it payment for the boat repairs." The waterman affectionally kicks the boat near the bite marks left by the festrong. He seems to want to say more but eventually just shakes his head and grabs Awenasa's arm.

"And may your spirits not ask too much of you." A strange greeting.

And with that, Awenasa and her friends leave the swamp and the boat behind. Their last view of Anno is the small man nudging his boat back amongst the reeds and trees.

"Strange fellow." Thak remarks casually, "Still, we owe him a great deal. We could never have found our way through that ourselves."

Back on dry land, it goes much as Anno suggested. The small path follows the swamp edge for a few miles and then turns westward in a right angle. While still little more then a dusty track more suited for animals then people, it is as straight as a lowlander ruler, headed directly westward.

Unused to having such a clear trail, Awenasa still feels it will help. She can hardly get lost on a road. They head westward, following it onward.

Around them the land is dry but not the bare desert she has grown accustomed to in this strange place. Instead it is a rocky land of brush and scrub, of low lying trees and tough looking bushes. Pockets of grass cling to the more sheltered nooks and crannies, some even hiding small springs. The path lies on flat level ground but on either side of them low hills gather, creating a low valley. Awenasa is not a favor of such low ground, but there is nothing for it, and they see no sign of others, either on the road or not.

In fact, apart from the reddish soil and milky sky above, Awenasa is reminded of home. Her land is also a dry one, with life that is easy to miss. She half expects to see a flock of Shoanti goats in the distance, or maybe even a great hunting cat stalking the higher hills. But they see little animal life, apart from a few birds.

They keep heading westward for two days. The terrain grow higher on each side, shifting from small hillocks to low hills to what even Awenasa would call low mountains. Their way is easy however, the road following the still flat valley floor. Now and then it crosses over dry washes, running over simple stone bridges. Like everything in this place, the bridges look very old but they are still sound. Awenasa guesses the gullies must fill with water in wet seasons.

Other paths join too, winding down out of the hills. As each joins their own path grows wider and clearer, finally becoming what could only be described as a real road, paved with stone and lined with ditches. Here and there, it is clear trees once lined the path but they are little more then stumps now, worn by wind and sun.

They camp near one of the ese, making a small fire. Thak and Perey, as they have been doing since they left the swamp are discussing what they think the Halls might be like. Perey seems to think it is a meeting place of wanderers and travelers, sharing stories and knowledge. Thak on the other hand seems to think it will be a great library, a vast collection of books, scrolls and other writings.

'What do you think, Awenasa?" Perey asks, from across the fire. Above the stars flicker slightly, the night sky very, very dark.

"Fair enough." Anno says, nodding, 'Fair enough. "

Warm breakfast finished, they head out again into the swamp. To Awenasa it seems the same as ever, the same parade of dead trees, open pools and islands of reeds. The bugs buzz in great swarms, alighting on them and taking off as they slap and curse. Birds sing from every tree, frogs croaking in isolated eddies.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the swamp ends. Anno poles the boat around a stand of vine-laden trees and Awenasa is confronted with dry land. Well, drier land. A solid bank of brown earth lies ahead of them, dotted with low trees and bushes. Beyond Awenasa can spot low rocky hills, fuzzy in the distance. Between the riparian growth, Awenasa can spot a footpath, running parallel to the black brackish water. It seems little most then a dusty trail cut into the soil, but Awenasa's heart picks up when Anno points to it.

"It will veer west soon, between the hills. A day or two, that is all. Then you will reach the Halls of Reason." The waterman shrugs, "I have never been. They say it is a strange place, full of books and other things. "

Anno bumps the boat against the bank at a low spot, where they can scramble ashore.

"You will go on, then?"

A huge reptilian eye turned on him, the size of an apple. It was dark mottled brown, Sigmar noted, with a dark slit gashed across it. Thick folds and scales surrounded it, wrinkled protection that turned into the base of a massive horn half as long as Sigmar was tall. It looked at him with a strange, alien glare.

Around him Sigmar lost track of the battle focused on the immense beast. He could smell it, a slightly dusty aroma of crushed earth, trample vegetation and a hint of a strange, exotic musk. Steam heaved off the massive chest, warm as a furnace. The youth had no idea what to expect. Would the beast roar? Stomp him again? Bow in submission or perhaps even seek out its fallen rider? In fact, it did none of these things.

Instead it took off at a thundering gallop, heading straight for a knot of lizardmen and sailors. The ground literally shook under its huge weight as massive tree-trunk legs flexed and groaned, propelling forward as fast as a horse. The tail slapped against the ground, incidentally crushing the corpse of the dead would-be dinosaur rider.

Sigmar witnessed all of this because he was along for the ride. The burning hand which gripped the reins got tangled in the complicated lines, like a hare caught in a trapper's snare. Half dragged, half held aloft Sigmar was carried into battle by the bellowing snorting avatar of destruction.

And destruction it was. Nothing would withstand the horned, frilled creature. Friend and foe alike either ran for cover or were trampled. Fences splintered, heavy wagons were tossed like playthings and a crude shed simply disintegrated under the beast's charge, even as Sigmar was dragged along like a child's favorite doll. Heavy mud splashed him, churned up by the horned feet below, mixing with the blood and grass from his own bout with the dinosaur.

The ride went on long enough to batter Sigmar silly, the world becoming a swirling mess of lights, shadows and colors. Jounced this way and that, it was enough to spin any lad's head. In his ear Ozzy kept up a running commentary, trying to guess the speed and weight of the huge reptile ('Woah, it's, like, really big, man!') but it soon became lost in the rising din of battle.

He needed to do something before the mad thing slammed him against a rock or tree (or an enemy spear), if only by accident.

A small part of Sigmar admired the huge monster though because, as far as he could tell, the thing just enjoyed crushing stuff. And without a rider, it seemed to revel in the ability to go where it wanted and do as it liked.

Anno takes this in silently, and has the air of a man of much to think about.

They do not reach the other side of the Swamp that day, and are forced to camp out among the reeds, mud and frogs. Thak and Perey gripe (a little bit) about blood sucking bugs and man-eating monsters but Awenasa has little fear of the latter. While they had mostly left the festrong's influence behind, it still lingered and they had seen few animals that day. With no prey, how could one have predators?

Also, surely the Shienmo would be out tonight, exploring the new territory. That alone would scare off most creatures. Awenasa had little doubt that the lizardmen were as much masters of their homeland as the Shoanti were, and when her people went out, other beasts stayed hidden.

No, tonight they could sleep.

She seemed to be correct for the night passed without event. The only change seemed to be Anno. The usually dour waterman seemed in good spirits and Awenasa is woken with breakfast already cooking. Frog legs and crayfish simmering in an old battered pot, which sends out a rich aroma.

As Perey and Thak eat, Anno says to Awenasa, "We will reach dry land by noon today, unless I am totally lost. In which case, who knows how long?" he smiles somewhat, shrugging, "But I am not lost. Our time together is nearly over, Awenasa."

He pauses, fumbles a bit and goes on, "You have given me much to think about. Thank you." Another pause, "Not sure what else to say, so there it is." He moves off to ready the boat.

"New territory. The festrong has been here a long time. It's like a big black mark on the map." The waterman poles the boat skillfully between two dead trees, everyone ducking automatically.

"But I know the shape of the blackness. It'll save a lot of traveling, cutting through here. Also, there will be no other hunters in here, not with the festrong around. Even bigger, nastier things don't like undead."

Time passes in the heat of the day. Perey falls asleep, nodding against the gunwale. Thak is meditating, reddish skin gleaming brightly in the sun, humming every so slightly. Around them the swamp is still very quiet, the festrong's influence still present. Yet, there are signs of life. A school if small fish pass under the boat, black against black. A bullfrog lets out a raspy croak. And once Awenasa spots a beaver slipping into the water with barely a splash, sliding silently.

It is peaceful.

"Shienmo as friends, huh?" Anno says from the prow, sounding unconvinced, "Strange things follow you, Awenasa. Seem like good things though. " He idlily pushes a floating hunk of dead weeds away, bobbing like an apple in a barrel.

"Has it always been this way for you? To be so strong of purpose?" The small man sounds wistful, almost shy. "It must be a comfort, to know what needs to be done, and to be able to do something about it."

Above the sun is a bright coin, blazing down. The air is hot and heavy but is slowly losing the rank scent of old, stale meat, replaced by the only slightly more wholesome smell of water, plants and mud.