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Sigmar's voice is loud enough to cut through the din, but does little to quiet things. Indeed his crack about a 'rotting shirt' seems to have stirred the pot more and the tone of the arguing sharpens. Vrilu lets out a small sigh and blinks slowly, the picture of aggrieved patience. Like a teacher forced to endure a student's tantrums.

At the Steering Committee table, Sigamr notes Shi whisper something to a young lad who then vanishes into the smoky rafters above, clambering as sure-footed as a monkey. Meanwhile, the arguments on the ground floor rage as Morgan seems to be working themselves into a fine, towering fury at Sigmar's last remark. Sigmar is more reminded of a harping fishwife then anything else, although the image of an irate bear lingers as the person answers Sigmar's words.

"As if you are not aware of the danger. Surely you are in league with them. Maybe you did not crawl out of the ground itself, like they did, but you are their allies. Sure as the dawn follows night!"

"Allies?" Kell shouts, voice mostly lost in the growing chaos, "He helped kill one of them, Morgan! Yer off yer rocker!"

"A clever feint!" The holy one thundered, voice crashing like an ocean wave on an unprepared shore, "To put us on the wrong course. Three travelers, seeking one of our own? Lies, I say, lies! Put them out before they infest all of us with their intrigues and backwards dealings!"

They are cut off when a mournful ship bell suddenly peals, loud enough to drown out everything else in rolling waves of crushing sound. On and on it sounds, beating all else into submission by sheer weight, if nothing else. Even Morgan realizes futility and sits back down, scowling. Finally, after long minutes the noise fades away leaving only an empty, ringing silence.

The only sound is a gentle snoring from Herluf, who seems to have drifted off. Shi stands up and in a swirl of silk says loudly, "This Assembly is dismissed. The Steering Committee will hold a closed session to decide on these matters." A moment of still silence greets this and then Kell barks, "So clear out!"

A wave of discontented grumbling as the words sink in, but eventually there is a scraping of chairs as people slowly leave. Most pass by in silence, but most give Sigmar and the others long looks that range from frank curiosity to open distrust. Sigmar feels a bit like an animal in a menagerie as the entire population of Fort Holiday trundles past.

Finally they are alone. Shi then adds, "You lot too. Just wait on the porch, we will call you in when ready."

Vrilu stands up, her face a frozen mask of official politeness. Oyok seems unmoved, as if used to such rigmarole. The wood golem, of course, is the same as ever, feet clunking on the stone floor.

Soon Sigmar finds himself hustled outside, standing on the dark porch of the assembly hall. The night air feels cold and thin, after the warm stale indoor air. A few stars twinkle above, if he peeks around the roof. Other inhabitants clump about in the square, clearly uncertain if you talk with the visitors. Was that allowed? Furtive glances come their way, but no one, yet, comes close.

Vrilu lets out a sign and looks into the empty middle distance of inky night. Speaking to Oyok, or perhaps herself says, "That could have gone better." Turning her head slightly to Sigmar she adds, coldly, "Next time, say less. Gods only know how much worse you made things." A pause and them, "Even if what you said was true."

The Company Woman becomes lost in her own thoughts. Oyok, having found a chair, sits back down and closes his bright eyes, resting after a very busy day.

Euler seems wildly uncertain about the whole thing, glancing from Ely to Awenasa. Whatever his future, good or ill, Awenasa doubted it would involve the old mine owner. Perhaps the man could use tis to make a new start. He wordlessly offers a hand for the Shoanti to shake.

Netuckelist is quite another matter, the gnome looks pleased enough to burst. His feet swing on the fence like a child, heels kicking against the red stones.

"A thorn, eh?" The gnome says brightly, "One could do worse. Ah, but before you go, I have something for you." His eyes twinkle as he pulls something from a pocket. It is... a piece of paper, covered in strange writing that doesn't even look like the usual letters she doesn't understand.

The gnome gives Awenasa a knowing look and lowers his voice, so only the Shoanti can hear, "Give this paper to the old sheriff, Krahnu Duhn will know what it means. Means I have forgiven the debt of the new sheriff." The gnome places a finger on his nose, "I have a feeling old Krahuny put you up to all this. This will help prove your case."

With that Netuckelist bursts out into a jolly song that fills the night air of his garden, and earns a few groans from the battered men of both sides. No matter.

Khoretz leads them out into the darkness, the ratfolk leaning her massive thunderstick on her shoulder. For a long time they walk in silence, moving at a slow pace to allow Perey and Thak to keep up. Awenasa finds they are on a small road that leads into town, which looks dark and quiet.

As they pass some buildings, the deputy finally speaks, "That was a good thing you did. Helping those children." Khoretz doesn't break stride as she talks, her tail curling in the dust. "Altava is pleased, though she won't show it." And that is all the ratfolk says.

Soon enough they are back at the cavernous Headquarters, the black building feeling quite homey after the unpleasantness of caves and canyons. To no surprise, Krahnu Duhn is waiting for them, seated in her rolling chair. Her eyes burn brightly at the sight of Awenasa, a smile playing around the edges of her aged face.

"So...how did it go?" She askes quietly, clearly anxious for the answer. "Altava said there was a disturbance..."

Khoretz coughs and says, "I have to go check on....something." And diplomatically leaves the room.

To Sigmar's delight there was a smattering of cheers and some applause at his acrobatic performance, particularly from the youth section hanging among the rafters.

At his remark Arianne blushes slightly and shakes her head, yet Sigamr thinks he notes a bit of a smile there....and the hint of a wink? Who can tell.

The wood golem, of course, is as impervious to Sigmar's charm as it is to wood rot. Instead, he turns his attention to the Steering Committee, because...well, why not?

Kell, clearly having expected nothing else from Sigmar, merely rolls his eyes and settles deeper into his seat. Herluf, the old soldier, actually manages a wheezy chuckle that descends into a wet cough. The wild dressed one next to him though, the seemingly holy figure, fixes Sigmar with a stare so cold and hostile, it makes Vrilu's normal attitude seem like a warm tropical breeze.

Shi, the Tian woman taps her finger on the table a few times, revealing little. She appraises Sigmar a bit, like a farmer sizing up a possible new crop field before saying, "While you may not have much more respect for it then your superior, please show some restraint. This is a proper Assembly of the Whole, not a topman climbing competition. Keep your seat, Sigmar Darastrix." She paused and then added judiciously, "Although, as a sailor and former pirate, I do approve of the verve."

"It's late, Shi." Kell said, "Let's get on with it." This elicited a few mild boos from the crowd, who clearly wanted spectacle and excitement. Sigmar couldn't blame them. How lively did Fort Holiday usually get after dark?

The air was filled with the smell of unwashed bodies, wood fire smoke and the sharp scent of anticipation. Shi broke the silence and said, cleary speaking now to Vrilu and not Sigmar, "What is your business here, then? I gather you are not marooned."

"No, not quite." Vrilu said and again Sigmar wondered if the Company Woman had volunteered for this or viewed it as an exotic punishment, maybe she had stolen the wrong paperclips?

"My business is simple. I seek Orsen Griet." A murmur went up at this, whispering and mutterings. Many glanced at the clot of dwarves, who sat still and stony-faced, unmoving.

"And what exactly do you want with him?" Shi said, inclining a head.

Vrilu shrugged, "The Company wants him, do I need to say more?"

"Griet is, after a fashion, one of us, and once a member of this very committee. We have some obligation to protect him." The Tian woman said, watching Vrilu very carefully now.

Sigmar's erstwhile boss shrugged, "Well, on that I can ease your mind. I am here to take him off this island, alive. Surely that is a good intention?"

For the first time, the genderless wild one speaks for the first time, voice rasping like a rusty anchor chain, "More generous then the Company when I knew them."

Vrilu searches the salt stained face quickly, obviously trying to place them. Just as obviously failing she shrugged, "Perhaps they need him for a pardon, I do not know."

"DISSEMBLER!" The holy one suddenly shouts, loud enough to make the roof shake. Rising to their feet, they point a crooked, sunburned finger directly at Vrlilu, "You dare lie at a Assembly of the Whole? Vouched and blessed by the Black Lady? How dare you." For a moment Sigmar thinks the old chap is about to jump the table, but instead they seem to master themselves, turning to Shi, growling, "Permission to cast a Truth Spell over the guests?"

A chorus of yells from the crowd, mostly in the negative although a few supporters scream yes!. Despite the outburst, Shi looks unimpressed. "Edward, sit down. There will be none of that, not yet at any rate. "

Morgan, wrapping his burlap sack tightly about his thin frame, stiffly sits down, piercing them with a cold, sea-green eye.

"Although, please confine yourself tot he truth," Shi added toward Sigmar and the others, "Consider yourself under oath."

Vrilu, apparently also unmoved by Edward's thunderous declarations, says, "I have no reason to lie. Frankly, the quicker we move this along the better. I simply seek information about my quarry. Clearly he is known to you. Will you help me or not?"

"And why should we?" Kell shot back quickly.

Vrilu took this in stride, clearly quite comfortable here despite the wobbly chairs, and watching eyes. "Well, for you personally, I'll note we probably saved your life. The way Oyok told it, you all ran from the raider attack, while my man stayed and fought. Winning, as it should be noted." A quick glance at Sigmar, although Arianne, in the crowd, flicked her fingers dismissively at the claim.

"Once, at a party among wealthy agents, I overheard a telling exchange. In a game of hypothetical questions (one the trite ways the rich amuse themselves) a famously rich Company owner asked a lady: “Would you live with a stranger if he paid you 1,000,000 gold crowns” She answered “Yes.” “And if he paid you 5 coppers?” The irate lady fumed: “5 coppers What do you think I am?” Smiling, the magnate replied: “We’ve already established that. Now we’re trying to determine the degree.” Laughter at the old joke filled the meeting hall, earning grins from most of their interlocuters, although the untamed looked Morgan merely twists their lip.

"I mean to say," Vrilu went on, smug she had them eating out of her hand, "Are we merely discussing price? We have some what to sell. It seems you are having trouble with your neighbors. Perhaps me and mine can assist?" A wave to indicated Sigmar and Oyok, "Or perhaps some pardons may be arranged..." This promise hung in the air for a long, long moment.

The shimmering words are shattered when Morgan snarls, "Are we not getting ahead of ourselves? Have we forgotten the rules of the Assembly? None but us may enjoy Fort Holiday's defenses. They must either join us, or be cast out. I vote we cast them out!"

A tumult of reactions to this, with some shouting in agreement while others boo loudly. People rise to their feet, shouting and stamping their feet on the begrimed floor. Other point fingers, some spitting. At the Steering Committee, Kell merely looks musingly at Vrilu and the others, clearly debating what side of the question he wants to rest on. Shi shakes her head, looking disgusted, while Herluf looks half-asleep, shoulder's hunched in on himself.

Morgan meanwhile, looks quite pleased, standing again, looming over them like a storm-cloud at sea. "Out with them and their disdain!"

In perhaps a sign of her annoyance, Vrilu actually answered Sigmar's question, as they moved up the dead street toward the inviting firelight.

"I like meetings, fair enough, when they are run by professionals. Who hates bad work more then a skilled craftsman?" With that she falls back into her usual icy silence, the wood golem creaking alongside her.

Kell, clearly eager to reach the Meet, is far enough ahead that he can pretend to not hear the insult. Closer at hand, Arianne merely smiles wolfish grin, eerily silent.

In short order they reach the threshold, a wide porch that wraps around the large meeting hall. The foundation is stone, clear even to his untrained eye, part of some older, much larger building. Something tied to the old dragon's reign, perhaps? Still, the current building was large enough, Sigmar reflected as they stepped inside.

It was nearly all one giant room, like a great mead hall of northern kings. The roof vanished in a haze of smoky rafters, a mix of roughly planed tree trunks and castoffs from shipwrecks. Wooden pillars held up that huge roof, most of them clearly just repurposed ship masts. Old nautical relics hung on the walls, flags, nets, a weathered captain's wheel. The floor was rough cobbles, fitted together with some skill to create a durable surface. Countless years of grime, soot and dirt had melded them together into a rather smooth, if unclean foundation.

Sigmar didn't have eyes for the room however, for he was drawn instead to the people. There was well over a hundred people backed into the meeting hall, quite an eye opener after days spent in the jungle. It was a wide range of ages, from spindly children in the joists overhead, to aged graybeards nodding in the corners. Most wore only the most basic homespun clothe, relieved by the ragged remains of old clothes. A few though wore only animal pelts or even simple grass skirts. Most were humans, of various shades, but Sigmar saw other races too, including a few half-elves, half-orcs and a knot of dwarves sitting clustered together near a fireplace. A sole frog-like man was seated out there, folded up like his pond-dwelling cousins.

They were seated in a helter-skelter arrangement, some on old battered chests, others in handmade chairs, others simply sitting on the floor. Broken barrels, piles of moldy nets and even just a few hunks of volcanic rock served as impromptu furniture.

Near one wall however, stood an actual table, worn but sturdy. On one side sat three figures, and one empty chair. Clearly some sort of select group, they were given a bit of room by the rest of the gaggle.

The farthest to the left was a human woman, middle aged, with strong Tian features. She wore perhaps the best clothes in the whole place, a rather striking collection of embroidered wool and dyed silks. A sword and dagger hung on her wide belt, slung about her hips, both pommels studded with small jewels. Her sharp eyes watched them carefully, clean, delicate hands folded together.

Seated next to her was the exact opposite. A wild looking person of indeterminate age or gender but quite tall, wearing what seemed to be a tattered burlap sack. Gray hair was piled in a windswept ponytail, halfway down the back. They were salt stained, with skin the color of old, polished wood. The face was worn yet not aged, wrinkled yet still clear. Sea green eyes danced above a narrow, crooked nose. A simple skull and crossbones medallion hung from their neck, fashioned from tarnished brass, spotted with barnacles.

Third was the oldest man in the assembly, if Sigmar had to guess. Thin as a rail, the old man hunched on his chair somewhat painfully. One eye was a pale watery mess, but the other was still a bright blue. One arm ended in a scarred stump, just below the elbow. The other seemed hale, if skeletally thin, veined with age. He wore a battered ancient military uniform of some kind, Sigmar did not recognize the nation. There were faded medals and ribbons on the chest, long faded by time and sun.

Directly facing this group were a few empty chairs, backs to the wall. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Like bugs pinned to a mounting board. Clearly whoever sat there was the center of things, the main stage.

Kell waved them their, before taking up the last empty seat at the table.

Of course.

Vrilu took the best of the rickety wooden seats, sitting straight as a pikestaff. The golem did not sit, merely stood at her side like a dull witted servant. Or hat rack, perhaps. Oyok grabbed a chair and leaned back on it, two legs off the ground.

As Sigmar sat the Tian woman said, "I vote to call this Meet to order." A cheer of 'hear, hear' rang out. The others seated at her table nodded, vaguely.

The woman went on after it quieted, "Present are the Steering Committee, Shi Xaco, Edward Morgan, Herluf Trolle and Kell Goodman." The woman herlsef, the wild dressed one, the ragged soldier and Kell, in order, apparently.

"Will our visitors please identify themselves, for the record?"

At this Vrilu could not contain herself and let out a snort. At an arch look from Shi, the Company Woman went on, "The record? What, is there someone taking minutes?" She peered about at the dirty, silent crowd, as if looking for a secretary.

Shi Xaco frowned at this, eyes narrowing. "If we had the paper, we'd keep a long, aye. We are not an unlettered bunch of hooligans. For now though, the record is our memories. And it will serve." A quiet aye from the crowd.

"Again, will our guests", there was not a strained emphasis on the word, "name themselves and titles?"

Vrilu rolled her eyes but answered, "I am Vrilu, agent of the Gold Crown Shipping and Mining Company."

"Oyok Tchorru, hired tracker" Oyok said easily, his voice musical in the smoky air.

Eyes turned to Sigmar.

"Save the compliments" Altava says shortly at Awenasa's first words. At her feet Ely groans something intelligible. Altava shakes her head and adds, "And your complaints. I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I want her gone," She jerks a thumb at Awenasa and I want you to straighten out."[/b] She toes Piggrich with a boot.

She turns back to Awenasa, hands still on her belt. "Yeah, Headquarters is plenty big enough. Khoretz here will guide you back, make sure you don't get lost or cause more trouble. I will stay and sort all of...this out." She waves a hand at the assembled group. The sheriff pauses at Perey, now sitting upright and the bag removed. His reddish skin is mottled with bruises and more then a bit of blood yet the man doesn't look that....worried? In fact there is a smile on his face as if this has all gone very well.

"Khor," Altava adds to her deputy, "Straight back to headquarters. Break out the healing stuff if they need it, I don't want anyone bleeding on our carpets." A final glance at Awenasa, "See you in the morning, probably. Get some sleep."

Ok, anything else ? I can move us along. Might want to say goodbye to Euler, if you want, he's still here. Or the gnome!

Sigmar's battle with the red carmine column mostly goes unremarked. Kell is busy issuing orders, Uzhg merely scowls at the whole group. Vrilu knows better then to say anything and the wood golem is as silent as ever. Only Oyok, ever trusty Oyok responds.

"You mean like a nickname?"[/b} The tengu says, as the grappling hook slides off the smooth, glossy stone yet again. [b]"Sure, lad, plenty of them. Most of them bad, really. Blackface, Feather Fingers. On one ship, they always called me 'Ol Squawk'. Didn't really care for them. Nicknames are like that."

The hook failed again, slipping right off the dragon stone. Oyok whistled a laugh and added, "Maybe...Sigmar the Climber? The Mountaineer."

Third time was the charm and Sigmar finally had a way up the imposing face of the column. Before anyone had a chance to stop him, Sigmar darted up the rope, hauling as hard as a seaman on a line. The young dragon figured he probably didn't have much time for hijinks, Vrilu was a notorious wet blanket. The Company woman probably couldn't wait for a long, dry meeting.

With the rope's aid, Sigmar made decent time up the imposing road marker. The surface was, at least ,more interesting then a natural cliff face. He used embossed reliefs of burning cities are handholds, and graven images of slave gangs provided nifty ledges for his weary feet. Sigmar scrambled past endless lists of titles and plaudits, all written in that strange language that seemed to burn into his brain. The final ascent was across the dragon itself, a frozen stone version of Xalraycrenth. Even in miniature it was still an imposing visage of snarling fangs, billowing wings and muscled tail. Sigmar used the last as a final bit of leverage to reach the top, just as the sun was starting to set.

The top was flat as a tabletop and even smoother, polished to a mirror sheen. The red crystal shimmered like bloody water, a stationary ripple. Whatever else it provided a good seat so Sigmar sat down and gazed around him. The perch provided an amazing view.

Apart from the brown hill behind him, Sigmar had an unobscured view in three directions. Miles of jungle unrolled at his feet, a vast green carpet blurred by distance. Beyond lay thin strips of yellow sand, edged by coursing waves. White foam played here and there, cascading over reefs and unseen rocks. In the west the Sun was setting in a magnificent conflagration of orange and yellow, reflecting off the ever shifting waves. Above the sky was shifting from navy blue to shades of indigo, darker and darker. Even now, as Sigmar peered up, he caught the winking of the first stars, gleaming like diamonds in a dragon's hoard. Either due to the gathering darkness or distance, Sigmar could make out no rivers or other towns, no signs of civilization.

All was quiet and calm, the air cooler now as the sun went down. For once there were no bugs, no screaming birds or calling monkeys. Just Sigmar and the towering imposition of the dragon stone. The rest of the world felt very small, and yet very close. A microcosm, surrounded by the endless swallowing sea.

Then the spell breaks. ’Come on, lad,” Oyok shouts up, ”We are heading up the hill. No one gets left behind, apparently.” Reluctantly, Sigmar descends down the rope and in short order, the brown crumbly soil of the hillside is under his boots. With a disturbingly easy flick of the rope, the grappling hook comes tumbling down after.

Kell, impatiently waiting, finally leads them up the hill slope. The path is straight as an arrow, climbing right up the incline, endless steps cut into the earth. Here and there stone ones appear but most seem to have been replaced with sections of earthworks, that crumble under foot. Even Sigmar, full of energy after the dragon stone and the vista, is soon toiling, sweat rolling down his back. Up and up the stair rises, never veering, never wavering. Once or twice a large stone rears out of the ground near the path, but they are vague and unremarkable in the twilight, black shadows.

The only sound is their labored breathing and the sound of their feet on the steps. Crunch, crunch. The smell of sulphur seems to grow stronger as they rise, coming from every direction. Ahead the stars reveal themselves in full glory in a clear sky, the Moon still hidden behind the horizon. It is very dark, and the group carries no lights, magical or otherwise. Then Oyok breaks the silence, ”What’s that light, Kell?”

Sigmar looks about and, sure enough, well away from the path, there is a light. A pale purple flame, flickering like a candle. It licks upward once, twice, then vanishes. Kell, a formless black outline in the dark, shrugs and says, ”Some kinna vent. Underground. They burn sometimes, all sorts o’ colors. Smoke too, like something burning. It’s what’s making that nasty smell. Come on.”

They labor upward, seemingly forever. Finally the steps end, and they find themselves at the edge of the summit. A wooden palisade confronts them, stretching out into the dark on both sides. A gate stands open there, a few shadowy shapes around it.

”That you, Kell? Perce said you had some newcomers, and a meeting? We were just waiting for you.” A human voice calls out into he darkness. As if answer a ship’s bell starts to toll, coming from behind the wall, sounding slow and sad in the dark.

Kell nods and says, ”Lock it up, ‘hind us and then come yourselves. Going to be a good one, I think.” The man hustles them through the gate at a brisk walk. It is too dark for Sigmar to see any details but everything seems to be made of rough, hand-hewn wood. Soon the teenager is walking on a dirt street, surrounded by a cluster of dark buildings. There are no fires, no lights, just looming silhouettes, suggestions of porches and doors, of roofs and windows. All is silent and black.

Then ahead, he finally sees a spark of color, the soft glow of wood fires. A large building comes into view, dead ahead. Large and rambling, it reminds the young man of a barn crossed with an inn, with a thatched roof and wide wooden beams. The doors stand open, letting the mellow light pour out into the night, banishing the shadows. Inside the shapes of many people can be seen and Sigmar’s ears pick up the chatter of people. Lots of people.

Vrilu finally stops, the golem freezing automatically at her side, ’All right, Kell. Enough of this cloak and dagger. What is going on?”

The sailor turns, his face catching some of the distant firelight, making him look even more unkempt then before. ”Like I said, it’s a meet. A what you call it, assembly of the whole. All newcomers have to be seen by the company, and voted on." Kell says, "Nothin' done without a meet. It's the Code."

"Voted? A code?” Vrilu mutters, her annoyance plain. ”Gods, it’s a bloody board meeting.”

They head toward the light.

Altava took this is silence, her face hard to read in the dim darkness of the garden-cum-battlefield. On the ground though, Ely let out gasping spit and said, 'See, she admits it! She's taking my workers.." He pointed a thick finger at Awenasa, and spit again, a bit of blood landing on the Shoanti's boot.

Altava crouched down, low over the prone mine owner. "Shut up, Ely." The woman said in a low voice, "Or I'll let this woman finish you off, you idiot, it's what you deserve." She patted the big man's shoulder in mock affection, "You are in enough trouble as it is."

She stood up and wiped her hands on her pants.

"Because I finally have you, Piggrich. You and I both know I've wanted to bust you for years, but couldn't. You are too important, too rich, and, usually, too smart. But today I find you on another man's property," Altava smiled and corrected herself, "Another gnome's property, starting fights while back by an armed gang. No a good look, Ely, even for you." The big man muttered something, trying to force himself into a sitting position.

"Ah, but they are not your property, Piggrich," Altava said sweetly, indicating the silent children with her chin, "Legally, they are your 'charges', which is an entirely different type of ore. You think your claim of 'self defense' will hold up to a judge? Maybe, but there is no judge here."

Altava sighed and then aid loudly, "This is how this is going to go, folks. These children are going to go on the wagon and leave. Ely, you will give up all claim tot hem and their supposed 'value'. In exchange, Netuckelist here agrees to drop all charges for having invaded his patch, here."

"I do?" The gnome said, still sitting on the garden wall. A hard look from Altava made him repeat, "I do."

Then the sheriff rounded on Awenasa, "And so, we come back to you, outlander. And for you, it's simple. You and your friends are welcome to stay in town to heal up, buy supplies and then you will leave this town. I think you are a bit too hot for the likes of us, what do you say? I figure your have pressing business anyway?" She inclined her head, and Awenasa could see the purple eyed sheriff knew that this 'demand' was exactly what Awenasa wanted anyway.

Awenasa felt her exhaustion, her injuries and her doubt fall away, replaced with a righteous burning anger toward Ely. It was not that she was sheltered, shocked by such an evil figure. Every Shoanti knew the world could be a hard place, nature uncaring and Gods ignorant. It was not the cruelty that bothered her, it was how necessary it was. These children were not suffering due to an unhappy fate or a twist of fortune, they were miserable because this man wanted fossils, and the things they could buy. They were whipped, driven and forced to live underground for greed.

And Awenasa could not stand it.

Filled her anger, she fell on the stout mine owner like a storm out of the mountains. Piggrich had drawn a long knife from a holster at his waist, but no matter. Awenasa was on him before he had a chance to do anything with it. The first kick slammed into his stomach, doubling the man over with a heavy wheeze. Her fist smashed into his jaw next, and Awenasa could feel bone and teeth break, shifting painfully under her hand. The final blow, an elbow to the man merely confirmed the overwhelming attack.

The man fell to the ground, hard enough to raise dust. To Awenasa's surprise the man was not dead, or knocked out, but lay there feebly spitting out blood.

Around her the fight was a confused melee in the darkness. Nothing like a Shoanti battle, it was more like a brawl as Ely's and Piggrich's men punched, kicked and wrestled in the garden plants. Euler had vanished into the dark and Perey had stayed with the children. Who, following Awenasa's orders, had created a miniature battle line and were heaving rocks at Ely's men. Clearly they did not intend to go queitly. Awenasa was just pondering if she should finish Ely off when a thundering bang filled the air, like Euler's thunderstick but ten times as loud. Awenasa, along with everyone else, winced at the rolling echoes.

"That's enough of that." A female voice said, cutting through the stunned silence following the blast. Everyone froze.

Altava strolled into the dark garden, as if walking along a city street. Her hands were resting on her belt, where two small thundersticks rode, and her polished boots crunched loudly on the ground. Behind her the ratfolk deputy followed carrying a gun nearly as tall as she was, blue-gray smoke still drifting out of it.

"So, bit of fun in the dark, eh?" Altava said, as she walked closer, eyeing the embattled groups. She spit on the ground and eyed Awenasa, 'What did I tell you about making trouble in my town, Awenasa?" She shook her head and walked closer, until she was standing over the prone Piggrich, who was still busy trying to breathe.

"Finally found your match Ely?" She toed the prone man with her boot, clucking her tongue. She spotted Thak and barked an order, "Get that bag off his head and sit him up." She turned back to Awenasa, "So, my informant was correct. You were staging a bit of robbery this evening?" She gestured to the children in the dark, and added, 'What am I going to do with you, outsider?"

She looked around at the assembled fighters, children, thugs and one Shoanti. At the last she raised and eyebrow, making her purple eye gleam in the starlight.

Awenasa could see Ely was surprised at her spirited defiance, the laugh dying on his lips. Clearly this was a bully used to softer prey then Shoanti. Awenasa was not boasting or lying. If she thought she could make it, she would herd these children back into the hills and die defending them. It was only Thak's prone body lying there that gave her pause.

The mine owner seemed to sense this and he squinted hard at Awenasa, in the dim starlight. He coughed and shrugged, "I don't think so. I think we can settle this ourselves, don't you think? Now, these children are my obligation, my workers and under my care. I can't have some stranger take them from me, vanishing off into the desert. Who knows what nefarious end you have ins tore for them." The big man shrugged, "Although I can guess, given where we are. The gnome promised you something? Well, he left you in a lurch, my friend. No one was here, no one to pick them up. Typical gnomeish trick."

He shook his head, jowls wobbling slightly, "No, it is just you. No gnome, no sheriff and no friends. Now, are you going to see sense or are we going to get messy?" he hefted his club, "Because the odds aren't good, one against six."

"You never were good at counting, Piggrich." A high-pitched voice called out. Awenasa looked and saw a short figure sitting on a low garden wall. It was Netuckelist, the gnome dressed in a bright green suit quite out of place with the dusty garden.

Behind him three other figures loomed, the rough looking men Awenasa saw outside the gnome's gambling den. They too were armed with clubs, stepping over the garden walls, crushing the flowers.

"I see four on six." The gnome replied lightly, checking his nails, as if bored at a party. "Five, if I count myself."

Ely looks uncertain for the first time, but recovered quickly. "So, you finally stuck your neck out, gnome? It'll cost you. When this is all over, I'll press charges. Some stranger, who cares, but you? You know these children are mine, by law and right. That is, assuming we don't end things here. Now." Then, with a speed that even startled Awenasa the heavy-set man barked, "Now, taken them. Bo and Grib, take the strange. The rest, take down that gnome!"

For his part he took his club and flung it directly at Awenasa's face, the heavy iron tip catching the dim starlight. Even as it sailed right for the Shoanti the garden broke out into chaotic fighting, men wrestling and pummeling in the dark.

The club is flying right at you but I don't think that will be a problem, glancing at your feats, so I didn't even roll the damage. That is his turn, so you can take your turn.

Like many orphans, Sigmar used to spend a great deal of time out on the streets, avoiding the cold and rather unwelcoming orphanages themselves. The street offered a pleasing alternative, an active, ever changing promenade of people, of things, of life. The young lad did not understand most of what went on out there, but it was at least more interesting. Sigmar used to particularly enjoy watching the fire-eaters that busked on street corners, performing feats of fiery dexterity in exchange for coin. It amused him to see humanoids aping dragons, pretending to match their powers. It was like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs. They reached for what they could never have, what Sigmar knew, deep down, was his birthright. On a more mundane level, he also wondered what it would feel like, to swallow fire without pain. For whatever his draconic blood held, it did not make him immune to fire, a few incidents with candle flames and hot stoves taught him that. How might it be, to eat fire?

That memory came back to Sigmar now, years later in a distant jungle, as his hands touched the glassy stone. It was hot to the touch, but not the mere mellow warmth of sun on rock but instead that of liquid fire. Searing, flowing heat. Yet it did not hurt. His skin could feel the raging inferno inside the great stone, but it did not burn or melt the young dragon. The great carmine column simply radiated power and heat, as if it was the belly of some great beast.

Then the liquid-like heat moved from the stone into him. As if he was pressing his hand into warm syrup, the heat flowed over his fingers and hand, seeping deep into his bones. It moved quickly then, surging up his arm like racing flames, hungry to spread. To grow. Even if Sigmar wanted to pull his hand away, he could not. It was frozen in place, welded to the crimson pillar by that strange arcane power moving through him.

Then, an even bigger surprise. As the power arced into his shoulder with sizzling heat, another spark flickered, another ember of that weirdly unpainful fire. Not front he scarlet wall in front of him, the ornate fragment of draconic power. No, this new source was….inside of Sigmar. Yes, deep in his chest, some sparkle of heat flared, sensing the new fire incoming. Like calling to like. A match calling to a furnace.

The heat from the column rushed down his chest, suffusing the young teenager entirely. A roaring flame that melded with some innate bloodborne coal, creating a potent conflagration that reached every corner of his body. It burned away some hidden shackles, charred ancient barriers, unleashed a wave of potency that, for once, matched his self-regard. Yes, this was he! This power was his by birthright!

And then the fire faded, guttering away like a candle in a breeze. Flared, flickered and died. Yet it left behind a warmth in his chest, a memory of the ancestral bonfire. Something had been sparked there that would not quite, ever, fully turn to ash.

You are now level 4

Knees weak, and vision somewhat blurred by the experience, Sigmar turned to the strange letters on the column. The young monk had never been a great scholar and reading was not his strength. Sigmar could recognize his own name and a few other basic words, but little more. So it was with great surprise when the obscure shapes carved into the gleaming rock revealed themselves as plain as if they were shouting to him.

”All glory and honor to Xalraycrenth, the Doomflame, the Render of Stone, Redmaw, Lord of Ash and Sky, He that brings Life and Death, Despots of all Desposts, ruler of this island and all lands he knows.” There was a great deal in this vein, listing many more titles and epithets that wound around the great pier of rock.

Other sections listed cities, islands, entire regions destroyed by dragon fire and made to swear fealty to Xalraycrenth. A few of these were depicted in small carven images, showing a massive dragon trampling whole armies without noticing, massive wings unfurled to blot out the sky. Other sections discussed the capturing of slaves and servants, brought back to his lair to serve the dragon’s whims. The column mentioned the founding of several cities throughout the islands, outposts of imperial greatness, all overseen by the dragons’ watchful, wrathful eye. The glass-like rock was carved with great skill, or magic, Sigmar could not tell. However it had been made, it had been done too long ago to leave any arcane traces.

Sigmar was still taking this all in, mind and body reeling when a voice finally broke the reverie, ”Who in the hells are you, anyway?”

It was the half-orc, one of the former ambushers who had been waiting by the stone. He was a big muscular man even taller then Sigmar, shirtless chest revealing a large number of nasty scars on the green-tinted skin. The flat nose was squashed flat by multiple breaks and ears mushroomed in that odd way peculiar to boxers or wrestlers. Two large teeth, nearly miniature tusks, poked above his bottom lip, one chipped into a sharp ivory dagger.

From behind Kell, Oyok and the others came up. The tengu looked up at the dragon column and whistled. ”That’s something, and no mistake.” Kell shrugged, ”Just a big rock.”, dismissing the majesty and wonder in four short words.

Kell instead turned his attention to the half-orc, ”You ran all the way back here, Uzhg? What, didn’t have time to dig a hole and hide? Leaving yer mates for dinosaur food is a bad look.” The half-orc grumbled in this throat, a stony, rocky sound as if he was swallowing a small landslide.

”Someone had to bring warning here, if there were more. Did any follow your back trail?” The half-orc asked defensively.

Kell glanced at Arianne, ”Anyone, following us?” The gunslinger, who was staring at Sigmar and then the stone curiously, shook her head absently, eyes locked on the tall teenager.

”Good.” Uzhg growled, ”They have been growing bold lately. I was worried there was a whole party following on. So, who are these? New recruits?”

A snort, ”A jinx-eater, a landsman, a wood toy and a woman.” His chin jutted at each in turn, ”Quite the find.” Vrilu stared coldly at the man, eyes hard as ice chips. The Company woman said nothing but the half-orc’s next sneer died unsaid on his lips.

”Come on, then,” Kell said to the assembly, ”Let’s get up int’ the Fort and talk it over. No need to cover it twice. Everyone will want to know. Perce,” he pointed at one of the others waiting in the shadow of the ruby rock. ’Go ring the bell, call a meet’.” The slender youth jogged up the steep path without a word.

Kell made as if to follow.

The path’s incline increases sharply as the group moves forward, becoming a definite hill. The jungle opens up even further, until Sigmar could be convinced he is strolling through a park. Wide gaps of sky are visible among the treetops now, providing a clear view of the azure sky, although the sun is well into the west by now. The air, while still hot, seems slightly less humid now, and the bugs mercifully are reduced in number. Even the ground feels different under Sigmar’s boots, less of the sucking muddy morass and more like actual soil. It is deep and rich, becoming more black as they venture upward.

Even the path is changing, shifting from a mere trail to a road, wide enough for three men to walk abreast. Under a layer of leaf mold and dirt Sigmar even notes a few old paving stones buried there, the first rock he has seen since visiting Raptor Island. He soon sees more here and there stonework, hidden among the trees. A bit of old wall there, the crumbling remains of a well here. Even to Sigmar’s untrained eye he can see these scattered remains are ancient, weathered by countless storms and summers. Roots crawl over it, wooden fingers sinking deep holds in cracks and crevices. Many of the structures seem overly large, quite out of scale for human habitation.

Other signs of civilization, less mysterious, become more common as the trek wends ever upward. Sigmar can see working gardens among the scattered trees, full of growing crops. They pass an orchard of trees, laden with plump orange fruits, glistening in the sun. At any curve the teenager spots a small pond, complete with fishing dock. Later, a small vineyard of celadon vines, complete with winepress. Clearly Kell and his friends do more than just hunt in the woods for monkeys. This is a full blown agricultural operation, fit for a small town.

Yet, there is something not quite right about it.

A few times Sigmar sees signs of damage. A shack with a burnt roof, a garden trampled to muddy earth, and some little wooden things that seem like hunting blinds but are poorly placed for hunting. But excellently placed for defense. Watchtowers?

The dragon is distracted from his idle musings however, when he catches a strange smell. Not the aggressive reek of the lizard man (thankfully) but something richer more…primal? Sigmar can’t help but sniff as the scent awakens something in him. It is the smell of sulphur and brimstone, of earthly fires. It sings to his blood.

Glancing at Arianne is no help, the mute gunslinger just grins silently. She touches her nose to indicate the smell and then cups her ear as if listening. Then Sigmar hears it too, audible over the drone of insects and call of tropical birds. Running water, somewhere ahead. The gunslinger then urges him forward, catching up to the still trudging Oyok and others. In short order Sigmar then sees it, a small creek that gurgles down along the path, carving out a deep bed. At first it seems quite unremarkable except it stinks like a hot blacksmithy, but then Sigmar looks closer.

It’s boiling.

Steam rises from the crystal clear water, creating small fog banks along the watercourse. Bubbles ripple the surface, hissing as it cascades over rocks and sandbanks, as if a giant has spilled a cauldron the size of a city. Arianne grins at Sigmar’s surprised face and mimes jumping in, then pats her belly with a savage grin.

”Now that is something, lad.” Oyok says from the front, pausing. ’Even I’ve never seen a boiling river before. What’s causing it, Kell?”

The old sailor shrugs, clearly impatient to keep going. ”It comes out of some old cave up the slope. You’ll see. Come on, we are almost there. I saw trail sign a while back that the rest of the lads are waiting up head. Good, we can get ou’ stories straight about this farce before we go in’ town.”

The stream parallels the path, quick and lively over the steep slope. The boiling and hissing does not stop, indeed the water seems to grow ever hotter as they venture upward. The sulfur smell also increases in strength coming not just from the infernal watercourse but from the very ground. The trees fall away even more, giving Sigmar a clearer view of the surrounding area. He is on a steep hill rising out of the jungle. Glancing back he can see it spreading like a green sea behind, rich and dark, full of secrets. And bugs, don’t forget the biting, loud, annoying bugs.

Ahead the hill rises to a rounded, treeless summit of brown dirt, still a mile or so up the road. And it is a road by now, with cracked paving stones and bits of ruined wall along both sides. Sigmar even spots the remains of old gutters along the side, long ago filled with mud and earth. Still, it was once built with care and skill, still being flat and even. More farms here, and small pastures too, a runted flock of white sheep crop at rough grass in the distance.

Just ahead, the road forks into two ways. The larger path curves along the slope of the hill to the west, vanishing into the folds of earth. The stream flows along that way too, merrily bubbling out of sight. The other branch, smaller and more humble, leads straight up the slope, nearly as steep as a ladder. At the fork there is a small group of men, and Sigmar recognizes at least one of them as the other ambushers in the jungle, those that ran when the lizardman and his pet dinosaur attacked. But Sigmar has no eyes for them.

Instead he is staring at the column.

It looms over the fork in the road like a frowning cliff, at least fifty feet tall. It looks like someone took a block of obsidian and stained it with blood. Sharp and gleaming in the dazzling afternoon sun, it seems untouched by erosions of endless years, raw as if it had been freshly chiseled. Even at this distance Sigmar can see it is covered in writing and artwork, reliefs carved right into the crimson stone. This would normally only be marginally interesting except for one thing.

Taking up a full one third of the pillar, visible even at this distance, is a massive carved dragon, body sinuously curled around the huge stone. A dragon as red as the dying sun setting into the sea.

As they trudged forward, away from the small river, Sigmar noted that the ground was slowly rising under his feet. It was not much of an incline yet, but there were on a definite slope. The jungle was changing too, becoming slightly more open, the trees slightly more spread out. Here and there an actual clearing appeared, revealing the sky instead of the suffocating ceiling of branches and leaves. Sigmar might even have glanced the sun, if the blasted rainstorm would let up. So far, it did not and the rain continued sheeting down with reckless abandon.

Kell had led them to a small path that wound forward, part game trail, part human footpath. Along it Sigmar noted some signs of civilization. Here and there he spotted the remains of a hut or tent, even if long rotted and ruined. Once or twice he even spotted what must have been a garden, with low walls, long overgrown into a wild riot of undergrowth plants. Clearly, at one time, someone had lived here or at last worked the land. The frog people? Those weird lizard people? Kell and his ilk? Who knew.

In any case, it had been a long time since the jungle reclaimed this area.

Sigmar turned from his surroundings to his new traveling partner. He unleashed a hose of questions at Arianne which seemed to surprise the short, blonde woman. Perhaps the mute was not used to being the chosen companion of newcomers. Still, she didn't seem to mind when Sigmar fell into stride beside her.

The woman answered Sigmar’s last question first. From her pack she drew out the rusty fetters Kell had suggested Sigmar wear. The metal clinked evilly as the woman handled it, and mimed breaking the chains. Placing it on herself she shook her head negatively, mimed placing it on Sigmar and again pretended to break them. Then she shrugged and put the fetters back in the bag with a jangled clang.

When Sigmar expresses his delight in the dinosaurs Arianne gives him a surprised look and then, to his shock, starts to laugh. Well, Sigmar thinks it is a laugh, it sounds more like a fish gasping for air on land, but there is obvious merriment on the woman’s face. Her eyes light up and she grabs his shoulder, squeezing it, as if she has finally found, at long last, a kindred spirit. At the question of more though she nods her head firmly and spreads her arms wide. She mimes wide mouths and many teeth, fingers serving as incisors. Several times she spreads her arms dramatically open during this little pantomime.

They are crossing through a thicket of close growing trees when Arianna suddenly stops and places a callused hand on Sigmar’s chest to halt him. With a smile she places a finger to her lips and points upward. About twenty feet above them, a small monkey is watching them. Despite being black and white, it is well hidden, Sigmar hadn’t noticed it. At his side, Arianne pulls out a pair of bolas from her waist. The corded balls clink slightly as she draws them and the monkey, spooked, pelts for cover.

The woman is faster though and with a blurring motion whips the bolas upward into the branches. Unerringly it finds the mark, hitting the jumping monkey square on, the cords wrapping around the small creature. It topples out of the tree, slamming into the ground with a wet splat of mud and fallen leaves. Arianne bounds over to it, moving lightly over the rainforest floor of fallen branches and mudslicks. From somewhere she has drawn a gleaming knife and it shines in her hand like a dirty icicle. Before the stunned creature can free itself the woman is on top of it, plunging the blade into the animal. It stops struggling, going limp instantly.

The rest of the group stops at the disturbance. Kell, from the front frowns, ”Arianne! This isn’t time for huntin’. We got to get a move on. ‘Sides, monkey tastes like dirt anyway.”

The gunslinger shrugs and makes to drop the dead animal back into the mud. Kell rolls his eyes and says, ”Fine, fine. Bring it. Maybe our new guests like it.”

Oyok shakes his head and Vrilu remains unmoved by the jab. Arianne gathers up the bolas, the monkey and takes places back besides Sigmar. Again they move out, the ground growing steeper. As suddenly as it started the rain stops., like a child crimping a hose. The air remains humid and hot however, as if the heat is eager to reclaim its pride of place as the main source of torment. The world becomes a dripping, steaming mess.

Awenasa was frustrated. She knew half a dozen bird calls/signals among her own people, everything from 'all is well' to 'ambush ahead, retreat'. She could whistle them so well that sometimes even the birds themselves were confused, and many Shoanti could tell of puzzled birds landing on a scout's head. But here? Who knew what Netucklist's men might expect?

She pursed her lips and was about to signal when she heard a cough. Awenasa turned and her heart sank. From behind a small wooden shed, human figures emerged into the dim starlight. Half a dozen men, some of them quite large, fanned out in a semi-circle toward Awenasa and the others.

At the center was a heavy-set man with wide arms and legs. He had the look of a once strong person gone to flabby seed, from a life of ease. His balding head glinted in the cold light, spotted as chicken's egg. Ruddy jowls perched above a neatly trimmed beard, poorly hiding a thick double chin. In one big fist, a heavy nasty club rested.

The other men mostly carried such weapons too, a collection of hammers, clubs and a few axes. No armor or thundersticks though.

"You took Deadman's Slot!" The burly man said with surprise and a touch of admiration. "They said it was death to try, but I wagered you were a wily one. Clearly my bet was right. I should go and visit the gnome's tables while my luck is hot." Some of the other men laugh.

"Ah, but I should introduce myself." The man went on, ignoring his lackey's amusement. "I am Ely Piggrich and you have stolen some of my property." He pointed his club at the mass of children, who were frozen into silence. They gazed in terror at the man as if he were a demon made flesh.

'Don't deny it." Ely went on, easily, "I have an informant."He nodded a head at another of his men. At the signal a heavy bag was tossed onto the ground at Ely's feet. In a moment Awenasa saw it was not a bag, but a man, bound hand and foot. A rough mining sack was over his head, but there was no doubting the fine robes and reddish skin. Thak.

"Oh, he's not dead." Ely said, seeing Awenasa's face. "At least, not yet. He was the one that told me your plan. I must admit, for a foreigner, he was a tough nut to crack. Too most of the day until he started seeing sense." Piggrich gave the limp figure a small kick. "Still, all's well in the end. I didn't know how you'd get here, but I knew the garden was the pick-up place. It's easy to catch a snake if you know it's hole..." The mining man's voice trailed off, spotting something behind Awenasa.

"Euler? Why you old fox. I thought you were smarter then taking up with this one. What are you doing here?"

"Ah, sir, I-" Euler stammered but Ely cut him off.

"Never mind, later. First, I have to deal with this thief, then you will get your turn." Ely turned his dark eyes back on Awenasa, "You stole from me. Is such thievery allowed where you are from? Or are you a lawless bandit even by the standards of your own home? Sneaking around in the dark, attacking honest working men at their posts. Why, I should tell the sheriff on you!" More coarse laughter from the others.

Oyok shakes his head when Sigmar comments on the escaped lizard man. "No idea, lad. I've never seen the like of it. It was no lizardfolk or kobold. At least it turned tail and ran, I figured it was a wizard of some sort. Maybe a druid? I'd hate to have seen him turn you into a statue or something." He lets out a hoot of laughter, the tengu's feathers wicking away the rain better then Sigmar's own sodden clothes. The guide seemed in decent spirits, despite the rain and dinosaur attack.

"As for your second question," Oyok said, "I was being held by these fine fellows." He gestures toward the rangy man and the woman holding the magical staff incorrectly. The jungle guide goes on, half speaking to Sigmar and half to the two others, "Who, I should note, promised not to hurt me or my crew." He nudged the fetters with a taloned foot. "Slave chains? That is not very kind."

The man wearing the sailor uniform spat on the ground, clearly embarrassed and annoyed "I dinne hurt no one, just playin' it safe. Look at 'im!" He pointed a callused hand at Sigmar, "Who knows what he might 'av tried. The chains were just a...precaution. You have to be wary with strangers."

Oyok shook his head, "So you said, when you put that bag over my head."

The man shrugged and went on, "Well, all behind the stern now. Us bein' allies and summat, yes?" He poked the dead lizard with a bare foot. "My name is Kell and this Arianne. " The woman holding the staff bared her teeth in a feral grin. "Don't mind her, she's a mute but enjoys fighting things. And that is not a staff, it's a gun." he says this last like someone explaining primary colors to a child. "it's what put that hole in the dinosaur there."

Another nudge of the dead beast. "So, you didn't say. What are you doing here? What outfit you with?"

"The Gold Crown Shipping and Mining Company." A female voice thundered from behind Sigmar. Glancing he saw Vrilu striding into the jungle clearing, like a manager into a boardroom. Her heavy cloak swept over the muddy ground, barely disturbing the leaves. The wood golem, having stood still during the entire fight, stirred slightly.

Ignoring it, Vrilu turned on the two intruders, her face the usual unreadable mask. "I am here on behalf of the Company, fully chartered as agent of the Company in these waters and on this island. Behind me stands millions of Taldan crowns, small armies of mercenaries and a fleet capable of blockading Port Peril. My mission is to find Orsen Griet, and take him alive. Will you aid me or thwart me?"

Kell and Arianne stared in stunned silence following this declaration, a tableau only broken as the wood golem took up it's usual place just behind the Company woman. The rain kept falling, a never ending torrent from above.

Finally Kell said, "Griet? Aye, I know the name, but we need to get a move on. The raider won't be alone. He'll bring friends, soon 'nough. More then even yer young warrior here can handle." He indicated Sigmar again, with a dismissive wave.

"We have a hard hike back to Fort Holiday from here. You folks game for it? Either that or we go our separate ways, and ye risk your chance with the raiders."

Vrilu only paused a moment before answering, "We will follow. Master Guide," She turned to Oyok, "Make the arrangements."

The arrangements were made. The way to the settlement was apparently by land from this point, the river branch quickly become too small and rocky for a boat. Oyok managed to spilt the gear and supplies, leaving some behind in a cache by the riverside, hidden in a deep drift of leaves, which is where he also hid the boat. Sigmar was surprised at how well the vessel blended into the undergrowth. The young dragon also noted Oyok did not let Kell or the woman come with them, leaving them behind in the clearing.

"Let's keep this little secret between us, lad." he winked at Sigmar. Then his face feel, "Now the bad part. We have to lug all this." He waved at the assembled supplies left over. "Hopefully the golem can handle some of it."

Soon they were ready to go off, Kell in the lead with Oyok at his side. Then Vrilu and the wood golem, the woman (of course) not carrying anything except the small pack that never left her side. Behind was the woman, Arianne, still carrying that staff thing. Without a word they tramped off into the dripping, sodden jungle.

Who do you march with? Please tell me, the mute.

Sigmar raised both his clenched fists into the air, like a man wielding a sledgehammer. In a blur he brought them both down with thunderous force, right into the head of the great beast, one above each eye. When they hit, the sound of cracking bone fills the rainforest clearing, just audible above the endless drumming rain. The lizard beast gives a shuddering whine then slumps over into the mud, legs splaying wildly.

Sigamr stands over it, dripping wet and triumphant. Still, the dinosaur seems smaller now, lying dead at his feet. The green hide is slathered with mud and dead leaves, a gaping wound in it's side still ooze blood. The red sail is limp now, looking more like a wilted bit of lettuce then anything else, apart from the color. He had expected...more, from a dinosaur.

Maybe they got bigger?

Combat over

Oyok sticks his head over the log, "You win, lad? And all in one piece?"

Before Sigmar can answer two figured emerge from the jungle behind him. One is the short woman he glanced before, the one carrying the long metal weapon. Judging from his soot stained hands and face, Sigmar guessed it was this thing that had blasted the dinosaur. What did they call those things again? Gones? Gums? Whatever it was, she pointed it right at Sigmar.

The other is a rough looking man of middle-years, with a scruffy beard and wearing the tattered remains of a sailor's uniform. He had a rusty sword in one hand, as he stalked through the leaf litter, shoeless feet churning the brown mud into soup.

"And who the hells are you?" He asked and Sigmar recognized the voice that had asked him to put slave fetters on. Considering now one mentioned the metal implements (that still sat in the mud close at hand), Sigmar wondered if this was better or worse.

Oyok came from behind his log, bow still in hand, "Not a very polite way to talk to someone who just saved your life, you know. Could start with thank you." The scruffy looking man just scowled, rain dripping over his face.

"I knew you'd be trouble, soon as I looked at you." he says to Sigmar, sounding more annoyed and defeated then anything else.

Heal, Untrained: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (15) + 0 = 15
Survival: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (5) + 10 = 15

Not bad!

The other nod at her orders but Euler gives her some grim news, "It only had one shot, Awenasa. I think it was a signal flare of some kind. We just got lucky it did so much damage. It won't work again."

Still, the rest of her plan goes ahead. Euler takes point, leading the children down the narrow, rocky slot. Perey is behind them, keeping the group tight and moving quickly. Awenasa pauses a moment to bind her wounds. She can't afford blood loss and besides, the last thing she wants to do is attract more scavengers. Did this place have wolves? Well, surely it had something like them.

Her quick bandage works fairly well to staunch the flow, turning the drip to a slow ooze. Still, she can spell the coppery tang of her own blood and if she can, many animals could. Glancing up at the ooze, which was slowly descending, she follows after the group.

This might have been the hardest part of the whole expedition. Wounded, exhausted and hunted, Awenasa struggled on down the path. She finds that, in her current state, she has a hard time keeping their pace. On one hand this is good, and shows Euler is leading them quickly. On the other hand, it makes each step a fresh torment of pain and suffering. Her wounds burn, and her muscles ache. The air, despite seemingly so warm before, starts to chill her, prickling her bare skin. Awenasa knows this is not the weather, but her body. While her will drives her on, her fragile body is starting to give out.

But she cannot stop. She will not stop. Gritting her teeth and ignoring the fire of her hurts, she stumbles on.

The only saving grace is the ooze is slow, barely able to keep pace. It slides along the wall, slowly angling downward toward the canyon floor. As it inches ever closer, Awenasa can hear that sickening slurping noise grow louder and louder.

Down and down the canyon trail runs, steeper then ever. Soon Awenasa is working hard not only to keep up, but not trip. A few of the children do, but they bounce to their feet with the vigor of youth and promise of freedom. Euler is lost in the darkness ahead but they hardly need a guide now. There is nowhere to go except onward, ever onward.

Awenasa's feet feel like lead, each step feeling impossible. How much farther did they have to go? How far could they go? Did this night ever end? Behind, the ooze slips closer, softly sucking on rock as it gains. She could not escape, she could fall here and be devoured by this foul thing. All would be lost and-

Suddenly, the canyon wall falls away. Awenasa staggers out of the narrow notch and finds herself on flat empty ground. Behind her, like a dark archway, the path run uphill. The ooze stops at the threshold, slimy tendrils digging into the rusty ground. It wavers for a moment then slowly retreats back into the darkness. Mindless it might be, but it clearly has a favored territory.

Awenasa looks ahead. The flat space is dominated by a low stone building, looking to her eyes like a barn. Around it low stone walls contain....well, a welcome sight. The first green plants she has seen in a long time. Carefully tended rows of greenery, vines and bushes, flowers and fronds. This must be the garden Netucklist said was the meeting place.

She sees no one else at the moment though. Still, they had made it, in one piece.

Euler is clearly in some sort of shock, and Awenasa has to fairly manhandle him down the rugged path. Luckily she is both bigger and stronger then the miner, so the Shoanti manages. She glances back at the gigantic spider, which is still burning. The thunderstick weapon seemed quite potent, almost dangerously so. How was Ely's scout supposed to use it without immolating themselves?

In any case, it bought them time. With Awenasa chivvying Euler, they hurry after Perey and the children. To her growing concern, Awenasa leaves behind a spotted blood trail, red spots on the rusty ground. Quite apart from the obvious danger to her health, Awenasa knows blood draws predators like nothing else in the wild. It was as if she had a giant flashing sign that said 'Easy prey, over here'.

Her only hope was that the giant spider was formidable enough that it's hunting range was free of other predators. What other beast would dare challenge it in its home canyon? She did not want to find out.

Around a bend she almost runs smack into Perey. The pale man, still gripping the walking stick like grim death, seems to have been heading back up the path. Had he been headed back for her? And daring to take on the spider?

He looks both shocked and relived to see Awenasa and Euler alive. In the darkness beyond the children huddle in a group, close to a rocky cliff.

"You made it!" he says and reaches for his back. "Here, drink this, it was the other healing potion from that cache." he presses a smooth glass bottle into Awenasa's hands.

Healing: 2d8 + 5 ⇒ (2, 6) + 5 = 13

"So, we venture onward?" Perey and Euler say at almost the same time. Clearly no one wants to hang around here. Out of sight, the spider can see be heard to hiss and gurgle. Might it take up a chase?

Awenasa perception: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (1) + 14 = 15
?: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (4) - 1 = 3

Even as Awenasa is about to answer she hears something above them. A soft, slupring sound. Glancing up she spots, high up on the rocky wall a dark shape, clinging to the stone. Not a humanoid shape, more like a blob. She would have guessed some moss or a bush except it is slowly crawling downward toward them.

"Ooze!" Euler says, looking up. "Scavengers, they live out here in the rocks. Probably used to cleaning up after the spider. Do we run or fight? They aren't very fast but they never give up a chase. Too dumb, I think." The miner looks down at Awenasa's blood trail. "They are drawn by the blood."

Distracted by the memory of the horrible burning smell, one blow goes wide, missing the blunt head entirely. The other landed solidly however, hitting the beast just above one greenish eye. Sigmar felt the orbital bone crack under his hand as it hit. Not bad.

Meanwhile Oyok popped up from from behind the log, now armed with an arrow. He draws it back, aims carefully and lets fly not at the roaring dinosaur, but the whip-wielding lizard man among the trees.

bow: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12

It goes wide, but Sigmar once again approves of his feathery friend. Oyok can have the lizard-man if he wants, this 'dinosaur' is his. No one is about to steal this fight from-

Ambushers

Suddenly a thundering crack of doom fills the rainforest clearing, for an instant, silencing the roars of the monster, the beat of the rain and even Sigmar's racing heart. A black cloud of smoke bellows from the treeline, thick with the spicy smell of burning....something. Sigmar's already battered nose twitches in disgust even as his ears ache from the crash. What was that.....

Damage: 1d12 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13

To his horror however, a gaping wound erupts on the reptile's side, punching right through the scaly hide. Blood oozes from the torn injury, and a hint of white ribcage slides into view, under bloody muscle. The dinosaur gives a high-pitched whine, back sail shivering in obvious pain.

His fight! What had they done to his fight?! His single combat...

Monster turn

The dinosaur however, did not retreat. Clearly willing to fight on, either through training or animalistic rage, it once again snapped at Sigmar's chest.

Dinosaur bite: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14

Once again it missed, this time by a wider margin. Blood continued to ooze from the beast's new wound, clearly sapping it's energy. Behind it the lizard man gave a hissing snarl and then vanishes among the looming forest trees.

Your turn

Ugh, bad rolls

"Thunder...oh, the gun!" Euler says, clearly startled by Awenasa's command. Still, despite his obvious horror and shock over the giant spider, the miner starts digging in his pack. Awenasa inwardly groans. They were entering a dangerous area and he didn't have the weapon ready?!

Awenasa waits a few heartbeats but nothing happens. behind her Perey has the children in a pack, barely managing to hold them together. The spider gurgles and starts to ease forward, down onto the main path. She can wait no longer. If she does, either the children will break and run into the darkness, or the spider will totally block the way.

She will have to go alone.

Awenasa jumps at the spider again, trying a new angle. The tricky footing betrays her however, and she makes no meaningful contact. Her blows rain harmlessly off the spider's tough and slippery hide. Behind her Perey rushes the children through the gap. Even as the spider bears down on her, she feels some relief. They will get through, Perey will get them to safety.

Spider Attack: 1d20 + 17 ⇒ (2) + 17 = 19
Spider Attack: 1d20 + 17 ⇒ (2) + 17 = 19
Damage: 2d6 + 6 ⇒ (5, 3) + 6 = 14
Damage: 2d6 + 6 ⇒ (5, 1) + 6 = 12

The spider lashes out with two heavy clawed feet, both which find their mark. One of them, instead of merely ripping her flesh slams into her, trying to knock her down.

Trip: 1d20 + 21 ⇒ (18) + 21 = 39

It succeeds, and Awenasa is thrown onto the rocky ground. She hits hard, seeing stars mixed with the real stars overhead. The spider looms over her and she feels a strange thrill. She was beaten, the spider had overmastered her. Awenasa Windkeeper would die here, so far from home. So far from her goal. A sad end? Or a worthy one? What would her ancestors say when she met them in the next life?

What would Makayda say?

She looked up at the greenish eyes of the hungering beast and realized she would know very soon.

There there was a thundering boom and flash, as if a lighting storm had rolled into the canyon, except it is a searing unnatural blue. For a moment Awenasa is blinded by the sheer intensity, eyes closing automatically. From somewhere she can hear roaring, thrashing and...burning. A stench of sizzling flesh fills her nose.

Gun Damage: 1d10 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10
Fire Damage: 1d6 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10

She forces her eyes open and sees the spider is still over her. But it is rearing back, legs raised to protect it's vulnerable eyes. It's head was coated in some kind of clinging fire, orange flames burning merry and bright. The spider thrashed wildly, rocks and gravel flying. The slime on it's bulk hissed and bubbled, like a stew left on the pot too long. Turning her head, she glanced back to see Euler standing in the path, holding the smoking 'gun' in his hands, clearly shocked at the damage.

Perey and the children were nowhere to be seen, having hurried down the path out of sight.

There was a hiss of steam as the flaming burst sizzled in the humid air. Still, the magical inferno seemed undaunted as it enveloped the scaly beast in a orange ball. Sodden leaves caught fire and mud bubbled like old soup. The creature, for a moment, was lost from sight, hidden in the fire.

Reflex Save: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20

It shook it's bulky body, the sail waving like a giant fan and, to Sigmar's displeasure, putting out quite a bit of the fire. Disappointing, but on the other hand, he didn't want it to be too easy.

Ambushers/crowd action

Around Sigmar, everyone else is running. The monk doesn't have time to count, but there seems to be at least half a dozen folks weaving among the tree trunks and jumping puddles. Six and they all ran? Maybe he could have just beaten them, if it came to a fight.

Most were humans although Sigmar spotted one hefty half-orc dressed in battered rags and worn clothes. Some carried weapons, although nothing more imposing then a spiked club or spear. Except for one woman carrying a long metal ...something.

Anyway, some started to vanish into the greenish gloom of the undergrowth, ignoring Sigamr's fight. From around the huge log though, one figure did not run. A feathery, familiar figure.

Oyok blinked, turning his stare from Sigmar, to the reptile and back. He let out a whistle, "I guess we don't run, lad?" With that the tengu ranger dove back behind the log, probably to grab his bow.

Animal turn

The (surely) dinosaur locked eyes with Sigmar and gave another rumbling growl. Heavy feet dig into the muddy forest floor, churning up clods as it rushes forward. The lumbering creature is faster then Sigmar expected, and in a moment it is on him. The blunt jaws gape wide as they snap at Sigmar's (rather awesome) abdomen. For a second the dragon is staring right down the hot gullet of the creature, a pit of greenish-black skin and white teeth.

Reptile bite: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18

It misses, slipping on a patch of mud at the last instant. The mouth snaps on empty air, teeth clashing painfully. The beast seems frustrated, and the tail thrashes a nearby bush to shreds.

Behind the lizard-like creature has not moved forward, still standing just at the edge of the small clearing. It raises one hand though and flicks out the whip. Not at Sigmar (who is too far away anyway) but at the reptile. The whip slashes the beast's tail, leaving a red welt. The lizard-man barks something in a horrible, hissing language.

And then Sigmar is hits with the absolute worst smell of his life. Not a real smell, not something off the huge dinosaur or even the lizard-man. It is a memory, welling up, as if summoned by magic.

Which, after all, it might be.

Please make a Will Save and, just to be sure, a Fort save. Your turn, the dinosaur is right next to you, lizard dude farther back. Most of the ambushers are running away, at least as far as you can tell.

"Yeah, sure." The voice says sarcastically, still hiding. "Sure, no weapon but a fine, strapping lad like you? I bet you are a danger even without a blade. I'd rather not have to wrestle you, if I want to talk."

A pause, "Put this one and then we can chat about how friendly we all are." From behind a tree, an object is flung toward him. With a metallic jangle it lands a few feet away from him, sending up a small spout of watery mud and leaves. Sigmar glances at it and sees it is a set of slave fetters. They were rusted and coated with mud, but quite whole.

The young monk has seen such before, gangs of prisoners shuffling along, bound hand and foot. The metal manacles make it impossible for a person to run, stretch their arms or even rise to their full height. If Sigmar was to put this one, he would be hobbled totally...unless he broke them. And what of the wood golem? If he refused, would Oyok be hurt?

Sigmar was still pondering this puzzle when he heard a strange bird call from the jungle ahead of him. Loud and low, a shriek of alarm. Some rainforest avian had just gotten eaten, probably. Bad luck all around then?

But then, to his surprise, he heard a rustle from his interlocutor and a curse, "What? No, not now-"

Suddenly a bunch of undergrowth exploded outward, and a large, low shape loomed out of the greenish murk of the jungle, like a fish surfacing from unknown marine depths.

"Run!" His ambusher shouted, throwing all caution to the wind, "Raider! " Around him Sigmar caught glimpses of people running, breaking cover but he only had eyes for the new intruder. A large reptilian shape....could it be? Dare he hope?

It was like someone took a crocodile, gave it longer legs and a blunter head. Thick green scales covered it from head to tail, gleaming with fallen rain. More unusual it had a massive sail on its back, skin streched over bony spines, red as blood. The mouth lolled open, revealing rows of sharp teeth and a black tongue. To Sigmar's delight the horse sized beast let out a guttural, growling roar that echoed in the rainy jungle.

Yes! This must be a dinosaur! It was a bit small maybe but hey, it as something!

Barely noticed, off to the side, was a small humanoid figure. Well, not quite humanoid. Sigmar had seen kobolds once and this reminded him of those little creatures. Lizard like but...more powerful. The limbs were thicker, the head larger and the jaws far more developed. The figure was wearing bone armor, which included a blood-red headdress. In one hand it held a wooden staff, in the other a ragged whip. With dark eyes surveyed the chaotic clearing.

I'm going to take a stab here and say you fight ro at least take some action. But if you want to run, go ahead

Initiative Sigmar: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24
Reptile: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15
Ambushers: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18

Your choice, the reptile is 25 feet away, emerging from the jungle

To Sigmar's surprise, when he expresses concern about Oyok, Vrilu nods in agreement. "It is unlike the tracker to leave us waiting. It does not fit." Her voice is barely audible over the thundering tattoo of the drumming rainstorm. "I do not like things that do not fit."

Raising her voice, "But we cannot all go. He may return, and it would do no good for us to all be lost." She pauses to think for a brief second (in which Sigmar almost bolts for the trees in impatience) and then says, "Take the golem with you. The tracker may need to be carried. I will remain here, in case he arrives before. Do not go long. If you do not find him quickly, return and we can plan some more."

Interestingly, Sigmar gets the feeling Vrilu is not staying behind because she is a coward or weak. In fact, he gets the feeling her reasons are the opposite. Clearly the Company woman is not worried about facing Trouble alone. Interesting.

Still, Sigmar had no time to ponder such things. Oyok could be in trouble and even more important, he might get to fight something! With the wood golem following closely behind, Sigmar left the small space under the trees and ventured into the sodden jungle.

It hadn't occurred to him before, but the dragon realized suddenly this was his first time really in the rainforest. So far his time was either on the open beach or on the rolling river. Even his brief spell in the abandoned village had been under a fairly open sky. Now he was submerged in the jungle itself, a stygian world of mud and fallen leaves.

Sigmar was surprised at how gloomy it was, at how little sunlight trickled through the dense canopy high, high overhead. The close, humid air pressed in on him with an unwholesome heat, like the breath of a feverish lover. The air reeked of rotten wood and overripe fruit, filling nose.

The entire world seemed soaked through, the mud squelching loudly under his boots. Tumbled piles of fallen branches frequently blocked the way, stacked higher then Sigmar was tall. Brightly hued mushrooms grew here a splash of color in otherwise muted world of browns. There were fewer plants then he expected, apparently deprived of sunlight. Instead, it was an endless procession of bare tree trunks, standing like solemn temple pillars, rising out of the leaf mold. Writhing roots, some thicker then Sigmar's torso, thrust into the earth, buttressing the living towers overhead.

It wasn't quiet as a temple though, the roaring downpour overhead created a literal waterfall of noise as water beat on leaves, branches and tree trunks. Here and there streams of water flowed down, creating muddy pools among the roots. It was slow going.

Sigmar did not even know what he was looking for. Did he expect to find Oyok lost among the tree roots? Snatched by some animal? Driven mad by some jungle magic? He had no idea how to find a trail....

Then, out of the seemingly empty area around him-

"Hold up, there!" A rough , male voice shouted in Common. Not Oyok's musical tones, that was for sure. "We have you covered, friend." the voice drawled on, "And we have your bird friend. One rat at a time, eh?"

Stealth: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8

Sigmar looked around and saw a figure, half-hidden behind a fallen log dead ahead. The huge trunk, well over ten feet wide, offered excellent cover, but Sigmar could make out a bit of muddy leg and waist through a crack in the wood. Someone was hiding there.

"Now, are you going to be smart, like your friend, and come quietly?" To Sigmar's unease, the voice was not coming from the fallen tree trunk, but off to his right, from a close thicket of younger, thinner trees. Clearly more then one ambusher.

"Or are we going to have to make you quiet in other ways?" The voice added with a growl.

Oyok shook his head, 'Smart people stay away from dangerous things, lad. Like dinosaurs and Company women." The tengu looked around the little clearing and sighed, "Wake me for my turn."

The watch goes by uneventfully, with no visits from wandering treants or hungry leopards or unquiet dead. Frankly, it was a bit disappointing for the young dragon monk. The eagle and the crabs had been all right but that had been hours ago! Sigmar had little to report when he woke Oyok for his turn.

Sigmar had few dreams that night, sleeping deep and well. This was good because the next day was a living hell.

Oh, it some ways it was much the same as before. Tediously paddling the heavy boat upstream, biting insects, treacherous sand bars midstream. It was the weather. While the jungle air was still stifling hot, the day was punctuated by soaking rainstorms that drenched everyone and everything. It was as if someone was dumping a bucket of warm water over Sigmar's head...for hours.

Please make a perception and a fort save

Sigmar, bent to his task, barely noticed when they reached the river fork the tracking signs had promised. The branch left, supposedly towards the settlement was a smaller but faster stream, the water clearer then the brownish sludge he had grown used to. The main branch led on, deeper into thick jungle. After a final glance at Vrilu, Oyok led them up the smaller stream.

The tempest made the river even more unruly, with the water surging as the day went on. Since they were fighting the current, it meant the already hard task became steadily more impossible until finally, late in the second day even Oyok had to call a halt. They were simply out of energy, having fought the tide all day.

The tengu, shaking water out of his feathers, led them to a patch of overhanging trees whose leaves were bigger then Sigmar's head. The overlapping canopy kept out most of the water, although the resultant drumming was nearly deafening. Still, it did provide a somewhat adequate shelter, a patch of ground among the smooth-skinned tree trunks.

Vrilu had been silent most of the day, withdrawing into her icy shell once more. Her robe was soaked, of course, probably heavy to drown her if she had tumbled into the coursing river.

As camp was slowly assembled, Oyok said, "I'll take a look around. Itw as hard to see anything from the river. Let's make sure there is nothing else in this grove." Silently the tengu slipped out into the garish undergrowth, vanishing between the oversized leaves with ease.

Time passed. And the tengu did not return.

Oyok whistled lowly and was obviously about to reply when he was interrupted by a voice from behind both of them.

"Now, this is an interesting conversation." Sigmar turned to see Vrilu standing only two paces back, wreathed in the gloomy shadows of the late twilight. Just visible behind her was the wood golem, steadily putting together the tent and sleeping places. Above, a few brighter stars were winking into sight.

"I particularly enjoyed the part where you suggested information be withheld from me."

Oyok let out an quick cough, "The lad was just joking-"

"No need to defend him, Master Tracker," Vrilu said, "Frankly, it is perhaps most interesting thing he has said on this whole journey. Hidden depths maybe, in our friend." Indeed her voice was a bit warmer then usual and she appraised Sigmar thoughtfully for a moment.

"But for now, I wish to continue his other line of thought. You is your domain, so to speak. Which avenue do you wish to peruse?"

Oyok shrugged, bright eyes glinting like stars in the dark. "The settlement, I think. Unlike the lad here, I had no taste for unknown danger. The settlement, if it still exists, can give us information on the way ahead. Also might give us news of Orsen." It took Sigmar a few seconds to remember Orsen was the name of that dwarf fellow they were after.

"Or, if we are lucky, the dwarf could be at this settlement. You knew him, ma'am, was he the social type?"

Vrilu pursed her lips, "I did not know him well but I gathered he was a loner. I was informed by my patron that Griet would prove....difficult to find. Still, perhaps he at least passed through. We shall try the settlement. Do the markings indicate how far? "

Oyok glanced back at them, just black shapes in the darkness now. "Tomorrow, if things go well. Two days, more likely, since we do not know the river. Again, assuming it is still there. The marks are old."

Vrilu nodded, "Even ruins may tell us something." She shrugged and added, "I will retire. Oyok, give our intrepid schemer here first watch, I think he needs to ponder the wisdom of conspiracies." A frosty smile at Sigmar and then she turned, cloak swirling in the hot, humid air. Did the woman ever sweat?

oyok let out a shaky sigh and turned to Sigmar, "I'd tell you to be careful, lad, but I think that advice might do over your head. Still, I think the lady has her eye on you. A dangerous spot. I'd fancy another bout with the crabs before the Company woman taking an interest in my affairs."

A choice between the icy Company Woman or exploring an interesting site with Oyok? Not a choice at all!

In a few moment he has caught up to the tengu ranger, and looks around.

The area around the dead tree is clearly frequently visited, with bare earth surrounded the base. Undergrowth has been cleared away, and there are clear signs of campsites here, with firepits and small piles of refuse. Most of it looks quite old though, years ago to Sigmar's untrained eyes.

The tree trunk itself is even bigger up close, a vast column of dead wood soaring hundreds of feet into the air. Old gnarled roots sink into the muddy river bank, holding it fast through a countless floods and storms, even if long dead. Most of the branches have fallen off, leaving it oddly angular and bare.

The bark has been removed at eye height, covered in many scrawlings and scratchings. Most of it looks quite old, dug deep into the wood with axe or knife. Sigamr sees a few words in Common and a few names, but most of the rest is seems to be random shapes.

Seeing his interest, Oyok says, "Trail sign. It's like a secret code, lad, used all through the Shackles. Quicker and easier then words, and hidden from unknowing eyes. Usually advice for other folks. Where food is, or marking a bad water source. What might this one say..." The ranger peers at the wood, the light around them failing. Somewhere a monkey screams at the incoming nightfall. A fish jumps with a loud splash.

"Hmm, interesting." The tengu says, tapping his beak with a claw.

"Directions, Sigmar, my lad." He adds, finally, "Directions to two places. This sign here," he points to a funny looking square with a triangle above it. "Says there is a settlement if we take the left branch of the river. An old sign, very old."

He points to another shape, jagged lines in sequence. "This one says there is danger on the main route. It's not marked what kind, and it is much newer. Something underground maybe...earthquakes?." He taps the dead wood with a hand, indicating a streach of carvings. "And some of this is clearly...something but I don't recognize it."

"What do you think , lad?" Oyok whistles, "Backward settlement or unknown danger. Which will our boss prefer, you think?"

Sigmar felt...good. Well, apart from the lingering pain in his shoulder, the soreness of his worn muscles and the blazing heat from the sun. That was all minor stuff because the young dragon monk felt like a million gold nobles. He had faced down that eagle and won in a single punch! It was like a rigged boxing match except it wasn't rigged!

Some of his elation leaks away when he spots Vrilu looking as stern and cold as ever. Not only unmoved by his (rather impressive) demonstration, but actively annoyed by it. By the Gods, what did the woman want?

"If you are quite finished," She shouts over the ripple and swash of the river, "We have a job to do."

At his side, Oyok gives a musical whistle, something like an avian sigh.

"Thanks," The tengu says to Sigmar, "For help with the crabs. Still, lad, maybe go easy on the flames next time? Not everyone has tough hide like yours, it's going to take me weeks to grow those pinfeathers back."

The rest of the portage is uneventful, with Sigmar and Oyok finding deeper water upstream. They tie the boat there and laboriously carry the supplies over the rocks. The wood golem carries Vrilu, which is probably best for all involved. Sigmar notes the woman would enjoy him carrying her over the brown rapids.

They began laboring upstream again, but only for a few hours before the sun starts to set in the west. Already it is long gone behind the trees, casting vast green shadows across the river. The night crew of biting insects is starting to emerge when Oyok calls a halt.

Vrilu, impatient as ever, remarks, "We still have some daylight left."

The tengu guide shakes his head, pointing, "Look at that old snag." Ahead, a massive dead jungle tree leans over the river. Once a mighty monarch of the canopy, it has probably been standing dead for centuries. The bark is long gone, revealing smooth light brown wood, hanging over the water.

"There are signs there. Besides, it is a good place to spend the night." After they get the boat to a safe spot, Oyok goes to investigate the tree, leaving Sigmar with Vrilu and the wood golem to make camp.

Above the eagle reached the apogee of the upward swoop, a black blot against the blazing blue sky. It turned back toward Sigamr and Oyok, wings flaring wide for a moment as it banked, letting out a shrill cry. Then it folded those massive wings and dropped like a bolt out of the blue, hurtling downward as astonishing speed. Sigmar didn't need Oyok's warning to know this was not merely a slash and run. This time the eagle meant to kill.

Perfect.

Stillt he timing would be tricky, the bird was moving so fast. Sigmar waited until the feathered projectile filled up his whole view, brown and while plumage. Amongst it was a yellow eye, fierce and bright. The dragon took aim at that one shining spot and lashed out with his fist.

There was a crack, a shriek and a splash. Suddenly Sigmar found himself standing over the fallen form of the eagle, now a huddle mass of feathers in the stream. It looked smaller now, a little broken thing.

Then the crabs swarmed it, an evil red tidal wave engulfing the noble creature. Claws ripped, jaws clenched, pointed feet burrowed into the sodden feathers. More blood drained into the stream from the fallen avian, as more crabs emerged.

And then the eagle's eye opened, the golden disc flashing to life. The wing swept out, throwing a sheet of foaming water and dislodged crabs. In a second the beast was airborne again, shrieking in pain and disgust. With heavy beats it managed to clear the river and the treeline, winging out into the open sky, away from pain and danger.

They had won.

"Woah, the boat!" Oyok said, voice a bit unsteady. "it's getting away!. And indeed, the boat that Sigmar had used so cruelly was being slowly dragged by the current, being tugged gently downstream over the rocks. It was easy to snag but as he did so, Sigmar caught a glimpse of Vrilu behind.

The Company woman was quite unharmed, still standing on her rock, dark cloak wrapped around her. Her arms were akimbo and, Gods above, her foot was tapping the rock impatiently. Like someone displeased with the lengthy wait at the butcher.

Apparently still unimpressed.

Oyok Reflex: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21
Swarm Reflex: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15

Planting his feet among the sliding wet stones, Sigmar reaches into that primordial part of himself, deep inside. Where the draconic resides. The feeling of power, of fury, of mastery floods his veins. Magic flickers across his skin, his to control.

So he does.

In an instant his hands are twin globes of blazing fires, and he sends it outward, not only engulfing the swarming crabs but Oyok as well. The tengu 's eyes widen and the ranger has just enough time to turn profile as the flaming gout hits him. There is a mighty sizzling hiss that fills the air, followed soon after by the rather tasty aroma of well-cooked seafood.

And a chaser of burned feathers.

"Watch it, lad!" Oyok says warningly, but Sigamr can see most of the hanging crabs are dead, little more then tasty appetizers. The low rocks around them are still heaving with the small armored army, but their numbers have been diminished, at least for the moment. Clearly worth a few singed feathers. If Oyok wanted safety, the tengu could have stayed home.

Sigmar is busy congratulating himself for his obvious tactical genius when the eagle hits.

Eagle Flyby Attack, Claw: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19
Eagle Flyby Attack, Claw: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (14) + 6 = 20
Eagle Flyby Attack, Bite: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13

Eagle Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5
Eagle Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3

While the razor beak misses, the reaching talons slash Sigmar's shoulder to shreds. Soon his blood is dripping into the water as well, turning the foam a light pink. Annoyingly the bird does not hang around to dance, but swoops up into the air. It arcs overhead, clearly preparing for another run.

At his side Oyok, pulls out a short bow. Notching an arrow he says, "Eyes on the bird, lad. He will come around for another pass. It'll hit harder next time, looking to kill. Eyes open."

oyok grants you half his favored enemy ability {animals}. So you have +1 on Bluff, Knowledge, Perception, Sense Motive, and Survival checks against creatures and a +1 bonus on weapon attack and damage rolls against them

At their feet the crabs crawl, not forming into a threat again yet although a few hang off Sigmar's boots.

You actually can mix in a Stunning Fist but, in over the table play, you have to say which roll you are using before you roll it. For here, let's just always go with the first one? To be consistent

Awenasa does not give the spider beast any advantage of surprise. If the ambush failed, then it was her best chance to go on the offensive. The Shoanti throws herself into a flying kick toward it!

Her foot merely bounces off the thick armor-like hide however. To her digust, as she finds her footing again, her boot is covered in a thin greenish slime.

Awenasa Reflex Save: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (5) + 9 = 14

She wipes it off before it does any damage, although her left boot is soon a lost cause. The sand is cold below her bare feet.

She ignores it, lashing out with steel-hard fists. This time she finds better luck, and she smashes the heavy carapace in a few places. One blow she aims for the multi-faceted eyes, hoping to stun the large beast.

Spider Fort Save: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18

The creature is tough however, and endure the blows with a stolid strength of it's own. Awenasa gets the feeling she might be outmatched here. Behind her, she can spot Euler hiding behind a rock. Perey, at the rear of the column is still out of sight. For the moment, she is still alone. The children are, understandably, running backward, up the steep path. She hopes they do not go too far.

The spider lets out a hissing gurgle, while the huge mandibles work. Suddenly and without warning the insects spits a glob of white goo at Awenasa's head.

Slime Attack, Touch: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (11) + 9 = 20
Awenasa Reflex: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18

Awenasa dodges the slime but the move forces her back a few steps.

Dodging the slime requires you to leave your square

The white slime splashes the dark rocks around her, steaming and hissing. She is unharmed, but ten feet away from the spider, divided from it by bubbling acidic slime.

Question or plan?

'What?!' Oyok's already strained voice raises a few octaves, reaching up into territory usually reserved for annoying children and bats. "No, lad. We need the boat-"

He is cut off as Sigmar heaves the boat downwards toward the swirling tide of armored crustaceans. Behind him the wood golem is insensible, not reacting to his words. Indeed the construct is still gripping the longboat tightly when Sigmar drops it and falls with it, loudly clunking on the wet stones. Oyok, of course, is smart enough to let go as the heavy vessel falls.

There was a crackling, crunch sound like a giant stepping on heap of walnuts. This is mixed with a hollow wooden slam as the boat is literally thrown down on the stones.

Boat Damage, Can't miss, Low is bad: 1d4 ⇒ 4
Sigmar has the luck of the dragon

To everyone's surprise the boat, once against used in ways not intended, seems to survive intact. Captain Grildek apparently only bought the highest quality, and the dark wood withstands the rough handling.

The crabs do not fair so well.

Boat Damage, doing my best. 3d6 for large wooden object falling, +4 since you are actively throwing it down: 3d6 + 4 ⇒ (4, 2, 4) + 4 = 14

Many of the creatures are smashed flat, shells no defense against what is literally a rock and a hard place. Sigmar, feeling much lighter without the heavy weight on his back, guesses he might have smashed nearly half of them. Still, the little buggers don't seem much daunted and keep swarming up. The wood golem, prone in the water, is covered instantly but does not seem to mind. The crab's claws seem unable to grip the tough magical wood.

Sigmar's skin on the other hand...

He is about to do something about this when he hears a loud screech from the jungle to his left. The dragon's eyes searched the riot of green foliage, looking...there!

High up in a towering tree was a massive gray bird, an eagle. It screeched again and flung itself into the air, diving toward them. In a moment Sigmar realizes the bird is large. Very large. Larger then Sigamar is actually and clearly views them all as a nice, helpless snack.

Sigmar Iniative, acts for all his allies: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10
Eagle: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10
Crab swarm: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18

The crabs are the quickest? Amazing

The crabs, those uncrushed by Sigmar's maneuver, swarm upwards. They seem mostly focused on Oyok though and soon the tengu's lower half is covered in glistening red motes. The guide tries to brush them off, but the clinging pincers are tough. Feathers are no defense and Sigmar can see drops of blood dripping into the rippling brown river water.

Damage, Can't Miss: 2d6 ⇒ (2, 1) = 3

Ties go to the mortal, you get to act before the eagle. it's probably still like 25 feet away, up in the air

Oyok nods, "I think you are right lad. The river might be rocky, but at least we won't get stuck in vines. "

They manage to get the boat to the downstream rapids without trouble. Dragging it up on a sandbar, Oyok and Sigmar managed to unload the boat, placing Vrilu, the golem and all their supplies (still considerable) on a wide flat rock, well out of the rushing, foaming water. The brown water felt cool as it splashed Sigmar, but it did not come even to his knees here. The young dragon was actually tempted to go swimming but for the moment stayed on task.

With the boat empty, Oyok peered ahead at the rapids. Finally he shook his head, "Can't see anything and it'll take forever to sound them. Come on, pick up the boat and we'll make our way." The tengu turned to Vrilu, 'Can we borrow the golem? This boat weighs a ton."

The Company woman, standing on the rock in bright sunlight, stillw earing her heavy clothes eventually nodded. Without a word the golem trotted over, wooden feet clacking over the stones.

The three of them, barely managed to get the boat up on their shoulders and off they went. It was very hard work. The footing was unsure, shifting from sucking sand to sliding stones. Oyok did his best to navigate but the guide was merely guess. Sigmr, in the middle, could barely see anything except the splintered side of the boat, and sometimes wide expanses of blue skies. Twice he also slipped and fell, but just managed to catch himself. Still, the water was cool on his legs and the bugs seemed less here, driven off by the swirling mists.

So his mood was actually lifting until the crabs came.

Sigmar didn't even notice them at first, until he heard Oyok curse (a rare thing from the usually collected tengu). Glancing down, Sigmar saw the stones and sand were alive with a writhing, living carpet crabs. Hundreds, maybe thousands of tiny crabs, each glistening in a red shell. The dragon was about to laugh at them (the biggest wasn't quite the size of a heart biscuit) when they started to swarm toward his legs. Tiny claws grabbed his skin and clothes and instantly a knot of them was forming around him.

And their little nibbles hurt! Attacked by crabs, a dragon!

Euler shakes his head, "Can't get lost. The trail runs through the narrow canyon all the way down to where we want to go. Unless you head into a cave, we can't miss."

One less thing to worry about and not a small one. It was all too easy to get turned around in the dark, even in land you knew well. Out here, Awenasa could have led them in circles till morning.

At her words the children grew still and solemn. They might have lost cohesion over food and water, but clearly wandering off in the dark canyon has no temptation. Perey agrees to take up the rear, still leaning on his staff.

With that, Awenasa leads them down. It is not a very pleasant time.

The walls of the canyon are tall and sheer, bare rock cliffs. Jagged, they block out most of the sky and stars, only leaving a thin stripe directly above their heads. It is black and pitch down here and even Aweansa's good eyes strain to make out details. A few times she stumbles or trips over piles of gravels and rocks. The path leads sharply downward, as if the entire canyon was a deep injury in the landscape, a slicing wound.

It winds constantly, weaving back and forth among piled boulders. All is dead silent and the air seems thin and dry. Even her sweat evaporates instantly, leaving a rime of salt on her skin. Eyes stinging, nose cracking, the Shoanti continues on as quick as she dares. Still, she tries to keep her eyes open for traps.

Awenasa Perception: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (7) + 14 = 21
?: 1d20 + 20 ⇒ (18) + 20 = 38

Yet, for all her care she misses it. Was it because of the abyssal darkness? Her need for speed? Or perhaps her weariness? Maybe just the will of unkind gods, but in any case, Awenasa misses the rope of thick, slimy web at ankle level.

The instant she touches it, she hears a rustle off to her left. Out of the stygian darkness, a vast white shape suddenly looms from a rocky crevice. A massive spider shape, but the size of a small peasant's hut. Ghostly white, it moves with a strange, lethargic grace, picking over the stones with ease.

It turns on Awenasa and a weird whitish mist flows off the enourmous insects and sweeps around the Shoanti.

Awenasa Fort Save: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23
Nice!

Awenasa shakes off the chilling effect however, her mind afire with battle and need.

Awenasa initiative: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15
Spider: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (16) - 1 = 15

You go first. The gigantic spider is about 10 feet away, ahead of the rest of the group. Normal terrian but very dark lighting.

Awenasa's tone and posture quell the incept riot instantly. The Shoanti has faced down blood-mad savages in their tracks, she can handle a few wayward children. It also helps that she gives out the food and water, all of which are needed. It is clear the children rarely get much to eat despite hard labor, and suck greedily at the water.

As they eat and drink, Awenasa patrols the area, looking for any sign of danger. She finds none, just the empty night of the desert. Stars bright as polished glass glint overhead. Awenasa wonders if anymore of the desert People are out, and if they are watching. Would she know, if they were there? Probably not.

Soon they set off again, Euler leading them through the velvet night. The way led them somewhat downhill, through rocky crags and boulders. Winding downward, the sand slowly gives way to red stone, annoyingly loud under Awenasa's boots, but she spots no trace. Indeed, she see snot race of humanity in general and the trail that led to Black Nose, which had been fair and clear, vanishes. It is obvious few people come this way.

Finally, after a steep dive, Euler halts. Awenasa comes up and, at his gesture, looks ahead. Below them the ground sinks into a narrow slot canyon, barely more then a few paces wide. It is dark as pitch, and looks quite deep.

"The path winds but it does dump out close to our destination. If we make it through. No one will see us while we are in there but....Awenasa, are you sure you want to do this? Nasty things live in there, they say."

Oyok digested Sigmar's news while the monk interrogated the mute golem. The tracker looked up the river glittering in the morning light. "Not too surprising. This island is used for trouble makers and such. Still, we will need to keep our guard up. Maybe one of those groups left the axe." He sounded doubtful.

Vrilu seemed unconcerned, "We are only here for one person, do not get us distracted, Master Tracker."

The tengu nodded absently, mind elsewhere.

Soon the camp is broken down and loaded back into the longboat. Once again Oyok, Sigmar and the still silent wood golem take up paddles and work upshore. If the monk somehow hoped the first day's tedious labor had been a fluke, he was dissapointed.

It was another grueling morning of hard labor, sweat and biting insects. The light reflecting off the water gave him a headache and the paddle bit into his hands, cutting through his calluses with a startling ease. They also seemed to move slowly, toiled forever to make only a few miles upstream.

Around midday Oyok called a halt, tilting his head. "Ah." He did not sound excited. Simgar looked up from his tedium, happy not only for the pause but anything to break up the monotony. The encounter the treant had cheered him up but a morning's dull toil, bent over an oar, had sunk his spirits.

Still, looked upriver, he saw nothing. The river was there, gleaming and glittering, surrounded on both sides by the usual mass of jungle trees, festooned with vines and brush. Birds flitted overhead, swooping and diving in the bright blue sky. The sun, now directly overhead, beat down with ferocious intensity.

"Look at the river," Oyok said, "It is shallow. You can see the rocks and sand bars. No way tor ow up that." he set his paddle aside, and said more to Sigmar then Vrilu.

"We have to portage the boat." Seeing Sigmar's face he added, "Unload and carry them around the rocks."

He sighed, that musical, bird-like whistle, "Two options. We carry the boats right up the river, the water probably is only bit past our ankles unless there is a hole. Second, we carry them on dry land and fight through the trees. What do you think, Sigmar?"

The treant smiled at Sigamr's words but did not answer the question. Instead the being shrugged, a rather impressive feat for a creature made out of wood and said, "It will keep you green and growing for a long time. I've never tried to cultivate dragons before..." The creature bent closer, like a gardener inspecting a curious plant in his bed.

"It seems quite easy. I shall have to try it again some time." It straightened, leaves rustling in the soft, greenish gloom of the jungle night. "Be well, Sigmar the dragon. May this island provide all you desire, even dinosaurs and dwarves. Just, if you can, be kind to the trees." And with that, the treant strode off into the jungle with terrifying speed and silence.

It was if the creature had been swallowed up by the night, leaving Sigmar alone with nothing but the quiet jungle sounds. And, of course, the biting insects.

It wasn't until the next morning, when the sun splashed the tropical world with harsh, yellow light, Sigmar mentioned his little adventures to the others. Vrilu frowned, Oyok stood agape and the wood golem seemed unmoved.

'A treant! Lad, that's dangerous stuff, even for you. They can be mighty touchy about trespassers." The tengu then scratched at his beak, 'Although I suppose you got along well or we'd all be dead. "

Vrilu merely asked if Sigmar had learned anything of use and when he admitted he didn't she sniffed, "Typical." Oyok merely winked when the Company woman had he back turned.

The ranger gathered up their items and carefully put out the fire, using more care then usual, fearing the return of a vengeful tree guardian.

Anything you want to add here?

The man had little of use in his pockets. A shoddy folding knife (that Awenasa felt cheap just holding), a few rolls of some pungent herb, a few small fossils (these she pocketed), and one final thing. It was a small cylinder with a string hanging out of one end. She had no idea what it was, but it couldn't be that dangerous, the scout had been carrying it in a special pouch at his belt. Careful not to jostle it, she took it away with her.

Below, Euler lead them on through the darkness to Black Nose. There, under the crag of dark stone, the miner led them to a well-hidden cache among some gravel beds.

"They are going to kick me out of the guild for this." The man sighs but quickly pushes aside the camouflage of rocks. Inside is a treasure trove, not of jewels, but of survival. Blocks of hardtack, packets of jerky, and a sizable stack of firewood. One small box has bandages and healing potions, carefully wrapped. There is even a small well dug nearby, complete with tin bucket.

"Drink up, the water is safe." The children gather round, clearly very thirsty.

Euler grabs the healing potion and tosses it toward Perey. "Bottoms up." The injured man eyes it for a moment but then shrugs, takes the bottle and downs it in one swift gulp.

Even in the dark night, Awenasa can see color return to his cheeks and his posture straighten. He is still leaning on the staff but not as heavily, and he lets out a long, deep breath.

"Much better. I can go on, Awenasa."

One less thing to worry about.

But a new one has erupted as the horde of children are arguing about food and water, spilling the bucket and trampling the food packages in a growing skirmish. Ave looks on with despair but throws up his hands, unable to control his charges.

Awenasa makes her mind up quickly. The man has to die, and while she finds no joy in surprising a man from behind, she also has few regrets about removing a danger. This man would have no mercy on her, or the children below. The world, even this world, was a hard place.

Hardening her fists, Awenasa jumped him from behind.

Stealth: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (11) + 14 = 25
Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24

Close

Awenasa is on the scout in a moment, straddling him from behind, a knee pressed in his back. He tries to shout but the Shoanti is too quick for him and he has his throat in a moment. After a second to pause and reflect, she twists the neck and the man instantly goes limp. Awenasa waits to make sure he is dead, and also give him a modicum of respect.

Still, there is no time to waste. Fellow scouts may arrive at any second. The People said that Ely had many out and about tonight, there be a swarm of enemies heading here right now.

Doing anything with the body?

Awenasa follows the trail up the slope, on the alert for others. It would not do to plan an ambush and suddenly face half a dozen foes. Even lowlanders could provide trouble in enough numbers. Even setting he own safety aside, the last thing she wanted was someone getting away and raising the alarm. She needed her gaggle of children to stay secert.

She reached the top of the hill in short order. It was a bare exposed crop of rock, windswept and jagged. No grass or brush here, just hard rock. For a long moment the Shonati paused in the shadow of a low boulder, letting her eyes adjust.

There, laying prone at the very edge was a human shape. It was no more then ten feet away, lying flat, looking down at the trail below. If she and the others had kept going to the Black Nose, they would have been spotted for sure. Awenasa spotted a weapon as well, a long barrel poking from under him. One of the guns, the locals had called it.

She could see little else in the dim starlight but one thing was sure. he was alone.

The boots were this Earth Root Boots

The gourd was ever-pouring fresh water

What dragon could refuse gold, even if in produce form? Sigmar picked up the golden thing ever so slightly soft in his hand. It was heavier then he thought, as if laden with liquid. Even close up there was not a single blemish or mark on it, quite a change from the well-worn apples and melons endured the Nereid’s Wink between stops.

Scorchroot seemed amused at the question, "Of course. What else would one do with it? Plant it? You don't seem a gardener."

And with that Sigmar took a big ol' bite of the fruit. In for a copper, in for a Taldan noble. The fruit tasted....well, it tasted like life. Sigmar involuntarily closed his eyes, as his mind was filled with sudden images, fleeting. Of warm summer nights, and soft spring rains. Of drooping vines, laden with grapes. Of dancing fields of flowers, shimmering in the haze of summer. Blossoms falling in springtime and bees filling the air. The strange life of plants, of growth and fullness.

Sweet but not sugary. Filling but not heavy.

A most strange sensation.

A surge of...wholesome energy filled his limbs and his mind. For a moment it seemed to pause, glowing below his skin. It seemed to Sigmar he could direct it, if he wished, aim this magical quickening. Did he wish to?

The fruit gives you a +1 stat boost to whichever you choose. Or, if you choose not to, let the dice decide

Sigmar's tidal wave of words washes over the towering tree creature, the balle filling the night air of the jungle. Questions, claims, half-truths and slang pile together in a jumble worthy of a master wordsmith. Maybe the day alone with Oyok and Vrilu was getting to him more then he thought. Talking to trees?

The creature didn't seem overly bothered by the torrent but also not pressed to reply quickly. It leaned down slightly, creaking, to get a better look at Sigmar. Silence fell like a curtain, more palpable after Sigmar's talk. Somewhere a night bird gave a long, chattering call that reminded Sigmar of a dying chicken.

"Dragon?" The creature said slowly, bright eyes gleaming. "Dragon indeed. Hmmm."

"As for your first question, that is fair. You can call me Scorchroot, which is close enough for your language." The creature turned slightly and Sigmar saw a long black scar running up one of the thick legs, charred wood. "As for sneaking up on you, that is not shame. Few can hear a treant in his own woods, few indeed." Treant? Was that a job or a race?

"Don't know anything about dwarves, but there are many strangers way off in the hills." The tree-creature waved a hand vaguely inland, fingers splayed like leaves. "Maybe dwarves there?"

At his remark about dinosaurs, the treant nods, "Yes, dinosaurs in these woods. Not often, this close to the sea. But they range all over. You wish to find one? They are formidable, for one of your size, no offense." A shrug of the shoulders sent a small pile of moss fluttering to the ground.

"Now, to the important question. I was here to save the deer but also the tree." Scorchroot took a (long) stride toward the former trap, and gently brushed the now-freed sapling. "I was debating how to free the beast and save the tree when you arrived. I've never seen such a...dragon, before, so I wanted to see what you'd do. I am pleased you saved both. Very kind."

"Hmmm." The tree being said and then let out a breath, clearly deciding something. "You deserve a reward." It reached for some sort of bark bag at its waist, barely discernable among the leaves, wood and other plant-like coatings. Soon Scorchwood withdrew a handful of items. Carefully it laid them on the ground at Sigmar's feet.

One was a pair of boots that had clearly seen better days, worn and coated with a thick layer of moss. Little roots acted like spikes along the soles. They were human sized at least and Sigmar wondered where the tree-guy had got them. Off some other castaway?

The second was a golden fruit, the size of an apple but perfectly round. The color gleamed even in the dim twilight under the trees, soft and gentle. It did look tasty at any rate.

The last was a simple waterskin, made of some gourd. The wooden stopper was wet and swollen, glittering with droplets of water. It looked quite full but seemed like just water?

"Choose one, Sigmar the dragon. You may find it..useful."

Awenasa is pleased that despite being weary, wounded and in a land not her own she moved with the stealth a Shoanti could be proud of. Like a shadow, she silently ghosts over the grit and sand, vanishing among the tumbled stones. No sound rose from her boots, and even her breathing was masked by the faint night wind. She doubted even if the People could have tracked her now.

Keeping her destination in sight, she arcs around, avoiding any prying eyes watching the road ahead. The desert man had only mentioned one scout, and even the most trained onlooker would be looking at the Black Nose, not behind them.

Slowly, but surely, Awenasa approaches the indicated hiding spot. Not far from it she finds a small game trail leading up, faint marks in the gravel. Pausing, she peers down at it. If she hadn't been searching for it she might have missed the sign, but there was no mistaking the human print among the garbled animal tracks. A man passed this way, heading up the hill, not too long ago.

So, what is your plan? You are at the base of the gravel/sandy slope, with clear signs a human went up there not long ago. No sign of them yet, but you are still at the base of the small mound.

The jungle creature seemed to still as Sigmar approached, the hooves no longer digging into the leaf carpeted ground. The monk wasn't sure if this was due to his calming words or simply due to exhaustion. Or maybe acceptance it was about to be eaten. The liquid dark eyes looked at him, wide and round, full of raw animal emotion.

With a single swipe, Sigmar cut the noose free. The tree, free of the weight, flung itself straight again, wood creaking loudly in the darkness. For a moment the animal stood still however, staring at him. What did the deer make of all this? Did it think Sigmar a friend? A remarkably bad predator? Some sort of helpful god?

He would never know. Even as these thoughts flickered through his mind, the deer jumped away into the woods, vanishing into the undergrowth in a twinkling. Sigmar was left with no sign of the strange little encounter except a length of tough, rough looking rope. He was about turn back when a voice made him jump.

"That was well done of you." It was a deep, sonorous voice, strangely echoed, as if the speaker was shouting down a wooden tunnel. Sigmar turned and found himself confronting a large shadowy shape emerging from the dark wreathed tree trunks.

It was one of the tree trunks, or at least reminded him of one.

It towered over Sigmar, being at least twelve feet tall. It was as if someone had made a man, but only using tree parts. The body was covered with thick cragged bark, furrowed and lined with age. The fingers and toes seemed branch-like, irregular and nonsymmetrical. Leafy branches sprung from the shoulders and head, creating a dark green halo that shifted and rustled. Long vines hung down in coiled ropes, some dragging onto the forest floor.

The face was crudely formed, like a drunk lumberjack had decided to take up carving after a long day. The mouth a hard gash, the nose a sharp point, the eyes deep sockets.

"And you even saved the tree." It said, obviously talking to itself. 'Very good." A moment of silence passed at this....creature bent down to get a good look at Sigmar.

"And what are you, exactly? Are you moving into this jungle? My jungle?" It waited intently for an answer.

What could it be? What monster roamed these jungles at night, uncaring of making noise? Was it some type of lion or bear? Or maybe whatever made those weird axes Oyok was worried about. Bone axe, that promised a fun dance partner. Or dare he hope, was it one of those scaly brutes the sailors went on about? A dinosaur, complete with scales and spines and teeth long as his hand?

Oh boy!

Sigmar's arcane light flared, lighting a section of the jungle floor. Shadows flew back, darkness dispelled. His eyes adjusted, searching for his new foe. What could it be-

It was a deer. A forest deer. The monk's heart slid right back into his boots. Could nothing go right? Why couldn't it have been several tons of scaly, angry dinosaur?

He looked closer at the deer. Why didn't it run away?

Ah

The deer, facing away from him, was stuck in a trap. Someone had bent a young sapling nearly double, and attached a noose to the downward facing end. Probably baited, the noose had caught the inquisitive deer's neck as tight as a garotte wire. Something had gone wrong then though, the tree had fouled in some jungle vines, so instead of spring straight up, jerking the deer right off the ground (and probably snapping the thing's neck) it instead had merely tightened the noose.

The deer still had all four feet on the ground, but was hopelessly snared. The scuffling Sigmar had heard was the pathetic creature's hooves trying to gain purchase on the leafy forest floor. The thing would eventually, he assumed, starve to death or perhaps provide a meal to that hungry leopard.

Even as he watched the animal thrashed slightly, trying to free itself of the suffocating snare, but to no avail. Whoever had made the noose had done a proper job.

Oyok nods at this, seemingly happy to get some sleep. Clearly the time in the ruined village sat uneasily on the tracker. As he unrolls his bedding, not bothering with a tent, the tengu adds, "Wake me, if something odd happens. We do not know this jungle, strange things may be about."

Sigmar does a pace of the little camp, careful to not go too far. Around him the jungle blackness settled in, the dim firelight seeming to only enhance the vast depths of the shadows. The huge trees and hanging vines became carven grotesques slinking at the edge of his vision. The plant life was so thick it blocked out the sky except for a small strip away over the river, a swath of gleaming stars.

The smell of the jungle filled his nose, that mixture of old leaves, rotting wood and fresh earth. Other smells trickled in as he tramped the tiny camp. A sweet scent of opening flowers somewhere overhead, delicate and faint. Nearer the water he could make out the water-logged scents of river grass and algae, invisible in the gloom.

When Sigmar was at his farthest point from the fire he heard something. A scuffling among the leaves. Instantly the monk froze, cocking his head toward the sound. Another leopard, come to finish the job? Or one of these frog people Oyok was talking about? Would Sigmar even hear such people, or would they be silent on their home territory?

Then again frogs weren't very quiet.

The scuffling came again, faint. It sound small and...not sneaking. It wasn't the sound of someone trying to suppress noise, it was the the sound of something not caring about making much sound. Odd, in such a hostile environment.

Oyok looked puzzled at his friend's attitude and opened his beak to say something but confronted with Sigmar's back, shrugged silently.

The trip back through the village was uneventful and they found Vrilu and the wood golem still sitting in the boat. It was firmly twilight now, and the river looked dark as pitch, the currents unseen. Around them the sounds of the jungle, which Sigmar had only just started adjusting to, changed. Deep hoots and bellows sound in distant trees, echoing through the canopy. A chorus of frogs seemed to start up and the bird calls shifted. The biting bugs seemed to, if any, somehow increase in number and ferocity.

The world sounds very big and very, very alive.

Vrilu raises a silent eyebrow in question when they arrive. Oyok gives a quick summary of the village and Sigmar's battle with the haunt and the jaguar. Sigmar notes, with surprise, that the ranger fails to mention his own role in the little fight, and instead focuses on Sigmar's bravery and capability.

The tengu then moves on, his bright voice sharp in the dark, "I do not know what happened here. My guess? The grippli were killed by some of the castaways, using some tools from a distant land. But that is a bad guess with many holes. All I know is, we need to move with caution."

The Company woman shrugs, "The fate of some villagers does not interest me. Any sign of our quarry?"

"No dwarf made that axe." Oyok says firmly, "Of that, I am sure."

Vrilu shrugs then and looks upriver, eyes scanning the liquid darkness. Somewhere a fish jumps and the splash sounds very loud.

"We cannot spend the night here, obviously." Oyok says, stepping into the boat, "But we cannot go far tonight. Traveling in the dark would be foolish, if exciting. Just a bit farther and we can make camp."

And so they do just that. The golem does most of the rowing, as the little whaleboat slides through the inky murk, its creaks seemingly louder then ever. A few moments later the air is suddenly full of movement and noise, a vast rustling. Distant high-pitched squeaks fill Sigmar's ears, just on the edge of hearing, masked by the velvet shuffle of ...something. Another fight?

Oyok softly answers the unspoken question.

"Bats." Bats? Bats making that much noise? It would take....well, more bats then one cared to think about.

Finally Oyok guides them to a small bit of sandy shore, where they tie the boat to a tree branch and set up a quick, improvised camp. To Sigmar's surprised, Vrilu elects to sleep in the boat, along with the golem.

"You two keep watch." She orders, then rolls herself in a blanket in the stern.

Oyok softly chuckles and builds a tiny fire with delicate and practiced skill. The soft orange light dances and swirls, making the shadows pull back, ever so slightly.

"First watch or second?" The tengu asks, eyes bright as beads in the firelight. He pulls out a bit of preserved fruit and tosses it to Sigmar.

Perey nods at this, still leaning on his walking stick. He smiles then, just visable in the dim light, "You will return. What could one lone scout do against a Shoanti in the dark under the stars?"

His words give her comfort as Awenasa slips into the night. It is true that she is far more comfortable here then most would be. The vague outlines of the rocks, the shifting grit and sand under her boots, and the net of gleaming stars overhead....she might be back home, on the Plateau. She can almost see, out of the corner of her eye, other warriors watching her flanks, fellow raiders slipping through the tumbled shadows. Her sister even, perhaps, gliding from one spot to another.

But no, she is alone. Still, she is strong and on a mission her ancestors would surely approve of.

Stealth and perception please. Also perhaps a general idea of what your plan is here.

Sigmar's claws are not as effective as the cat's and do little more then muss the beast's sleek hair. The creature gives a hissing spit at his attempt however and the mouth gapes wide, revealing quite a number of razor teeth. The monk is bracing himself for the attack when a shrill whistle sounds, ringing in his ear. Sigmar winces at it, loud enough to cut through the pain of his bloody shoulders. The cat reacts as well, but differently. It seems distracted, ears turning toward the new sound.

"Oi, Sigmar!" There is Oyok, rounding a crumbling hut. The tengu is moving fast, jumping over a jumbled pile of leaves and rot. He stops not far away, feathered hands raised. He seems relived, "Just don't move lad!"

He whistles again, even louder, a shrill whine that fills the air. The leopard snarls but seems uncertain, shaking it's head back and forth. Slowly, slowly it relaxes, the killer eyes widening. Then, like a trained dog, it sits back on its haunches, tail lashing the unmoving grass.

The ranger nods, hands still up "All right, you big beaut. Off with you! We aren't food, not today! Go hunt elsewhere!" At this the cat shudders slightly, lets out a low whine and then leaps back into the jungle with as much grace as it pounced. In a moment it is gone.

Oyok runs up, turning a sharp eye on Sigmar and the grass. 'We are even now. You saved us with the dust digger, and I saved you from that overgrown housecat." He turns toward the grassy field, tilting his avian head.

"Haunt, I think." he declares, shaking slightly, "I think it is time to go, Sigmar. We have found out enough, and I do not wish to be in this place after dark. Gods only know what might turn up." And indeed the late afternoon sun, already well behind the trees, seemed to be fading fast and the shadows under the towering trees was creeping out from them, advancing fingers of inky blackness.

The cat watched Sigmar carefully, clearly trying to make up its feline mind to attack. It seemed in doubt but when Sigmar stumbled, every so briefly, on the swaying grass, it grew more intent. When the monk nimbly jumped backwards, it seemed to spark some instinct. Even as Sigmar taunted it, the predator burst from the undergrowth in a single, fluid leap that landed it right in the grasping, twisting grass.

Which ignored the cat entirely.

Sigmar had just enough time to reflect on how monumentally unfair this was, before the cat was on him with a blizzard of teeth and claws.

Leopard Attack, Pounce, Rake: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (14) + 4 = 18
Leopard Attack, Pounce, Rake: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19
Leopard Attack, Pounce, Rake: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10
Leopard Attack, Pounce, Rake: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19

Damage: 1d3 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4
Damage: 1d3 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4

While Sigmar manages to slip some of the attacks with quick reflexes, several of the long sharp claws slash open his shoulders and upper arms. Soon the monk is shedding some of his own blood on the hungry, jungle soil. The cat lets out a victorious growl as it presses home the attack, hoping to snag a quick meal.

The desert man shrugs, a movement hard to see in the dark. "The villagers are strange people, they do not see what is in front of their faces."A clear note of disdain enters his raspy voice, 'Blind to what they wish to ignore. The People are not soo foolish."

"Yes, we have seen the gnome and his friends about. Many people on the move in the dark tonight. Much for the People to see, but we only care about those venturing on our land. You do not and this is wise." He inclines his head to Euler and Awenasa, "In exchange for this, I shall tell you something."

"One of the Cruel Man's scouts lie in wait for you." The nomad pointed into the darkness toward a pile of stone, like countless others. Aweansa, but old habit, instantly commits it to memory. She could no more forget it then stop breathing.

"He has not spotted you yet but if he does, he will send up a signal and all of the Cruel Man's scouts will come. " Another shrug, "Do what you will."

At Awenasa's questions about Eivind, the man is silent for a moment, "I do not know. Our Elder's speak of his crossing our land, but not where he went after. That is not our concern, the ways of outsider. Only that he was mighty indeed. I wished to see that which hunts the mighty."

He stared at Awenasa for a long moment, unmoving in the dark. Then, "You are brave, yes, but not as great, not yet." Another shrug, "But the hunt may be long and many things chance, for both hunter and beast. Travel well, Windkeeper. Do not venture onto the People's land tonight. It would be most...unwise." And with that, the man melts back into the shadows of the night desert.

Sigmar can't tel anything about the axe or sign

Oyok's head bobs sharply Sigmar's interpretation, like a water bird nabbing a fish. "Exactly, lad. I think that's exactly what may have happened." The tengu steps back at the monk's casting.

Sigmar focuses on the sign below, reaching past usual sight and into the arcane. Around him the world flares slightly as it always did, strange pulses of natural magic beyond his ken. At first he sees nothing about the blurred imprints left behind, just dark splotches of blood and mud. Just as disappointment welled however he saw something, the vaguest trace of divine magic about it. Faint as possible, on the edge of sight like the luminescencent algae he had seen at sea.

When he relates this to Oyok, the tengu looks even more intrigued, "God magic....hmmm." He bends down toward the axe and sign. bright eyes bent downward he says to Sigmar, "Go see if you can find anymore, lad. I want to stay here and look at this. See if I can learn somewhat of it." he waves a feathered hand distractedly, "Just don't touch 'em."

Sigmar ventures off, leaving the guide alone. It is slightly off-putting, moving among the empty and silent homes, with only the leftovers as window-dressing. Sigmar's spirit isn't easily effected but even he feels a bit....sorry (?) for the people. Didn't seem like a fair fight, whatever happened here.

He rounds a crumbling village hut, and finds himself in what was probably once a garden. A low fence surrounds it, made of thorny branches and the ground has been cleared of trees and jungle undergrowth, instead covered with knee-high grass. But the grass is brown and dead, patches of it burned away and the fence is smashed in many places. Worse of all, there are bones scattered among the grass, slender graceful bones, white as teeth.

?: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
Sigmar Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11

The monk hears something, a twig snapping or a rustle among the undergrowth ahead. Glancing out of the horrid garden, he spots s shape among the trees. A sleek, graceful four-legged creature, with a long tail. A cat! But this is no housecat, it's nearly as big as Sigmar, with yellow fur spotted with dark circles. Amber eyes gleam in the low light, focused entirely on him.

The monk is deciding what to do when something very unexpected happens.

Sigmar reflex, DC 11: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9

The dead grass at his feet suddenly flicks to life, waving in a sudden chill wind, that cuts at Sigmar's heart. Without warning the fronds lash themselves to Sigmar's ankles and legs, seizing him as tight as any fisherman's net. The stalks are surprisingly tough and soon the monk is firmly stuck in place from the knees down. The creeping, unwholesome cold follows, seeming to flow upward from the soil.

Cold Damage: 1d4 ⇒ 2

Beyond the big cat takes a careful step forward, eyes narrowing and tail lashing the brush.

You are entangled and stuck in place. Cat is probably twenty feet away.