

# Special thanks to:

Sharon Lynne Martineau - for Tenji  
Raymond Martineau – for Bulwark  
Winnie McCord – for Longknife  
Christina Cassidy – for Skadi  
Rob Martin – for Leon  
Patricia Emmons – For Ynallyh  
Warren Lee Domenick – For Zorak of the North Wind

_And the late E. Gary Gygax – for over 30 years, and two generations, of hours with family and friends that we will remember and treasure all our lives._

The Soul Throne Chronicles  
Book I

Darkmind Awakened

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# Chapter 1

Excerpt from:

The Tome of the Draconic Slumber

I am Brother Syrin, one of the last of an ancient order called the Brotherhood of Sleep. It was our task to protect the living from the dark hunger of the Toal – spirits of the bearers of Suchara. When the Dark Sword was destroyed, the Toal were released to their final rest, and our order was disbanded. As far as I know, I am the last.

But now there is another shadow rising. An unforeseen darkness. As I drank the final draught of slumber, and for the last time, wandered the infinite beauty of the astral plane, I beheld the great Throne of Souls, and upon it sat Asmodeus, Lord of shadow and flame. His black trident dripped with the poison of deception, and his horned visage was triumphant but troubled as his followers basked in a languid orgy of venom and fire at his feet. I heard them whispering of the slumbering Bahamut, and their fear of his awakening.

His counselors, 3 ashen black Tanari warned that should the 6 Figurines of Wondrous power ever be returned to their temple seats, that the great Platinum Dragon would awaken and re-claim the Soul Throne.

The Lord Asmodeus commissioned his Tanari to ally with the death god Nerull and his followers and wrest the figurines from their temples, cast down the mighty temple guardians, and bestow the six figurines unto the most powerful guardians on the Prime Material Plane. For many generations now, the figurines have passed from bearer to bearer, and much good and evil have been wrought by their bearers with the figurine's powers, and their guardians guard them jealously

But now the dragons no longer roam the skies, and in their absence a dark power rises to challenge Asmodeus. The children of death, and their father Nerull – last of Suchara's generals, now seek control of the Throne and with it, dominion over the celestial dragons that guard the gates of the outer planes.

Both covet the power of the throne, and their distrust of each other is equaled only by their fear the return of the figurines to their temple Altars. The re-awakening of the Platinum Dragon would mean the return of a just power that even their combined might could not withstand.

Like the Brotherhood of Sleep, the Temple Guardians were scorned, scattered and have all fallen and vanished at the hands of the Asmodeus, Nerull and their minions. The last, Brother Castius stood alone against a legion of Nerull's acolytes and fell at the hands of lesser men. I fear now that there are none now who remain.

Solias gazed thoughtfully east out of the tall, deep set window of thick pained glass, at the river far below. It sparkled like a ribbon of blue silver beyond the battlements of the grey stone courtyard. The early morning winter sun danced like diamonds and fire on the deep turquoise waters. It filtered pale gold through the deep green boughs of the forest on the far shore. The cup of herbal tea was warm and refreshingly fragrant in her hands. A small fire crackled brightly in the hearth of elegantly scrolled white marble, veined with silver, beside the window. From her vantage point in the highest spire of the Silver Rose Citadel, she could hear the shouts and ringing metal as her warrior priests and paladins drilled and trained in the garden courtyards below her. Near her desk of heavy wood and marble, a suit of angelic crafted mithrill plate armor. inlaid with moon opal wings, reflected the fire; but seemed to burn with its own inner glow.

The winter had been unusually harsh, and the spring long in coming. It was nearly planting season, but chunks of thin ice still clung to the stony shore of the river and patches of snow still rested in the shaded parts of the gardens, and the grasses outside the high mammoth walls. Her mind swirled with thoughts of managing low cellar stores, pleas for aid and healing from the lands about, and the whispers of discontent from her advisors when (despite their counsel) she ordered the lowering of taxes on the local villages to aid them through the winter. A soft knock on the door interrupted her reverie.

"Enter," she called quietly.

The heavy, iron reinforced oaken door to her bedchamber swung open softly on well oiled hinges. Jalal, a broad shouldered salt and pepper haired priest in well polished but battle worn steel armor, stepped inside with a courteous bow. A look of concern and distaste darkened his wise, tattooed face.

"Yes?" She inquired.

"Your grace," he met her gaze. "There is an... emissary in the diplomatic parlor."

"You don't like him?" She smiled reassuringly. Jalal was an old and trusted friend. She felt disquieted by the air of doubt and trepidation in the mighty warrior priest. Jalal had faced down countless foes and brought them low with his mighty hammer and the fierce holy fires of Heroneis.

"Her," he apologized. "She is here under diplomatic heraldry," he continued quickly. "And she observed all the proper courtesies. But even so..."

"Another?" Solias arched an eyebrow. "That's two women emissaries in as many days," she mused thoughtfully. Jalal nodded in agreement. A half smile emerged beneath his thick black mustache.

"This one isn't as tall," he noted.

"Jalal," Solias laid a comforting hand on his armored shoulder. "I trust your judgment. What do I need to know?"

"She'[s a Deathknight," he answered. "And she bears the symbol of Nerull."

Solias' voice hardened with surprise and concern. "How did she make it passed the gate guards? Who let such a creature into the citadel proper?"

"We don't know," he admitted. "She just... appeared there. She has done no harm, but she is rather insistent on seeing you. And she is well," he paused, searching for words, "rather compelling."

"Very well," the high priestess breathed with a decisive nod. "I shall attend to her momentarily. Did she give a name?"

"She did," Jalal told her. "She calls herself, Maelstrom."

The wide stairway and elegantly carved banister of silver veined white marble, swept majestically down from the citadel spire into the grand entry foyer. Solias strode quickly beneath the towering, crenulated pillars of masterfully worked stone that rose gracefully from the polished flagstone floors to the domed ceiling high above. Pale sunlight shone down from tall glass windows in bright, unbroken beams. It sparkled off the splashing fountains and glowed in the lush geometrically arranged gardens of roses and flowering trees filling the grand foyer.

Waiting in a comfortable antechamber, furnished in polished wooden and leather furniture, absently admiring the woven silk tapestries decorating the walls - was a forbidding figure. She stood nearly six feet tall. Her raven hair tumbled over a demonically forged suit of heavy, but intricately articulated, form fitting hellforged plate mail.

She was a coldly beautiful woman with pale skin and radiant cobalt eyes. Deadly, razor sharp spikes covered her armor and gauntlets. A massive, viciously curved great sword was strapped across her back. Emblazoned in moon opal filigree on her breast plate, and woven into her flowing black silk cloak, was the fanged skull visage of Nerull – God of Death.

"Good morning, your grace," Maelstrom greeted her politely. She bowed with sincere respect. "I am honored to make your acquaintance."

"Welcome to the Silver Rose Citadel," Solias returned with equal formality. "What is your business here?"

Maelstrom smiled. "Thank you for not asking how I got in."

"Would you have told me if I had?" Solias inquired carefully.

"No."

"Then if you come in peace," Solias told her. "Abide in safety and take comfort here while you visit."

"I come to offer terms of truce," Maelstrom told her.

"I didn't realize we were at war," Solias returned soberly. The high priestess unconsciously found comfort fumbling behind her back with the plain iron band about the middle finger of her right hand. Upon command, the ring would instantly transform into a great two handed battle hammer, brimming with the holy energies of her war god patron. The Fist of Heroneis was an artifact of fearsome might. Solias found its presence reassuring in the company of a being which had (apparently) simply walked passed her guards, and through one of the mightiest and most well defended, and powerfully warded fortresses in all the flaness.

"We are not. Nor do I wish to be," Maelstrom replied carefully. Solias found the Deathknight's sincere politeness oddly disquieting. Deathknights were renowned for their wanton cruelty and capriciousness as much as for their deadly might. But there was an air of politeness about Maelstrom, that the high priestess had not expected.

"I come at the behest of my master, Lord Kyshon."

Solias inhaled deeply. Kyshon was known to her. Kyshon was once on the council of the Society of the Seven. The society was the ruling body of the all the mages of the flaness. It consisted of a council of two black robed conjurers (summoners and necromancers), two grey robed Thaumaturgists (academics, seers, researchers and advisers) two white robed evokers (shapers of mana and elemental energies). The council was overseen by one High Magistrate, currently an ancient grey elf of legendary power called Zorak of the North Wind. Kyshon had been advanced to the rank of Senior Black Robe after his predecessor; Naraxis defected. Unbeknownst to the other council members, Kyshon (in a bid to increase his power) secretly made a pact with the Death God Nerull. In exchange for his immortal soul, Kyshon became the thrall of the Death God. Kyshon consummated the pact by murdering the Junior White Robe of the council, Rylinn Fairystorm. The blood pact for his soul sealed, Kyshon was granted the ability to wield powerful divine magic in addition to his considerable abilities with the arcane arts. When Zorak and the Society learned of his treason, they banished Kyshon. But even with Zorak's might they were unable to vanquish him. Kyshon disappeared from sight years ago. Many assumed he had left the world altogether, and descended to the lower planes to sit at the side of is Patron, Nerull.

"You keep dangerous alliances," Solias told her.

"I am a Death Knight," Maelstrom countered frankly. "But Lord Kyshon is a creature of," she hesitated, "uncommon temperance."

Solias raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"He seeks power, yes," the Deathknight continued. "But he seeks a power balanced by alliance and mutual gain."

"You will forgive me my skepticism," Solias shifted uncomfortably.

"It is warranted," the Deathknight agreed. "But not necessary. Lord Kyshon has allied with the Lord and forces of your counterparts at of the Blackthorn Citadel. They have, by merely acknowledging his sovereignty, and agreeing to his tribute, remained intact. Their beliefs and worship remain unchanged, and they are now both enriched and strengthened under his banner. He now offers you the same. Only acknowledge his sovereignty. Keep your banners, but fly them beside his and you shall continue just as you are now... Uninterrupted."

Solias exchanged a short but troubled glance with Jalal.

"And if we don't?" Jalal wanted to know.

"Please, your grace," Maelstrom requested with polite candor. "This citadel and your order have been a beacon of hope and strength for centuries. I implore you not to take that course. The world would be a better place if you and your followers could continue as you are. All my master asks is a chalice of water from your well, a bowl of earth from your cemetery, and that you fly his banner atop your spire beside yours. Just swear to make the strength of your forces available to him should he call upon you."

Solias met the Death knight's gaze evenly, and remained silent.

"I see," Maelstrom acquiesced, disappointedly. "I am grateful for your candor and honored by your hospitality. You have until nightfall should you change your mind." The Deathknight bowed ceremoniously.

Then she was gone.

As the high priestess turned to her most trusted advisor, they heard the great silver warning bells of the citadel watchtowers began to toll along the walls outside - rich, clear and deep, after centuries of silence.

Solias and Jalal exchanged glances then sprinted for the narrow staircase at the rear of the grand foyer. Circling in tight spirals, the smooth steps rose precipitously upward. They finally emerged out of a carved stone archway onto the wide battlemented roof of the northern archer's tower. The breathtaking view of the rolling wooded hills, grassy fields and winding silver river fell away in every direction from the base of the tall promontory of rock upon which the citadel rested. The massive portcullis thundered shut. The draw bridge spanning the great ravine in front of the south gate, rose up to meet and reinforce the closing titanic gates of steel and stone. Solias and Jalal caught their breaths.

The warrior priests and guardian crusaders of the citadel were legendary for their divine power, courage and skill. They numbered nearly a thousand shields.

But surrounding the base of the plateau on every side, obscured in an ocean of grey mist, were tens of thousands of black armored warriors, colossal siege engines, black tents, and camp fires. They had appeared suddenly, without warning. Never in her memory, could the High Priestess recall a more vast or overwhelming army.

"Where did they come from?" Solias demanded from the lookout – a young chestnut haired cavalier in polished chain mail and a white tunic bearing the symbol of the rose, who wore a great longbow across his back.

"From nowhere, your grace," he explained hurriedly. The mist filled the valley over the course of mere minutes and then they were there. Like, like..."

"Like hell spat them out," Jalal finished.

"Yes, sir," The lookout nodded.

"Your grace?" Jalal turned toward the high priestess. "What is you will?"

"Well," Solias surveyed the vast armada below them. "She gave us till nightfall, did she not?"

"That she did," Jalal nodded.

Solias mused slowly, "Let us give our descendents something to sing about for a thousand years, and Heroneis reason to welcome us to his table at the great feast."

Jalal smiled. His booted heels came together with a clank of polished steel, and his shoulders straightened as his gauntleted fist struck his chest in salute. "I'll prepare your armor."

"No," she smiled. "You rally the reliquary guardian and the captains. I'll meet you above the gate shortly. How long will it take to load the trebuchets with the hellfire?"

"Within the hour," He reassured her.

"Do better," She instructed. He nodded, and departed.

Solias closed her eyes. She whispered a sacred mantra, and the tower rooftop suddenly became the interior of her bed chamber. She walked to the wooden mannequin in the corner and began removing her armor. Piece by piece, she quickly strapped it to her body. The angelic metal was weightless. She moved in it as freely as if she wore her most comfortable riding tunic and leggings.

As she pulled the polished winged great helm over her head, she whispered the name of her patron and the ring on her finger was now a great iron and silver battle hammer, forged of indestructible alien beauty and ferocity by the angelic smith Archeon. It bristled with divine energy, and vibrated with power and anticipation of righteous battle to come.

There was a soft rapping noise on the window glass. Perched on the window sill outside was a large, snowy white owl with piercing sapphire eyes. Solias smiled, and opened the window, greeting the owl. "Shantari, my old friend." The owl tilted its head and hooted softly in reply.

"I have an errand for you." The high priestess removed a thick, worn leather pouch from beneath her polished breast plate. The owl hooted once more.

"Take this to Urseus in Eru Tovar. You remember him?" The owl trilled musically in recognition of the name. Her taloned feet scratched on the stone as she hopped inside. Solias fastened the pouch securely to the owl's great taloned leg. The owl hooted once more, then silently took wing north west into the gloaming winter sky. Solias smiled. "Farewell my old friends."

Then, with a whispered word, Solias was standing on the battlemented catwalk above the southern gate, overlooking the gorge in front of the raised drawbridge and the gate towers on the far side.

"I'll never get used to you doing that," Jalal remarked. He was usually able, for the most part, to conceal his start at Solias' sudden appearances.

"When we are done here," Solias told him with a smile, "I shall teach you how to do it yourself."

Jalal returned her smile fondly. "I'm going to hold you to that, your grace."

The black armored Deathknight rode up to the far edge of the ravine between the gate towers on the opposite side of the gorge, atop a great ebony scaled chimera. The creature stood over 8' off the ground at the shoulder. The great beast was armored in of thick, polished black steel. It reared to a stop, clawing at the rich, stony earth beneath its taloned feet. The fanged jaws of its three heads; a bull, a serpent, and a crocodile, dripped with venom and their eyes glowed balefully with red corpselight.

"Solias of Heroneis," Maelstrom's voice thundered like a ocean storm against the cliffs. "My Lord Kyshon comes seeking alliance. As a token of friendship - he asks only a chalice of water and a bowl of earth. Then when his banner waves beside yours beneath the moon – we will leave here in friendship. No blood need be spilled here today."

Solias stepped forward, her silver booted feet leaving the ground. She rose into the air as wings of burning pearl and silver formed behind her, filling the mist and shadow of the gathering dusk with a blinding holy light. The obsidian mount beneath the deathknight averted its gazes. The armada of Kyshon faltered backward momentarily, shielding their eyes.

"Hear me well, creature of the dark," the voice of the high priestess filled the chasm beyond her gates like a freezing blizzard. "There is no alliance here for your lord and master. The only thing awaiting you here is justice and defeat." She leveled the burnished head of her angelic battle hammer. A scintillating bolt of white and silver plasma arced forth. It spanned the chasm in an instant, and slammed full force into the chest of the armored monstrosity beneath Maelstrom's saddle. The blast set the gigantic creature sprawling backward. It screamed in agony as the holy light ripped through its demonic bulk. Spewing seared blood and venom from all its jaws; the chimera collapsed in an agonized spasm, seizing violently, and then lay still. The red corpselight faded and disappeared from its eyes. The armada of Kyshon roared in fear and fury as Maelstrom rose with sinister elegance from the wreckage of her mount.

"So be it," the deathknight sighed.

With a wave of her hand, a bridge of dark stone erupted from the chasm beneath her feet. It snaked its way across the divide like a great flat stone serpent, crawling toward the gate. The dark armada charged forward across the bridge, even before it reached the gates on the other side.

"Are they fools?" Jalal demanded as the hundreds of black armored warriors surged forward slowly across the bridge toward the securely closed gates of the citadel. Solias shook her head negatively. A slow smile of respect and determination played across her lips, as she saw the group of black robed necromantic mages form a summoning circle around their deathknight General.

"Ready the hellfire," Solias advised softly.

"Ready the hellfire!" Shouted Jalal.

The arcane chanting of the necromancers rose up on the wind. A blast of bluish flame erupted at the head of the charging army. The flames receded almost instantly as the conjured bridge met the gate side of the ravine. In their place, stood a titanic elemental of stone. The ground shuddered as its massive legs struck the conjured earthen bridge. The elemental's mammoth, jagged fists struck the gates like colossal battering rams. The walls of the citadel shook. The gates shuddered and began to crack and splinter but held.

"Artillerymen!" Shouted Jalal. "Target the bridge at the far end of the ravine!" The walls trembled again, this time with the sound of splitting stone and the groan of iron.

"Release!" shouted the citadel steward. A dozen, huge flaming orbs hurtled across the chasm, flung with expert precision from the pendulous arms of the great trebuchets mounted atop the citadel's gate and wall towers. They smashed spectacularly among the screaming, dying hordes on the far side of the ravine. They burned fiercely, with no sign of subsiding, and blocked the entrance to the far side of the bridge.

The titan's stone fists met the gates again, splintering wood, splitting stone, and rending iron. The high priestess took to wing, arcing down from the battlemented walls. She streaked down like a comet, blazing with iridescent light. The fist of Heroneis before her, she lanced into great stone elemental. The battle hammer struck like lightning. The elemental shuddered violently as shards of stone flew in every direction. Despite its injury, the colossus ignored the assault and continued pummeling the failing gates.

"Fight me, demon!" Solias commanded. Her wings held her aloft as she slammed her angelic weapon repeatedly into the mindless juggernaut. Chunks of stone splintered and flew from its towering frame.

The gates finally caved in, just as the high priestess gave a final roar of fury and her strike sent what remained of the torn elemental plummeting into the mists of the ravine. The tumbling remains of the gate disappeared just behind it, lost in the deepening.

Solias rose into the air above the sorcerous bridge, shining like a great opal moon. Maelstrom strode confidently and unharmed through the raging hellfire. An icy blizzard swirled about the deathknight. It radiated outward like an ever widening tornado of frost and howling wind, beating back and finally quenching the hellfire that burned among the seared and charred corpses of her black armored Shadowblade minions.

"Ward the gate!" Shouted Jalal. "Archers, target the far end of the bridge!" The black armored Shadowblades marched forward across the bridge with the deathknight at their forefront. A brigade of citadel spearmen, followed closely by greatsword wielding warriors. All were clad in shining polished armor and girded in blue and white with the silver and red rose crest of the citadel. They poured out from the fallen gates onto the bridge to meet the horde.

Leading the charge was the Reliquary Guardian, the citadel's most dangerous and highly trained warrior. Her deep scarlet cloak swirled about her ebony and gold plate armor. A tall spear of burnished silver, coursing with arcane fire, swirled deftly before her. She strode forward defiantly and without hesitation toward the deathknight. Her spear joined with the massive, brutal greatsword in a blinding dance of sparks, colliding energies, and ringing metal.

The two forces blended together, clashing like the headwaters of two great rivers meeting one another in a stony delta. A rushing torrent of ringing metal, defiant shouts and agonized screams filled the valley. The gate guard held its ground as wave upon wave of Shadowblade raiders forced their way onto the bridge, only to be repelled and sent plummeting into the chasm. The reliquary guardian, battered and exhausted lost none of her footing as she warded off the lethal blows of Maelstrom's massive blade.

The warriors of the citadel and their reliquary guardian were periodically bathed in the luminous glow emanating from their winged high priestess above them. Their wounds healed, and they grew refreshed each time the light touched them. But the hordes of Kyshon were vast, and even the high priestess's might was not infinite. Her bursts of healing light began to shine less and less. Then, one by one, her warriors faltered and began to fall into the chasm.

Jalal's great long bow sang until its arrows were spent, and the supply of deadly feathered shafts being fetched for him was exhausted. Dozens fell to his deadly aim, and thousands to his battalion of wall archers. Her divine energy nearly spent, the high priestess began her descent to join her warriors on the bridge when she heard Jalal's warning cry.

"The courtyard!"

With a mighty rush of her armor's angelic wings, she soared into the air, and gazed into the stately garden courtyards of her citadel. Standing alone beneath the moon, surrounded by a massacre of fallen citadel guardsmen, a tall skeletal figure in darkly luminous hellforged plate armor and a cloak that flowed like living shadow. He leaned on a tall, twisted staff of alien black metal topped with a fanged skull.

Scores of arrows, spears and javelins rained down on him from the walls on all sides. But none of them ever found their mark. The figure raised his hand and clenched his fist. Jalal fell to his knees with a cry. He clutched futilely at his chest, coughing gouts of blood.

A voice filled the moonlit courtyard, and everything seemed to go dark and still. "Give me my tribute and I shall leave you in peace."

A furious light filled the high priestess's eyes. She streaked down toward the dark abomination. The Fist of Heroneis shone before her. The hammer struck the ground as she did. A deep deafening clap of thunder filled the courtyard and the ground shuddered. A radiant wave of divine power swept outward from the hammer strike. It engulfed the wraithlike figure of Kyshon, sending him reeling backward. He lost his footing and stumbled. A massive white bolt of scintillating holy power struck his staggered form. An agonized, hissing scream tore from his lips. As he struggled to his feet, Solias was upon him, smashing her massive battle hammer into his chest throwing him backward off of his feet again. He collided with a great marble statue. Kyshon was barely able to bring up his staff in time to deflect the hammer blow coming down upon his head. But despite it not connecting, a blast of holy force from the hammer's core seared through the necromancer lord and he howled in rage and agony.

A bolt of black radiance lanced forth from Kyshon's fist and blasted the high priestess. She shuddered as an icy, life stealing cold racked her body and brought her to her knees. Kyshon rose to his feet and brought his staff to bear. A sickening blue corpselight flared in the crystal eyes of the skull atop it. A wave of black light arced through the courtyard engulfing the high priestess. It froze her to the marrow, sickening her heart, and draining the strength from her limbs. As she stumbled, a crackling blast of holy energy shot forth from her outstretched hand. It struck her dark adversary, tearing his feet out from under him. His staff clattered to the ground as his form crumpled and lay still. A howling shriek of rage and pain from Kyshon's Deathknight General ripped through the night air like a crack of thunder.

The black armored horde began to falter and fall back – confused and uncertain. The red cloaked guardian of the reliquary pressed forward with renewed vigor. Solias looked up to the wall at the fallen form Jalal, the citadel steward. He seemed lost and small in the moonlight and shadow. Solias staggered to her feet. Racked with exhaustion and pain, she made her way toward the stone stairs in the high walls leading up to the battlements above the gate.

It was, after decades of friendship, time to bid her friend farewell; until they met again at the great feast.

The pain in her heart seemed overwhelming. She crossed the courtyard but her legs grew steadily weaker beneath her. She realized suddenly that not only was she moving the wrong way, (away from stairs and backward across the courtyard) but that before her she saw her own body crumple to the ground. She was being drawn away from herself, as though in a nightmare.

She turned to see the shadowy figure of Kyshon standing before her as her spirit was drawn into a radiant chunk of uncut amethyst held in Kyshon's outstretched hand. It burned with disconcerting lavender fire. The jewel grew larger as her disembodied spirit flew helplessly toward it. The terrifying, arcane incantation of her adversary filled her ears. Then, the crystalline lattice of her soul's prison became infinite. Her last thought was of a snowy white owl flying away into the gloaming of a winter sunset, a worn leather pouch tied to its leg, and the sound of her father's voice singing her favorite lullaby, to comfort her when she woke from a nightmare.

She remembered no more.

Chapter 2  
Excerpt from

The Codex of the Outer Planes

Those who follow law and good pass to the angelic realm of the seven heavens, whose gate is guarded by shauum, the golden dragon.

Those   who follow the path of purest good pass to the elysian fields , whose gate is guarded by kirion the golden dragon.

Those who follow the path of good and disorder pass to Valhalla, whose gate is guarded by heimdall, the golden dragon.

Those who follow the path of law and balance pass to Hades, whose gates are guarded by cerebus, the astral dragon.

Those who follow the path of pure balance pass to the realm of nirvana whose gates are guarded by brahmanatman the Astral dragon.

Those who follow the path of balance and freedom pass to the realm of limbo, guarded by vhost, the astral dragon.

Those who follow the path of order and evil pass to the diabolic realm of the nine hells guarded by chyron the shadow dragon.

Those who follow the path of pure evil pass to the daemonic realm of tarturus whose gates are guarded by mammon the shadow dragon.

Those who follow the path of evil and chaos pass to the demonic realm of the abyss, whose gates are guarded by legion the shadow dragon.

The primary plane of existence (the inner plane) is contained within the astral plane along with hades, nirvana and limbo.

The positive material plane, or the plane of light, lies above the astral plane and contains the elysian fields, the seven heavens and Valhalla.

The negative material plane, or the void, lies beneath the astral plane and contains the nine hells, tarturus, and the abyss.

Bahamut, the platinum dragon reigns over the golden dragons. He can, if petitioned, and he deems it wise, allow his golden dragon generals a temporary physical form on the inner planes to assist worthy mortals in maintaining the balance of good. They appear on the prime material plane as figurines of wondrous power.

Shauum the Golden Lion

kirion, the silver tiger

heimdall, the ivory bear

The astral dragons serve no regent, and as such have no gateway to the inner plane.

Tiamat, the chromatic dragon Reins over the shadow dragons. if she wills it, she can allow them to take physical form temporarily on the inner plane to assist mortal harbingers of evil in maintaining the balance of evil as figurines of fearsome power.

chyron, the iron wolf  
mammon the onyx serpent  
legion, the mithril spider.

The cell door clanged shut loudly. Longknife kept her feline, emerald eyes fixed firmly on the filthy straw covering the rough stone floor, until the gruff laughter of the slave raiders had faded down the hall and out of sight. Her muscles were sore and battered. Her normally sleek brown and white fur was still matted with blood. Some of it hers. Her wrists were manacled. A single smoky torch was the only light in the entire hallway. She snarled derisively to herself. Slave raiders like DiMarco gave legitimate pirates like her and her fellow Castaway Rats (as they had come to call themselves) a bad name, and an even worse reputation.

From what she could tell, the dim stone corridor consisted of the slave holding pens of the island of Half Moon Bay. They had been shanghaied here after their run in with Draga's Dragoons who had sold them to DiMarco. The front of the cells were closely set floor to ceiling bars (so potential buyers could more easily view the merchandise) but the other three walls were thick stone, carved out of the gut rock of the cliffs. Half Moon Bay, was one of several under the control of a small but particularly nasty group of scoundrels from a nearby army of marauders calling themselves "Draga's Dragoons." This particular section of paradise was overseen for Draga by a nasty piece of work named DiMarco. The Dragoons raided the ships, and pillaged towns, all along the western and northern shores of the Azure Sea. They razed villages, took scores of captives, and sold them in the slave markets of Highport, Jass, Blu and a handful of other ports that traded in such things. They were ruthless, cruel and not a band to run afoul of.

But a card cheat was a card cheat, and Draga's slimy saurian (lizardman) raider drew on her first.

Her sharp eyes had already adjusted to the dimness and her feline hearing (unusually acute, even for a bastett) told her that the guards were far off and laughing distractedly. She smiled briefly, and withdrew the lock pick she had managed to conceal between her cheek and gum.

In the cell across from her, Doc Tiny (a gentle giant of a half ogre who was their cook and healer) lay unconscious. The bleeding from his scalp was just starting to congeal. He too was shackled, but with extraordinarily large and thick manacles. (Perhaps Draga's slavers weren't quite as stupid as they looked)

In the cells beside Doc Tiny, she made silent eye contact and nodded to Mustafa, the shirtless, sandal footed, ebony skinned physical adept. He flashed a short, dazzling white half smile as he returned her nod. On the other side of Doc Tiny, was Fazil – the flamboyantly dressed, plume capped dwarven quartermaster of the now scuttled Siren's Melody. His normally jolly humor had been dampened to grumbling annoyance by their current predicament.

That left Indigo Red (her thief-acrobat first mate) somewhere out of sight, but no doubt close by. The rest of the Siren's 15 man crew had fallen to the blades of Draga's Dragoons or gone to the bottom with the burning wreckage of their vessel.

Longknife's manacles came free nearly effortlessly with her quick, deft touch. The confident smirk played over her fanged jaws briefly once more. The cell doors would not be so easy. From what she could tell, those were sealed by enchantments as well as locks. Any attempt to unlock them with anything other than the proper key would not only set off an alarm, but would no doubt prove injurious or even fatal.

But it would only be a matter of time before the right opportunity presented itself. They had been in tougher scrapes than this before.

And now she had her hands free.

"Indigo," Longknife whispered sharply.

"Aye, captain?" Indigo's hoarse voice came from the cell to her right.

"You in one piece?"

"More or less," the auburn haired, sapphire eyed knife thrower self assessed with a sigh. "Shame about the Siren, though."

"She was a fine ship," Fazil grumbled in agreement. He then muttered something extremely uncomplimentary regarding their current hosts under his breath in dwarvish.

"What is your plan, captain?" Mustafa wanted to know.

"What do we usually do?" Longknife reminded him. Mustafa nodded and smiled.

"I don't think there's any rum or blonde haired minstrel boys close by," Indigo remarked snarkily.

"Or rope," the dwarf added.

"Not that," Longknife growled in frustration. "What do we usually do when the other guys get lucky?"

Doc Tiny sat up stiffly with a groan. He rubbed the back of his head with his huge, meaty hand. He had apparently been listening in, but for how long, none of them could be sure. His smooth voice was deep as an old cave. "We wait for the other guy to screw up."

Almost before he had finished his sentence, Longknife's keen ears picked up a sudden stifled cry. Then the sounds of a pitched but quiet struggle down the hall, around the corner, and behind a door. It was over quickly, and almost imperceptibly, even to her sharp bastett hearing.

Then, all was quiet accept for the sound of a door creaking open and woman's voice (A northwoman judging by the accent) She was whispering instructions to loot the bodies after they had stashed them out of sight.

"Well," Longknife muttered to herself. "This may not take as long as I thought..."

>>>>><<<<<

Tenji awoke to the smell of smoke. The world came into focus slowly. There was gritty straw and a hard wooden floor beneath her. A beam of sunlight from a small barred porthole shone bright and painful in her eyes. The room she occupied seemed to sway back and forth. As the cobwebs of a deep, dreamless sleep pulled away, she heard the soft sound of rhythmically creaking timbers.

Then she saw the bars.

She was in some sort of cell. Small, with 3 walls of solid heavy wood and one wall of thick, closely set steel bars and a locked gate. She stood up painfully and peered out the porthole. Outside was an ocean of clear blue water, burning gold and copper with the setting sun. The sky was fading from turquoise to black, and beginning to twinkle with stars. She didn't need the rhythmic rocking or the creaking of timber to tell her she was a prisoner aboard a ship. What she didn't know, was why she was there, or how she had been taken prisoner. In fact, she couldn't remember anything at all.

She was barefoot, and clad in a simple, cotton dress (more form fitting and revealing than she felt comfortable with) and her throat was parched.

"Awake at last, I see," noted the prisoner in the cell directly across from her. He was a black haired human with a sharp, angular features, a thin black mustache, and a large scar on his right cheek. He was lean and short, but not unpleasant to look at. His smile was roguish, and his dark eyes glistened in the half light. "Just in time too, love," he commented non-chalantly. I believe our boat is on fire."

Tenji shook her head. "Who are you? How did we get here?"

"Leon," He told her. "And I'd be happy to tell you, but I don't remember." He looked around thoughtfully. "Hate to rush, but would you mind terribly tossing me that bit of copper pin in your hair?"

"What?" she demanded suspiciously. "Why?"

"Well if it's all the same to you – I'd just as soon get us out of here before we burn to death. So, if you would? Please..."

She sighed, and removed the pin from her hair. Other than a plain band of woven copper set with garnet chips on her finger, it was the only jewelry on her. She reached through the bars and tossed the hair pin across the passageway. Leon snatched it out of the air and fitted it into the lock. He began to expertly manipulate the tumblers. Tenji found herself skeptically impressed by the fact that he was doing it backwards and without actually being able to look at his work.

"Sooner would be better," advised an unseen voice to her right. It was a woman, a northwoman by the accent. "The flames are getting close."

The northwoman was right. The smell of smoke was getting stronger, and the air was growing warmer and harder to breathe. There was an audible click and the door to Leon's cell opened up – metal grinding on metal.

"No worries," he grinned with satisfaction.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Tenji wanted to know.

"Not a clue," Leon admitted. He kneeled down and began working on the lock to Tenji's cell. "I don't remember that either."

"None of us do," said the unseen woman.

Tenji scowled. The northwoman was right. Tenji could remember her own name, and waking up in her cell, but beyond that, her mind was blank. Searching her memory was like looking through a dark mist.

"Hurry, Leon." The voice of the northwoman warned. Tenji looked up into the tick beams of the rafters above her. Wisps of grey smoke were crawling and curling along the ceiling. Her cell door came free with a loud click and she stepped out into the passage way. It was dim, lit only by the thin beams of the setting sun streaming in from the small port holes in the hull. It was lined with small cells, five on each side, but only one other was currently occupied.

Tenji caught her breath.

The northwoman in the cell beside her stood patiently as Leon worked the lock to the cage door. Her head nearly brushed the top of the almost 8' tall cell. Her long hair flowed in thick burnished copper waves over her iridescent, pearl colored skin. She regarded Tenji with striking golden eyes. She was broad shouldered and powerfully built. She too was clad only in a short, revealing cotton dress. Fastened about her left forearm was a worn and obviously ancient bracer of a strange, seamless, silver hued ivory.

"What are you?" the words popped out of Tenji before she realized (to her chagrin) that her wonder might be misconstrued as rudeness. But the northwoman smiled with surprising patience and gentleness. "I don't know," she smiled sadly. "I can't remember."

As soon as her door came free, the Northwoman smiled gratefully and she pushed her way passed Leon toward the thick wooden hatchway at the end of the hall. There was no knob or handle on their side.

"Don't suppose you have a name?" Leon was fast behind her and Tenji behind him.

"Skadi" the northwoman replied absently. "Stand back."

"Hold a moment, fair one," Leon smiled. He stepped passed her, and in between her and the door. He laid his hands and then his cheek gently against the wood. Skadi looked exasperated. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure you don't burn us alive by opening up the door into a blast furnace," he remarked. He stood up and appeared satisfied. "So," Leon wanted to know, "how do you plan to open that?" He nodded sideways toward the hatch.

The northwoman flashed a quick half smile. "Like this:"

With a mighty heave she threw her broad, muscled shoulder into the hatch. It splintered open with a crash.

Leon leaned back and flashed another roguish grin. "I like you two. When we get off this scow, the rum is on me." He winked at Tenji. She shook her head and smirked.

On the other side of the hatchway was the cargo hold. Long, shadowy, and somewhat wider than the brig, it was cluttered with wooden crates, barrels, pottery urns, and large cloth sacks. Peeking out of the scattered piles were trinkets of brass, polished bronze and silver, as well as a number of figurines of various sizes made from crystal and semi precious stones. One in particular – an obsidian skull with red crystal eyes, caught Tenji's attention. It disturbed her in a way she couldn't explain.

At the far end of the cargo hold, a wooden stairwell led to the upper decks. Smoke was pouring in from above, and quickly filling the cargo bay with an acrid cloud. There was more than wood burning above. Tenji recognized the odor of burning flesh. Leon began rummaging through the cargo.

"What are you doing?" Tenji wanted to know.

After a tense moment, Leon smiled and held up a polished steel cutlass and a large bronze war axe with an ivory haft wrapped in snakeskin.

"Preference?" he grinned. Tenji paused.

"Axe," Skadi stated flatly. Leon handed it to her with a bow.

"Guess I'll take that one," Tenji remarked. Leon handed the cutlass to her, holding her gaze flirtatiously.

"Is all this considered charming where you're from?" Skadi wanted to know.

"Immensely, I'm guessing," he returned. Skadi sighed and headed toward the stairs. The hilt of the cutlass felt strange in Tenji's hand, but not completely unfamiliar. She twirled it once slowly, then again, more quickly, getting acquainted with its weight and balance.

"After you, fair one," Leon gestured toward the stairs.

Skadi emerged and felt the brisk salty wind of the evening sea upon her face mingling incongruously with the heat of a fire burning amidships near the main mast. The deck was littered with the charred and scorched remains of what she could only assume was once the crew. Shuffling mindlessly about were burned and mutilated sailors, their eyes blazing with a hellish red glow. Their gazes snapped hungrily upon her as she emerged. Tenji was fast on her heels. Skadi moved to her right bringing her axe to bear as Tenji came up alongside her to her left. Skadi glanced briefly back at Leon. "See to the fire," she chirped. "We'll take care of these."

"Absolutely," Leon agreed; his relief palpable. The rogue quickly assessed the surrounding deck. Near the foxcile was a large wooden bucket, a rope tied securely about its handle. "There we are, now." He thought to himself. He stopped only briefly to relieve the corpse of a dead crewman of his saber. "Thank you my lad," He muttered ceremoniously. "I'll be needing this more than you, my friend – I'm afraid."

He tossed the bucket over the ornate wooden railing quickly drawing up a bucket full of seawater. As he reeled it in, he caught the ornately carved and painted red and gold sign on the ship's black lacquered stern: The Phantom's Wail.

Leon went quickly to work on the fire. Skadi and Tenji moved and fought with the synchronicity of trained infantry swordsmen. They stood back to back, circling as the feral dead viscously pressed the attack, snarling and lunging with cruel speed and power.

Both Skadi and Tenji expertly parried the blows and hacked into their adversaries with brutal precision and savage strength. Tenji, focused as she was with the pitch of the battle, could not help but notice that with each blow, Skadi struck with mammoth strength, greater even than her physical size and power would indicate. Her blows sent her opponents flying backward off their feet, limbs hacked off, often missing heads.

Tenji found her rhythm quickly. As fast and savage as the dead pressed her, her body seemed to almost dance. Her muscles somehow remembered on their own, how to avoid the attacks, and return them with lethal precision. All without ever leaving the northwoman's back exposed. But as brutally as they repelled the necrotic abominations, they simply kept getting up and rejoining the battle.

"Why aren't they dying?" Skadi shouted. She brought her axe down onto the skull of a zombie pirate, burying it through the skull and neck down into its chest then kicking it away.

"They're already dead?" Tenji returned, feinting right to avoid a devilish grab from a ruined hand, viscous with razor sharp claws. She removed the arm at the elbow with a quick down stroke, then arced her sword back up burying it in the zombie's throat with a single fluid motion.

"Very clever," Skadi retorted, lifting another zombie off its feet and throwing it sideways all with a single mighty blow to its shoulder.

Leon managed to douse the last of the flames. Still unarmed, his light, graceful feet quickly found a perch in the lower part of the mizzen mast, just out of reach of the zombie crewmen.

"Fire's out!" he called cheerfully, managing almost completely successfully to hide his terror and revulsion. Tenji searched her mind desperately. She knew that she and the towering northwoman could not keep this up forever. But she could only pull fragments of memory from the black mists of her recollections.

"There has to be a spell focus!" She called out. "Something is keeping these things enchanted."

"Plain speech, love," Leon called from his perch. He swatted away a clawed fist that came too close for his liking, and climbed further up. Tenji growled with frustration, striking the side of a zombie's head as its teeth narrowly missed her shoulder.

"Some sort of magical object nearby that's powering these things," She yelled.

"What might that be?" Leon wanted to know. "It's a big ship. Can't you give me a hint?" Tenji smiled in a brief moment of clarity as she hacked at her foes.

"The skull!" she yelled. "It has to be that creepy black skull with the crystal eyes! Down in the cargo hold!"

Leon reached up and coiled several loops of sail line about his right hand. With his left hand, he cut its counterweight free with his saber and leapt from his perch on the mast; swinging high over the heads of the undead crewmen. He alighted roughly in front of the stairs to the hold.

"Always wanted to do that," he smiled as he plunged down the wooden ladderwell.

Skadi grabbed a snarling corpse by its throat with a single hand. She lifted it off its feet and tossed it roughly over the side of the ship and into the water.

Leon soon appeared at the top of the stairs, black skull in hand, waving it with a proud grin. As he did so, the 4 remaining zombies who had managed to not be thrown into the ocean by Skadi, turned from their battle and ran snarling toward him. His smile quickly turned to alarm as he threw the obsidian skull toward his comrades. Tenji caught it out of the air, smashing it with all her might to the deck.

It shattered into hundreds of scintillating shards, shining in the waxing moonlight. The air became still, and the former crew of the Phantom's Wail crumpled and fell peacefully to the deck.

Tenji and Skadi looked about. Then they sat down hard, breathing heavily. They were scratched, bruised and cut, but miraculously unbitten. Leon's head appeared in the stairwell, cautiously looking out. "We all clear, then?" he inquired.

"Yes," the northwoman sighed with only semi-genuine annoyance.

"Well, then" Leon emerged and looked cautiously about, nudging a fallen crewman with his toe tentatively. Satisfied it wasn't going to come back to life, he produced a large, dusty but well sealed bottle of rum.

"You ladies look thirsty. Care to join me?"

Tenji snatched the bottle away and took a long pull. The rum was strong, sweet and deeply refreshing. She handed it to Skadi who nearly finished it off in one long swallow.

"Impressive," Leon noted, raising an eyebrow. "So – who gets to be captain of our fine new vessel?"

"What say we arm wrestle for it," the northwoman muttered absently under her breath.

The rogue tilted his head. "Well," he decided. "Skadi it is then."

Tenji smiled despite herself. "I call first mate!" She chimed. Leon looked disappointed but not dispirited.

"So what are your orders, then madam captain?" He inquired. Skadi stood up and straightened out her blood soaked and torn dress. "I'm going down to the hold to find something that fits better than this rag. Leon, you get the deck cleaned off and Tenji – see if you can figure out how to steer this thing."

"Her," Tenji corrected. Skadi looked back momentarily as she descended the steps into the cargo hold, with a puzzled expression.

"It's a ship," Tenji explained. "We're supposed to refer to it as her."

Skadi grunted in acknowledgement and disappeared down the stairs.

"So," Leon asked Tenji, using his new found dagger to pry open a barrel. He smiled when the interior was filled with fresh apples. "How did you know about the skull?"

He tossed one of the apples to her and then grabbed one of his own. He took a large juicy bite. He followed it quickly with a long swig of rum. Tenji took a deep bite of her own, but answered his question absently, turning the wheel of the ship to aim it in the direction of an island in the distance.

"Don't know," she remarked. "I just did. I got a very bad feeling when I saw it in the cargo hold."

The ship banked smoothly to the port, a brisk wind filling its sails. Bright water foamed around the prow and the Island slid along the bright, moonlit horizon until it was in front of the ship and heading toward them. "Don't tell me..." he sighed, "You don't remember."

"No," she agreed.

"It's vexing," Skadi remarked. She adjusted the mizzen mast and tied it down securely. "How is it that none of us remembers anything? What devilry is afoot here?" She sat down beside Leon and began fishing through the apple barrel. Each of them had managed to secure from the cargo hold and the crew's quarters: boots, tunics, and leather and chain armor, as well as weapons. The northwoman found a one handed war hammer to compliment her hand axe. Tenji located a spear, and Leon a dwarven crafted longbow and a polished steel cutlass.

"Oh, I don't know about devilry," Leon countered. "Maybe it's freedom. A new start. We were slaves. What if our old lives stunk? Or worse, what if they were boring and ordinary?"

Skadi smirked skeptically and began sharpening her axe with a whetstone she found in the captain's quarters.

"Maybe," she breathed. "But what if we have responsibilities? And I for one would like to know what this is." She held up her left arm. The strange, seamless bracer of silvery ivory seemed to catch and hold the moonlight, almost as though it was glowing from within.

But not quite.

"Have you figured out how to get it off?" Tenji asked her.

"No," she admitted. "But I'm not sure that I want to."

"Why not?" Tenji wondered.

"It doesn't look like the slavers put it there," Leon observed. "That means you probably did, and they couldn't get it off. See those scratches there on it? Looks like they tried."

"Mmm." Skadi agreed, her whetstone scraping rhythmically across the axe blade. "I kinda like it," she admitted. "Think I'll hang onto it until I find out what it is."

"So why are we going to that island again?" Leon wanted to know. "I don't like the look of it."

"Well," Tenji told them, "the captain's logs said we were sold to somebody named Draga and the ship was headed toward a middle man named DiMarco at a place called Half Moon Bay. The last entry said they were less than a day away. So, I'm guessing that's the island; and I for one would like to know who sold us to him."

"Sounds dangerous," Leon remarked. "I say we sail west toward that city on the map called Highport. We have a ship full of valuable cargo we could sell and live quite well on for some time." He took another long pull from another rum bottle. The warmth of filled his belly and relaxed his still sore muscles

"Sail to Highport?" Tenji chided him. "With three people?"

"What if it rains?" Skadi asked.

"What if," Leon countered, "Whatever did in the poor chaps on this fine vessel" he gestured about lightly with the tip of his cutlass, "is waiting for us on that island? I say make for Highport, sell the cargo, and set sail on our free new ship and lives."

"The cargo is mostly rum," Skadi rumbled. "And it's all practically vinegar anyway. I doubt we'd get much for it."

"Well," Leon cleared his throat. "As default quartermaster and second mate, I have decided we should keep the rum."

"There's a surprise," Skadi muttered. "How many bottles have you had already?"

"I'm on my last," he promised with a sly smile.

"Why am I doubting that?" Tenji muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, I'm thinking not so much." Skadi agreed quickly.

>>><<<

The northwoman guided the lumbering anchor chain in the prow down slowly. Her powerful shoulders and arms eased it foot by foot until the chain was fully paid out. In the stern, Leon and Tenji struggled to do the same, but the anchor was heavy and nearly pulled them both over the side as it splashed down into the clear dark depths.

"How does she do that by herself?" Tenji puffed with the effort, nodding toward Skadi.

"I'll bet that ivory bracer is in there somewhere," grunted the rogue, bracing his booted foot against the black wooden railing to avoid being pulled over the side and into the moonlit waters below. He winked when he caught Tenji's quick smile.

After several hours, they managed to moor the Phantom's Wail in a small, secluded cove. The warm obsidian waters were surrounded on three sides by a narrow beach of white sand, and jagged cliffs covered in thick trees and vines. The pearly light of the waxing moon danced across the dark, gently lapping waves. The spot was perfect. Close, but out of sight of a larger lagoon to the east where a large dock was built out into the ocean from a wide beach and tall cliffs. The dock in the adjacent lagoon was well guarded by cutlass and hand axe wielding slavers with yellow sashes and head scarves. Most were human, but several were orcish. There was also a saurain (one of the lizard folk) and a tall, yellow furred bastett (one of the cat people of the Barrier Peaks). All but two of them (the bastett and a broad shouldered and badly scarred human) were at the shore end of the dock surrounding a fire and drinking. From his perch in a lush cypress tree overlooking the dock, Leon could see a tall waterfall spilling into the far end of the lagoon from the cliffs high above. Bright torches lined a set of steep, narrow stone steps carved into the cliff which led up to the mouth of a cave. It was hard to tell from his distance, but the cave mouth appeared to be blocked by a heavy portcullis.

"How many on the dock?" Skadi wanted to know.

"Eight or nine on shore, I think," Leon responded. "Two at the end of the pier." He adjusted his bow across his back.

"Hardly seems fair," The northwoman grumbled.

Leon shook his head. "You, lady," he noted, "Are a wonder indeed. Should Tenji and I just wait here, then?"

"Speak for yourself," Tenji chided him. "I'm not letting Skadi hog all the glory."

"Well, then fair ladies," Leon advised. "I am of more use to you with my trusty bow here, than I would be knifing it out. You see that bit of rocky shoal there with the trees atop it, about half way between here and the dock?"

"Aye" Skadi agreed. Tenji nodded affirmatively.

"It's a clean shot from there, and well within Coryna's range..." Leon calculated.

"Coryna?" Tenji asked cynically.

"My bow," Leon responded matter of factly.

"You named it..." Tenji stated.

Leon stared blankly at her for a moment, then continued. "The bastett fellow is the only one paying attention. His partner looks to be on his second bottle of rum. So, if you can make it to the deep end of the docks, as soon as nature calls, I can get the bastett out of the picture so you can get on the docks. Then they will have to come at you head on without being able to surround you."

Skadi and Tenji both nodded in agreement. Despite the rogue's bravado, they found themselves reassured by his tactical thinking.

"I'll do my best to feather the spearmen before they can let fly, but the long steel will be your department," h advised. "What say?"

Tenji and Skadi nodded in silent agreement.

One by one, the three of them slowly descended the cliff using the branches, roots and vines which grew thick out of the sheer sides of the rock face. When Leon had stationed himself in the copse of cypress trees atop the rocky point reaching up out of the water near the dock, Skadi and Tenji quietly swam the rest of the way through the shadowy waters to the base of the dock. They waited silently in the shadows beneath it until, (just as the rogue had predicted) the scarred human stumbled back down the dock, a half empty rum bottle in hand, toward a shadowy spot midway toward the shore.

An arrow hissed with deadly accuracy and found its mark silently in the throat of the bastett brigand. He pitched over the side, but never struck the water. Instead, he fell into the upraised hands of the northwoman. Skadi lowered him into the whispering waves without making a sound. When his partner returned, he scratched his rum addled head and looked bewilderedly about for only a moment before meeting a similar fate.

Leon watched admiringly as Tenji and Skadi pulled themselves silently up out of the lagoon and crouched in the shadows of the torch lit pier. They crept softly but quickly forward until they were just outside the ring of firelight at the shore but still well out onto the dock.

Resisting their urge to sound a war cry, Tenji and Skadi rushed forward without a sound. Two of the 9 remaining yellow sashed slavers died violently and silently. A third fell with an arrow in his chest. As the brigands rallied themselves, Tenji and the towering northwoman fell backward onto the torch lit pier. They stood shoulder to shoulder as the angry slavers funneled toward them. Two more slavers fell. One was hacked nearly in two by Skadi's massive hammer and axe blows. One was swept off his feet by the swirling butt of Tenji' spear. He died with the spear point thrust downward decisively in his chest. Another pitched and fell off the dock with a splash, clawing convulsively at an arrow in his neck.

Drunk with wine and furious indignation, the yellow sashed marauders pressed forward with renewed zeal. Skadi caught a dagger wound in her side before caving in the skull of her attacker with her hammer and removing his arm at the shoulder with her hand axe.

Tenji ducked under a vicious cutlass arcing toward her head. She drove her spear single handedly into the chest of her attacker. Her free hand shot forward, emitting a shining beam of purplish red energy. It seared into the body of the last remaining brigand. He shook violently, knocked completely off of his feet, and died coughing charred blood.

Skadi lowered her weapons and surveyed the scene with calm satisfaction. Tenji caught her breath after a few moments and then noticed the wound bleeding freely on the northwoman's flank.

"We'll need to see to that," she observed.

"I'm fine," Skadi dismissed her.

"You won't be if we don't get that cleaned up and stitched," Tenji countered.

The rogue's voice appeared out of the darkness with him, as he walked up out of the water, onto the sandy shore and into the firelight.

"I'll see what I can scrounge from these ugly scoundrels," he volunteered. "Meantime, bathe that wound in sea water."

Tenji agreed, and motioned Skadi toward the shore. The northwoman rolled her eyes but acquiesced. As Skadi washed her wound, Tenji removed a sash from one of the raiders and dunked it thoroughly in the sea, ringing it out several times. She placed it on the wound and tied it in place with another sash. Skadi barely took notice. Instead she studied the lagoon intensely, especially the steps leading up the cliff near the thundering waterfall, shining pale in the opalescent winter moon.

Leon returned to them momentarily. In his hand he held a thick canvas gunnysack. From it, he produced a bottle of rum, a curved suturing needle made of polished bone and a long string of thin gut.

"Just what the doctor ordered, yes?" he smiled and handed them each a small leather belt pouch heavy with silver and gold coins.

"Your share as well." He offered.

Skadi and Tenji nodded their thanks. Tenji tended and sutured Skadi's wound with the skill of a field medic. It was soon, stitched, bandaged and bound.

"That spell you cast," Leon asked Tenji, "how did..."

"Don't remember," she shrugged, cutting him off. Leon nodded and sighed. "So much for boring and ordinary." He mused.

"What say we see what this DiMarco has to say for himself?" Skadi suggested.

"Aye, lady," Leon agreed. "Let me just fetch my arrows and we can be off."

The tall, narrow cave at the top of the stairs was blocked by a bronze reinforced oaken portcullis. Beyond it, the upward sloping tunnel was dimly lit by smoking torches hanging at irregular intervals from the rough walls in iron wall sconces. The top of the stairs gave a commanding view of the lagoon, the tree lined cliffs and the moonlit ocean beyond. The portcullis resisted even Skadi's attempts to lift it.

"Now, what?" the northwoman wanted to know.

Tenji shrugged. "I got nuthin'," she admitted.

Leon peered inside, studying the pulley and chain system as best he could in the shadows. Then he spied it. Nearly lost in the darkness near the rear aspect of the counterweight system was a tall iron lever set into the floor.

"There," he pointed. "That's the release for the counterweight."

"Plain speech, love." Tenji teased him. He smiled and nodded.

"If we can move that lever it should raise the gate." He told them.

"Too far to reach with my spear," the raven haired witchpriest observed. "Can you hit it with an arrow?"

"I could try," the rogue offered. "But if we have to pull it toward us..."

Leon was interrupted by the sound of approaching voices and the flicker of oncoming torches. Wordlessly, they hid themselves on the narrow ledge to either side of the portcullis. Within moments it clattered and grated upward. Three yellow sashed slavers stepped out onto the landing. With inhuman strength, Skadi sent hurtling over the edge from behind and plummeting into darkness before they had a chance to cry out in surprise.

The northwoman was already inside the tunnel while Tenji and Leon leaned over the edge and watched them disappear into the moonlit shadows below.

"You two coming?" Skadi inquired.

Tenji and the rogue exchanged glances and then hurried after her.

#

#

# Chapter 3

# The Ascendency and Fall of Lolth and House Occluda

By Naraxis of Shadowspire

No soul shall pass to its final rest in the outer planes save through the gateways, which are guarded by the 9 planar dragons. After the Platinum Dragon left his regency over the Throne of Souls, and after the shame of Tiamat who usurped it (when she was defeated at the hands of upper world mortals,) a power vacuum arose. A sovereign was needed to take command of the Shadow dragons which guarded the gates to the Nine Hells, the Abyss, and Gahenna. Tiamat's three Generals: Nerull, Lolth and Hexator, now sought control of the Throne of Souls, and the Shadow Dragons which swear allegiance to whoever sits upon it.

The throne is currently held by Asmodeus – The Lord of the Nine Hells, as he was the only being cunning enough and with an army strong enough to seize control in the Dragon Queen's absence. Plagued by distrust and discord, The three generals now warred with one another in an attempt to amass enough power and an army of souls large enough to assail and seize the Throne of Souls from Asmodeus. The followers of Hexator, while legion, are mainly humanoids from the upper world, Being of moderate intelligence and savage by nature they are nearly impossible to marshal, and difficult to focus and rule on a large scale.

The followers of Nerull, while devout and powerful, are few. Save for very few individuals, they are outcast from both the Faerun and the upper world, and are unable to amass the numbers needed to build an army strong enough to assault the throne.

Instead they seem to seek alliances with both the minions of Hexator and Lolth, for reasons of their own. As such, they are neither trusted nor utilized to any great extent, and at great peril to those who ally with them.

This, then, should have rightly becomes the age of the ascendency of the Spider Queen Lolth. For centuries, her devoted children have ruled the Faerun. Their military might, mastery of the arcane forces, and regency over the dark divine magicks has lain in wait - growing in power and expanding in influence. Under the dark grip of Matron Tireal Occluda, the noble houses of the drow city of Mithmyren sought to regain dominance of the upper world – and to pillage its souls and resources as tribute to the Spider Queen. For centuries they held sovereignty over the Temple of Arach Oscura and commanded the power's of Arach Santorum's dark portal. But in their arrogance, they neglected to reap the souls and resources of the very Faerun about them. They let slip the strengthening ties between the Illithids and the Grey Dwarves, squandering their family's Lolth given wealth and might on regaining long forgotten ground and power in the upper world, and allowed their wrath and jealousy of the upper world elves to consume them.

As their eyes were turned upward toward a forgotten and hated sun, House Ssambra rekindled old ties and alliances with the Illithids and the Duergar. Because House Occluda sent their most powerful emissaries to court the favor of Hexator's giants and the petty fallen paladin family of Blackmoor, and because they committed their most elite and powerful war squadrons to assail the upper world elves and their allies, house Ssambra was able infiltrate their chambers and assail their walls,

After a devastating war Lolth finally found favor with the rightful rulers of the Underdark and House Occluda was defeated.  
Ever does the fallen house of Occluda now seek to harvest souls and resources from the upper world to regain the Spider Queen's favor.

But the die is cast and the game is set. The Faerun is now ruled by a more powerful house. The drow followers of Lolth felt assured that it would be from the realm of the Underdark, from which the Spider Queen would draw the power to wrest the throne from Asmodeus.

But as is the ways of the Lords of Evil - Lolth's ascendency was cut short by treachery. In the shadows, Nerull forged and alliance with Asmodeus and they imprisoned the Spider Queen in her own lair in the abyss, leaving her vulnerable to attack from the mortals of the upper world who were at war with her people.

So it was as it had been with Tiamat before her: The spider queen, helpless and nightmare bound in her own inner sanctum by her brother, was slain at he hands of mortal upper world champions: The Storm's Verdict, Led by Yllysyndry Storm Bringer, Tarsis Ironmane, AnnaLieah Fairystorm, and Tatyana Saberdance, They battled alongside Leyawin Silverdawn and Zorak of the North Wind – but all of them were unknowingly working the will of Asmodeus and Nerull and eliminating for him, the most direct threat to his regency of the coveted Throne of Souls.

Now, quietly scheming, Nerull – Asmodeus's second in command, is biding his time and wielding his influence with his mortal followers in the shadows of night in the sun lit realms of the flaness, and planning the downfall of Asmodeus, and his own rise to the Throne of Souls

Longknife moved instinctively toward the back of her cell. Not quite crouched but ready. Her sharp bastett ears heard the sound of three separate and distinct sets of foot falls and the jingling of keys.

"More slave pens?" A man's voice whispered.

"Looks like," a woman's voice responded. A northern barbarian woman judging by the accent. "Take these," came the northwoman's voice again.

Keys jingled. "Free any prisoners. Tenji and I will watch the door."

"Why do I have to free the prisoners?" the man's voice complained.

"There may be a damsel in distress," The voice belonging to the one called Tenji observed.

Longknife rolled her emerald eyes and shook her head.

"Good point!" The man's voice agreed. It was closer now.

"Well indeed," Longknife heard him whisper admiringly as her sharp, feline ears caught the sound of keys opening Indigo Red's cell. "These accommodations are dreadfully inadequate for a lady such as yourself. Would you perhaps like to stretch her legs a bit?"

"Thank you," Indigo replied tersely. "Get the others out, please. Captain first."

A pleasingly handsome human man with a thin moustache and beard appeared outside Longknife's cell. He held up a ring of keys and smiled captivatingly. "Captain is it, then?" He bowed then proceeded to release her.

"Thank you," Longknife extended a hand. The rogue took it gracefully.

"I'm Longknife. Captain of the Siren's Melody," the bastett introduced herself to her rescuers. "This is my crew: My first mate, Indigo Red. Our quartermaster Fazil," the dwarf nodded and bowed formally. "My weapons master Mustafa," the ebony skinned monk nodded politely. "And our cook, Dhazhrak Gogragstinious."

Leon's face contorted mildly for a moment.

"Doc Tiny," Fazil clarified. "And he's taken a nasty bump to the head. Do you have any healing salves?"

"Afraid not," Leon apologized. "We're fresh out. Seems our presence here is not very much appreciated. We got a bit banged up ourselves."

"You look none the worse for wear," Indigo observed skeptically.

"I'm light on my feet, love," Leon replied casually.

Indigo smirked and rolled her eyes.

Leon quickly scanned the rest of the cells, but the Castaway Rats were the only guests currently. He led them back out of the holding area and introduced them to Tenji and Skadi. The towering northwoman was very interested in the fact that they were captain and crew of a ship.

"It seems we may be in a position to help eachother," Skadi told them.

"How so?" Longknife wanted to know.

"Well," Skadi told her. "You are a crew without a ship. We just happened to have a ship in need of a crew."

"Is that a fact?" Indigo perked up. Longknife's expression remained even. "What ship?" the bastett asked carefully.

"It's called the Phantom's Wail," Tenji replied, taken aback at the darkening expressions of the Castaway Rats.

"Is that a problem?" Leon inquired carefully.

"Depends upon how you came by her," Longknife told them. Skadi recounted the events of the last two days, and Longknife and her crew seemed satisfied and even somewhat astonished at the tale.

"The Wail has a rather fearsome reputation in these waters," Longknife explained. "It's Draga's fastest scout ship. The former captain, Donavan the Red and his raiders, have sent many a sailor to the deep and razed many a village aboard that ship. You may not find her so easy to put to port in these waters."

"Well she's ours now," Skadi reminded them. "She sails under a new captain and crew. That is, if you wish to join us?"

"We're with you till we swim the deep or a better fortune graces us," Longknife told her.

The other's nodded, but Indigo Red seemed quiet.

"I have one condition," Skadi told her, looking the bastett directly in the eyes.

"And that is?" Longknife inquired.

"She is our ship, but I am no captain, and we are not sailors. At least not that we know about. Will you captain her?"

"I will, if my crew can resume their former duties and positions," Longknife responded carefully.

"Agreed," Skadi stated. Tenji and Leon nodded.

"No," Indigo interjected. The others looked curiously at her. "Captain, one of them should be first mate. I can take second mate and navigator, but they secured the vessel. They should keep a command interest. Crewing and navigating will keep me busy enough."

"Very well," Skadi smiled, not attempting to hide her admiration for Indigo's diplomacy. "Tenji, will you take the role of first mate?"

Tenji hesitated. "Yes. But just for now." She looked back hopefully at Indigo Red. The sailor's sapphire eyes met hers with satisfaction.

"It's settled then," Fazil noted.

"Why are you three at Half Moon Bay?" Mustafa asked.

"We wish to have a word with someone named, DiMarco," Tenji told him. "We want to find out who sold us to Draga."

"What brings YOU to his prison?" Leon asked.

"A disagreement," Longknife responded evasively.

"Over...?" Leon prompted.

"A game of Pharaoh," Indigo filled in.

Leon chuckled, "I think this may be the beginning of a beautiful friendship," he remarked.

Skadi cleared her throat and addressed the bastett. "Longknife – the way back to the lagoon is clear. The ship is moored in a small cove just west of the dock. We can meet you there when we have dealt with DiMarco."

"I'll stay with you three," Longknife countered, reassured by the northwoman's vote of early trust. It wasn't everyone who would trust a band of captive pirates so quickly with an unguarded ship (especially not one as infamous and valuable as the Phantom's Wail).

"Indigo," Longknife stated. "You four take Leon and secure the ship. Skadi, Tenji and I can handle DiMarco." Skadi agreed with a silent nod. She was now satisfied by Longknife's counter proposal that the Castaway Rats could be trusted.

"Aye captain," each of them chimed one after another. Led by Leon, holding aloft a torch removed from an iron wall sconce, the newly rescued Castaway Rats, and now the new crew of the Phantom's Wail, disappeared around the corner. The corona of sputtering torchlight followed quickly after them, leaving Skadi, Tenji and Longknife alone in the dingy smelling shadows.

"You must be quite the Pharaoh player," Longknife observed.

"Maybe," Skadi replied. "Let's go find DiMarco"

The system of caves proved to be large and capable of holding a great many raiders and their plunder. But they were not as complex as they had feared. Aside from several more smaller groups of slavers, easily dispatched and looted for weapons, armor (going mostly to the bastett) and coin (evenly split amongst themselves) it wasn't long before they stood at the base of a steep set of roughly hewn stone stairs leading up to a narrow landing and a heavy iron door.

A tall iron brazier burned smokily on either side of the portal. From beyond the door, came the muffled sound of music, and raucous merry making. Longknife moved carefully up the stairs, stopping to check each one for any sort of trap or snare. When they reached the top, she pressed her shapely feline ear to the door and closed her eyes.

"How many?" Skadi whispered.

"Sounds like about 10 or 12," Longknife responded quietly. "But at least 3 or four are giggly and female. Probably serving wenches."

"Maybe," Tenji agreed tentatively. "But there is a mage in there."

Longknife looked quizzically at her.

"I can tell," Tenji explained. "I just can." The bastett shrugged. A feral smile began to play about her lips. Skadi recognized the look and returned it.

"Fortune favors the bold," The Northwoman stated. Longknife turned the knob slowly and silently and quickly opened the door.

Safe and comfortable behind the heavy iron door, "DiMarco" the Ogre Magi leader of the complex, feasted amongst a group of his finest warriors and a cadre of scantily clad serving wenches bearing trays food and flagons of warm frothy dwarven ale. Known for his ruthlessness and cunning, DiMarco had made a name for himself as a black market supplier of anything and everything from rare jewels and spices to slaves. His quarters were opulently furnished. The walls were hung with fine art and silken tapestries. The floors were strewn with luxurious rugs, pillows and cushions. Standing over 8' tall and weighing over 700 pounds, DiMarco was clad in fine black splint mail, black and purple cloak and boots, and a huge silver scimitar hung at his side. His sharp, orgrish features were highlighted by a black silk eye patch, and platinum and ruby piercings.

By his side, a comely halforc woman in revealing silks and jewels leveled a staff of polished wood, topped with a large, uncut crystal toward the three interlopers. DiMarco moved quickly for a creature his size. His yellow sashed brigands came swiftly to their feet, weapons drawn.

But Skadi was already nearly half way across the chamber, her axe and hammer coming to bear on a barrel chested saurian raider, when a javelin of reddish energy shot from the staff of DiMarco's companion. Skadi ducked to the right, barely avoiding it, but still managing to bury her hammer in the saurian's skull and her war axe in the neck of a yellow sashed dwarf with a black beard and jagged teeth.

The bolt streaked toward Tenji. Instinctively muttering an arcane incantation, she swatted it aside, her spear hand sparkling with a golden glow. Her other hand shot forward, fingers curved like a tiger's claw. A blast of radiant white energy streamed forward. It burned into the half orc mage. She fell backward screaming in agony.

A curved steel cutlass in either hand (relieved from the fallen raiders of DiMarco's complex), Longknife dispatched two raiders with predatory skill and grace. Their weapons clattered to the floor as they clutched bleeding throats and their lives ebbed from them with choking gurgles.

The serving wenches screamed in fright, scattering and attempting to hide where they could.

DiMarco had reached the northwoman. Despite her unnatural height, he towered over her. He brought his wide bladed scimitar down hard upon her. Skadi crossed her weapons and caught the blade. But DiMarco's brutish strength was nearly equal to her own, and he had a decided height and leverage advantage. The ogre's blade sliced into Skadi's arm and shoulder before she was able to push it aside and plant a kick in his gut.

Tenji pivoted and swirled, sweeping the legs out from under a raider coming up from behind her. She finished her spin by driving her spear through the leather armored chest of a brigand who had been bearing down on her from in front.

A winging dagger managed to slice through Longknife's shoulder as she twisted to avoid it. In a single, fluid motion, she drove both of her cutlass blades into a raider's gut. He vomited dark blood and sank to the floor clutching his mortal wound.

2 searing darts of red energy burned into Tenji as she deflected a blow from a raider's saber. DiMarco brought his flashing great scimitar around in a vicious arc. Skadi struck the blade down hard with her hammer and drove her hand axe deep into the Slave trader's neck. He snarled as he crumpled to his knees. The northwoman snarled back as she stove in his face with her war hammer. Her war axe hurtled across the room, burying itself in the skull of one of the yellow sashed raiders. Tenji's spear pierced the neck of a one eyed orc with a yellow head cloth, and Longknife artfully removed the arm of a brigand with one blade with one sword, while slicing open the windpipe of another. A second bolt of silvery white light thundered forward from Tenji's hand and burned into the orc sorceress. She screamed, fell, and lay still.

Then the room was still.

Longknife lowered her blades and surveyed the carnage. Splatters of blood soaked the carpets, all of their clothes and her sleek fur. Skadi stooped and retrieved her axe. Tenji winced as she kneeled to examine DiMarco's body.

"You sure made him talk," Tenji remarked.

"Singing like a drunken bard," added Longknife.

The northwoman paid them no mind. She was already using the cutlass of a fallen raider to pry open the drawer of a heavy wooden desk in the far corner of the room.

"So what do we do with them?" Longknife indicated the four serving wenches that cowered near various pieces of furniture.

"You're free to go as you will," Skadi called absently over her shoulder. She wedged the cutlass blade into the desk drawer. The drawer opened with a crack of splintering wood.

"Where will we go?" one of them demanded; a blonde haired and ample bosomed halfling in revealing silks. But Skadi paid her no heed. The others exchanged flustered looks but nodded and whispered in agreement.

"What is your name, girl?" Longknife asked her reassuringly.

"Flaxen," the serving girl told her sheepishly.

"Flaxen," Longknife smiled. "If you and your friends want passage off the island we can give it to you. We can take you as far as Highport. You can seek your fortunes from there."

"What would you have us do?" asked one of the other women, barely out of her teens. Her raven hair fell across ivory shoulders, and the recent caress of the whip was still visible across her back beneath her harem silks.

"Go to the Lagoon and wait," Longknife told her. "When a black ship moors there, ask for Indigo Red. Tell her Longknife has granted you working passage to Highport. She will help you."

Flaxen looked dubiously at the blood spattered bastett warrior, defiant, but unsure of herself.

"Go now," Longknife urged her. "Or stay. As you will."

Flaxen whispered hurriedly with the other three women. Then they hurried from the chamber. After briefly rummaging through the desk, Skadi smiled with satisfaction. She removed the thick, leather bound papyrus ledger of the slave trader. Also in the drawer was a long, lacquered wooden scroll tube. Inside were several large rolled up nautical charts brightly painted on lanolin infused hemp parchment. She scanned them briefly, noting that one of the charts denoted Half Moon Bay with a bright yellow "X". She replaced the charts and tossed the tube to Tenji.

"What have you got?" The witchpriest inquired, wincing from the pain of her wounds as she caught the tube out of the air.

"Nautical charts," Skadi explained. "And.. this." She held up the ledger.

"A bit of light reading?" Tenji jibed.

"Mmm," Skadi smirked. "Better. DiMarco's ledger. See if you can find us."

Tenji nodded. Once they had cleaned and bound their wounds, they set about searching the bodies of the fallen slave raiders. Each had a purse heavy with coin and precious stones. But it was Longknife who managed to locate the loose flagstone concealed beneath DiMarco's bed. She inspected it closely for signs of snares and traps, but found nothing.

"You'll both want to take a look at this," the bastett called. The stone came away revealing a large, locked wooden chest. Longknife produced a key hanging on a brass chain, which she had relieved from DiMarco's corpse. As she opened the lock and lifted the lid, they each drew their breaths sharply. The bastett's bright smile revealed delicate, but razor sharp fangs.

"Well," Tenji noted with a grin. "This should do us by for a while." The chest was laden with thousands of golden and silver coins, precious stones, and sparkling pieces of fine jewelry. Skadi was the first to disenchant herself from the dazzling find.

"We need to find the complex's stores," she observed matter of factly. "They have to keep their food and supplies somewhere. We're going to need them."

"She always this cheerful?" Longknife inquired sardonically.

"Are you kidding?" Tenji returned under her breath. "This is the happiest I've ever seen her."

"I heard that," Skadi called back, as she was exiting the room. Tenji and Longknife re-secured the chest and followed quickly behind her.

"Damn your bastett ears!" Tenji Quipped.

## Chapter 4

Excerpt from:  
The SeaWitch, Captain's Log:  
The Gypsy's map has proven true, but to our travail and despair rather than our glory. A great river hydra guards the Shoals, and though I can see the falls, and what I know to be the Entrance to the River Serpent's shrine where the Skysea compass rests just behind them, I know we shall never reach them. Even now, I hear the death screams of my men, the final crew of the SeaWitch, and the burning and shattering of her timbers. I will seal this log and the Shrine's key below decks and go to join them.

It is only fitting that their fate should be mine as well. I have been a fool.

If you are reading this, you are perhaps stronger and more fortunate than I. But seek the compass at your own peril and the peril of those whom you protect and serve.

  * Kenneric Goethe

Even with the assistance of the freed serving wenches, it took nearly two days to remove the wealth and stores from the caves of Half Moon bay and store them in the hold of the Phantom's Wail. Indigo Red proved to be a more than capable helmsman and navigator, Mustafa a quiet and efficient coordinator of effort, and Fazil a meticulous organizer and record keeper. Fazil and the serving wenches, with Flaxen as their leader and spokeswoman, had wasted no time in scrubbing the last remains of the fire, repairing the damage to the decks, and organizing the hold. All the while Doc Tiny cleaned, mended and tended wounds, while he prepared meals and organized the ship's larders.

Leon took it upon himself to personally oversee the securing and tallying of the "liquid inventory" and the entire crew grew merrier and more motivated as Skadi began parsing out the coins and spoils of the caves evenly and generously despite the muttered objections and flustered concerns of Longknife and the rogue.

The morning sun was high and warm, and the wind was at their backs when they cast off to the west on the third day.

The Phantom's Wail cut a frothy wake as it sailed smoothly and swiftly through the brisk, crystal blue waters of the Azure Sea on freshly mended sails. The days were filled with frantic activity, as Indigo red and Mustafa taught the newer "crew members" to adjust sails, trim and secure lines, swab decks and gain their sea legs. They all learned quickly under the tutelage of the Castaway Rats. The nights became filled with warm rum, laughter, hot food and deep sleep. Flaxen, as it happened, proved to have an angelic singing voice and be more than an adept hand at the mandolin. Accompanied by the melodious flute of Leon, her voice filled the bright starlit nights with tales of heroes and swashbucklers lost now to all memory save that in song.

Sea of silver, sea of thunder  
Sea that gave us storm and plunder  
Sea summer sea of autumn  
Sail we on by star an Zephyr

Sea of legend, sea of weeping  
Sea that gave us birth and Deeping  
Seas of winter seas of spring time  
Sail we on by star and Zephyr

Waters bright and waters falling  
Song of sails and oceans calling  
Sail we on the tides and trade winds  
Sail we on, sail we on

The journey to Highport was nearly two weeks long. The Phantom's Wail cut a smooth swift course through the waters under the skilled hands and sharp eyes of Longknife and Indigo Red. On the 12th day, they came up along side the tall, deep harbor pier. They secured their mooring lines and lowered their gangplank. Mustafa greeted the harbor master and talked quietly and courteously with him.

The warm, sapphire waters whispered gently against the thick wooden timbers of Highport's deep water docks, which surround the city on all three sides of the peninsula on which it rested. The view of the white stone and blue and bronze domed buildings of the city, as it rose from the sandy shores into the high, lush bluffs was breath taking. The city was built up the gentle slopes from the ivory shores to the sandstone roadways which lined the steep white hillside, overlooking the sea. Between the docks and the port city proper, the Fishmarket was bustling with crowds and activity. Fishermen, merchants, farmers, mercenaries, thieves, beggars, and prostitutes, of every stripe and culture converged here to sell, barter and do business. The marketplace was huge – covering nearly the entire northern face of the city. A small, and woefully inadequate but earnest division of the local constabulary patrolled its winding labyrinth of booths, tents, wagons and pavilions. But there was much ground for a small force to cover. So the dwellers of Highport who frequented the market were essentially free to come and go as they pleased, and a soft word and a knife in the shadows would most surely get you more than a soft word.

DiMarco's ledger indicated that he had purchased Skadi, Tenji and Leon from an unnamed blue eyed woman in black armor. They were then resold at a handsome profit to a Slave Lord named Draga.

"You might want to see if there is someone here in Highport who can help restore your memories," Fazil offered. Skadi had grown quite fond of the flamboyant and good natured dwarf over the past two weeks. While not nearly as skilled in the arts of wooing the opposite sex, as Leon had proven himself to be with 3 of the four serving wenches, Fazil was charming and respectful toward the northwoman, and she found it endearing.

"This is a hell of a ship," Fazil noted admiringly. "But she needs some repairs, and I'd like to be rid of these damn yellow sails."

The yellow sails were the mark of slave raiders, and had come to be feared by many. Fortunately, Highport was a town which dealt in the slave trade, so they had not been denied welcome there.

Skadi agreed. "You know this place, Fazil my friend?" She asked him.

"Very well, lady," He told her. "Spent many years here as an apprentice shipwright before I took to the seas."

"Then you know where to sell this cargo so we can re-stock and repair the ship?" She assumed.

"Aye, Lady, I do. That could take a few days though. Where are we headed?"

"I don't know yet," She advised him. "I need to find out if there is anyone here who can help us remember who we are. Or at least tell us what this is." She tapped her ivory bracer.

"Maybe my third cousin could help," Fazil told her. Mustafa chuckled merrily and Skadi raised and inquiring eyebrow.

"He's a healer and a holy man of Pelor," Fazil retorted.

"When he's not drinking at the Amber Lantern or pummeling some poor soul out of his wits in the arena at Armand's House of Chance," Mustafa expounded.

"Held his own against you, if I remember," Fazil grumbled.

"That he did," agreed the monk with a smile. "For longer than most."

"Well, then, my friend," Skadi smiled. Where is the church of Pelor?"

"Better try Armand's," Fazil advised. "His name is Bulwark. You can't miss him. Biggest damned dwarf anyone has ever seen."

Tenji and Skadi drew admiring stares and whispered wonder as they threaded their way through the bustling crowds of the Fishmarket. They made their way to the narrow stone boulevard that wound its way back and forth up the tree lined hillside of the city toward the Caliph's palace at the summit. Many of the buildings were built right into the side of the hill itself, really no more than finished and worked caves and tunnels with grandly carved stone facades. Those that were free standing were made of white limestone and sandstone blocks with domed roofs of bronze, blue copper, or heavy timbers.

After much asking about, Tenji was able to press a gold coin into the hands of a clever and bright eyed street urchin with dirty brown hair and a ragged, dingy linen dress. Her eyes grew wide when she saw the coin and she nodded excitedly. Her brown eyes sparkling when Tenji told her they needed a guide.

"Anywhere you want to go," the girl told them enthusiastically. "I'm Fatima. I know this whole city!" She assured them. She took the witchpriest's hand and led them along through the flagstone road.

The smell of incense, tobacco, and the sounds of cheers and ringing steel flowed from the open archway that led into Armand's House of Chance. The center of the low stone building was a pit of sand, ringed by a chest high stone wall. Two, sweating and badly beaten fighters, one a barrel chested, heavily muscled dwarf with a thick, black, blood crusted beard, and the other a lithe and brutally built half orc battled with open hands and no armor in the center of the arena while the house calls odds and take bets.

The odds seemed to be on the dwarf. Cheering crowds of robed and turbaned townsfolk, sailors, brigands, and scoundrels surrounded the pit. The outer perimeter of the hall was furnished with low wooden tables, lit by small crystal lamps. Attractive, young, black haired, cocoa skinned women in beautiful red and green silks served platters of fine food and drink or ran various games of chance.

Skadi and Tenji found a table near the fight pit. After their serving girl got over her initial wonder and surprise at Skadi's appearance, the northwoman settled for ale when she learned they had no mead. Tenji ordered a glass of Furyondian emerald pale wine, and a platter of fruit and cheese for their guide. Tenji placed a hand on the arm of their serving girl.

"Who are the fighters?" She inquired.

Their waitress smiled. "The half orc is Sklar, a slaver from the Reckoning."

"And the dwarf?" Tenji asked.

"He is a priest," she explained. "They call him Bulwark," she looked around quickly to be sure no one was listening. "You should bet on him," she advised them under her breath.

"Do you think he will win?" Skadi wanted to know.

"He always does," she smiled and glided away.

Back in the pit, over the angry and joyous shouts of the betting crowd, the dwarf held his ground. He patiently absorbed numerous blows, and waited for his opening. The orc remained light on his feet. He moved like a predator, attacking fiercely and then dancing backward to avoid the return strikes of the dwarf, who stood nearly 5 feet tall and seemed nearly as wide. But the punches never came. The dwarf simply held up his guard and turned so the orc was never to his back.

"Fight me, dwarf!" The orc growled. Bulwark met his eyes but never said a word. Sklar snarled in fury and brutally rained furious blows down upon the implacable dwarf. The might and savagery of each would have crippled or killed an ordinary opponent. But Bulwark merely hunkered down, shielding his face and eyes from the taloned fists. The orc howled in rage.

Then, Bulwark staggered.

The crowd cheered wildly, and began chanting the orc's name. Money began to change hands as slaver gained the advantage.

It appeared very much to Skadi and Tenji that the dwarf had met his match. Skadi remarked that she was glad she had not bet on the dwarf. Then, imperceptibly quickly, Bulwark had a vice-like grip of the orc's wrist in his thick, calloused hand. He landed a thunderous right upper cut into Sklar's gut. The slaver doubled over as the air left his body. Still clenching his wrist, Bulwark brought his elbow down on the back of Sklar's head, crushing him face first into the dirty, blood soaked sand.

Sklar lay limp and still.

There was a brief moment of stunned silence around the pit. A roar of mixed joy and anger welled up from the crowd, as winnings changed hands and heads wagged with victory or disbelief. Bulwark wiped the sand and blood from his meaty hands and walked from the arena.

As he sat down at his usual table in a dark corner, a little girl in a dirty linen dress and sandaled feet, with large round brown eyes tugged at the sleeve of his tunic.

"Yes, child?" the dwarf smiled gently.

"My name is Fatima. My mistresses would like to have a word with you."

"Mistresses?" The dwarf rumbled skeptically. The girl nodded sagely and pointed toward Skadi and Tenji's table. Bulwark paused a moment. Both of the women were striking, and obviously not locals. But the tall northwoman with the golden eyes and pearlescent skin was of no race Bulwark had ever seen before. She reminded him of some of the depictions of the angelic folk in the murals on the walls of Pelor's temple. After a moment, he grabbed his tankard of ale and followed Fatima.

"Please sit," Tenji invited him with a polite gesture. "We are looking for Bulwark of Pelor. Is that you?"

The dwarf sat down with a heavy sigh. "It is," he told them.

"Fazil sent us," Tenji told him.

"How do you know my cousin?" Bulwark inquired.

"He crews with us on the Phantom's Wail," The witchpriest explained. Bulwark's expression grew troubled and his eyes glinted suspiciously.

"I know that ship," Bulwark growled. "And the only way my cousin would be aboard such a vessel is as a slave." The tone in his voice was a warning.

"The Wail is a slave ship no longer," Tenji assured him. Donavan the red and his crew are dead. We were their prisoners, and now she sails under our banner and the command of Longknife and the Castaway Rats."

The dwarf leaned back, taking a long draught of ale as he considered this.

"And your banner is?" He leveled his gaze at the northwoman.

"We're, uh," Skadi faltered briefly, "still sort of working that out."

"Eh?" the dwarf squinted.

Skadi and Tenji proceeded to regale him with the events of the past 3 weeks, while the dwarf stroked his thick beard and rumbled thoughtfully. When they finished he looked at them evenly as Fatima nibbled gratefully at the fruit and cheese.

Finally, he nodded. "So, three of you with no memory of who you are," he summarized gruffly. "I have never heard of such a curse. Find your friend, Leon. Come to the Chapel. I will talk to my abbotess. Maybe she can help you. It's on the northern slopes near the Caliph's Palace. Fatima should know where it is."

The little girl nodded excitedly. "Can I come and see your ship, now?" She wanted to know.

Tenji smiled. "Of course you can!" she told her.

>>>>><<<<<

Steep, white limestone steps curved down from the main roadway, around the white stone and blue domed chapel over looking the sea, to the front entry on the bottom of the side facing the water. The stairs ended at a landing ringed by a banister of thick stone. To their left, was a breath taking view over looking the bluffs and the calm, crystal blue Azure Sea. In front of them, an archway led to the gardens straight ahead. On their right A beaten copper doorway opened into the chapel proper.

Tenji, Leon and Skadi turned right and went inside. The chapel foyer was dim and cool. Bright beams of sunlight filtered down from narrow skylights in the high domed ceiling above, that was covered in bright frescoes; and from deep set windows of stained glass in the stone walls. The beams all seemed to fall on a round stone altar in the center. Atop the altar was the symbol of Pelor, God of Healing cast in red and yellow gold. Surrounding the altar, live rose bushes and orchids grew from planters cut into the flag stone floor. Surrounding those were rings of wide, white stone benches. Several worshipers sat quitely on the benches, praying and offering supplications. Tending the altar, wearing a cowled robe of pure white, emblazoned with the diety's symbol was one of the fenrir, (or wolven folk) her lupine features delicate and feminine, and her fur snowy white and grey. She looked up at them and smiled as they entered. Leon leaned over and whispered into Tenji's ear.

"Thank the gods Longknife didn't tag along," he teased as the acolyte approched them. Tenji suppressed a smile.

"I am Vaya of Pelor," she introduced herself. "All who come in peace are welcome here."

Tenji gave a slight bow and smiled in return. "I am Tenji, these are my friends Leon and Skadi."

"Yes," Vaya's smile widened. "Brother Bulwark said to expect you. He is outside in the gardens."

Back out in the sunlight, the sound of waves crashing against the shore below mingled with the laughter of water falling from natural rock fountians and wandering through stone aqueducts surrounded by flowering trees and tropical fruit orchards.

Bulwark sat on a stone bench, robed and sandaled in white. He was in deep and earnest conversation with a matronly priestess with flowing white and silver hair.

"This must be them now," she smiled. The priestess stood and welcomed them with a soft gesture.

"It is," Bulwark agreed, joining her. They each introduced themselves.

The Abbotess, Asphadal, embraced each of them, and looked long into their eyes, one then another. Her gaze was searching and penetrating, but also soothing and wise. She spent a great deal of time clasping both of Skadi's hands and looking deep into her golden eyes. Finally, she spoke.

"You, Skadi, are a rare creature indeed." Asphadal smiled. "Most likely a decendant of a race we thought lost."  
"Who?" Skadi wondered.

"They were called the devan," the priestess explaine. "It is said they were the children of the grey elves and extra-planar wanderers."

Skadi arched an inquiring eyebrow.

"Most would call them angels," Asphadal explained.

"There is a great darkness upon each of your minds," the Abbotess told them. "I don't know that I can pull that veil aside on my own. Whoever put it there is quite powerful. Most likely far more powerful than I."

"Are you sure?" Tenjji was disappointed but hopeful.

"Perhaps there is a way," The abbotess told them, "But it is not certain."

Leon shook his head and muttered under his breath.

"What?" Tenji wanted to know.

"A name and a token," Asphadal told them. "If I had the name of the one who cursed you, and an item of personal significance to them – there is a ritual I know which might lift the veil."

"Where do we find that?" Skadi asked.

"Draga," Leon cut in. They looked at him puzzled. "That's who bought us. If there is any clue as to the seller, it would be with him."

Bulwark shook his head, his expression dark. "That will prove... difficult." He intoned.

"Why does everyone get so dramatic everytime I say the name of a pirate or a pirate ship?" Leon inquired snarkily.

"Scimitar Isle is well known in these waters," Bulwark advised them. "The trick isn't finding it. It's getting back alive."

"Yes, of course," Leon shook his head again. "Always danger, always dire, life and limb."

"What are you saying, Leon?" Tenji demanded.

"I'm saying: We are rich, free, and we have a really nice ship." He looked at each of them earnestly in turn. "We can go anywhere we want. Do anything we want. Fortune, glory, fame. What is it about looking back that is so much better than what we have in front of us? Why court death when we have nothing before us but life -however we decide to live it?"

They did not return his gaze.

Asphadal was the first to break the awkward silence. "Each of you has the right to who you were. The curse on you is powerful, which means someone very evil and very powerful wanted you silenced but not dead. There may be much at stake."

"Too much to walk away from," Skadi finished.

"Agreed," Tenji nodded.

Leon sighed heavily and shook his head. "Of course I'm in," he quickly answered their unasked question. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"I'll grab my gear," Bulwark told them. They each stared at him questioningly.

"It's Scimitar Isle," the dwarf clarified. "Where you're getting ready to go, you're going to need a priest."

Skadi and Tenji smiled.

"Meet me here tomorrow," Bulwark told them. "After lunch," he added.

The northwoman removed a large pouch from her belt, heavy with coin, and handed it to Asphadal, who accepted it humbly.

"For the church," the northwoman told her. Leon's jaw dropped as his eyes momentarily widened and his palms turned upward.

"I really need some rum," he sighed.

As they left the gardens, they found Vaya sitting and talking excitedly with Fatima on the temple steps. Fatima was nearly half way through a large mango and a tall glass of goat's milk. She jumped up excitedly as they exited the garden archway.

Vaya stood and smiled as they approached.

"Can I see your ship now?" She beamed. The child was nearly vibrating with excitement.

"Don't you ever feed this child?" the beautiful wolfen priestess chuckled.

"Constantly," Leon sighed.

Tenji grinned, "she eats like a war horse."

Fatima grinned with mango stained lips. "I fight like one too!" She announced.

Skadi smiled as she knelt down to look the child in the eyes. "So are you sated for the moment?" She asked her.

"I guess so," Fatima told her, finishing the last of her goat's milk. Skadi gently caught hold of the child's wrist when she attempted to wipe her mouth with her sleeve.

"Don't you dare," the northwoman instructed with mock sterness. Fatima rolled her eyes and removed a handkerchief from her pocket.

"There's a proper young lady," Tenji encouraged her.

"So, can I see your ship now?" Fatima implored again.

"I can't think of a good reason why not," Leon smiled at the child. He extended his arms and Fatima lept excitedly up into them. She rode atop his shoulders all the way back to the docks.

At Flaxen's insistance the Castaway Rats had replaced Fatima's old dress and ragged sandals with a new white linnen tunic emroidered with yellow at the sleeves and neck, new brown cotton leggings and a fine pair of black boots. But the cost had been a hot bath (about which Fatima was at best dubious) and an extended session with Captain Longknife, a boar bristled hair brush and some perfumed mineral oil which Flaxen had relieved from the mage's quarters at Half Moon Bay.

At Fazil's insistance, a small dagger now hung at her hip from a black leather belt with shiny brass buckle.

The argument had been tense but brief. Fatima was a street urchin. Her mother had died at the knife of brigands nearly a year before, and she had no memory of her father. As a child of less than 10 summers in age, she had proven resourseful enough to make the streets and alleys of Highport her home.

But the crew of the Phantom's Wail (even fearing the danger's of a life adventuring under sail to a young child) were unable to offer much resistance to her pleas for sanctuary and a life among the Castaway Rats.

It was Doc Tiny who had succumed first.

The rest had given way when the firey spirited and ever smiling child began to cry. At Captain Longknife's direction - she was officially apprenticed under Flaxen and Doc Tiny as scullery crew and instructed to take dagger throwing lesson's from Indigo Red.

The child excitedly agreed.

"Fatima," Skadi requested. "I need to find a good armorer. Do you know where to find one?"

"How good?" Fatima inquired, her voice very official.

"I need a proper set of armor for this adventure," Skadi told her. "I prefer dwarven steel."

"And I a better spear." Tenji added.

"And I need a drink," Leon muttered shaking his head. "In a proper tavern with lusty barmaids and a bright fire."

"The Amber Lantern has the best rum in the city," Fatima advised him. "And the girls there are really pretty."

Leon's expression brightened noticably.

"I'm not going to ask how you know that," Tenji sighed.

"You should go to Bahilu's Steelworks," Fatima changed the subject quickly. "She makes the best weapons and armor in the city. Besides her husband always makes fresh bread on Fridays and he always saves me some."

"Good enough for me," Tenji smiled.

They left the ship the following morning. The distant roar of the ocean against the bluffs followed them back out to the crowded rush of Highport's flagstone streets. Led expertly by their child guide, they soon arived at a humble wooden pavilion with a terracotta roof. In the relative shade of the center, a hot stone forge glowed orange. An olive skined, almond eyed woman with short, tight curling black hair and a thick leather smock was forging a wide bladed steel cutlass on a great anvil. Her hammer sang expertly like a bright ringing bell. The rafters of the pavillion shop were hung with masterfully crafted weapons, shields and armor, all forged of polished, tempered steel.

"Welcome, travellers," Bahilu greeted the cheerfully. She stopped to wipe the sweat from her forehead with the back of her sleeve. "I see my young friend has brought me some customers. What can I do for you?"

If Bahilu had been surprised by Skadi's appearance, her genuine smile gave no indication of it.

"Does Bryn have any bread today?" Fatima wanted to know.

Bahilu smiled. "He just made some. If you hurry, it might still be warm." Fatima grinned and scampered toward the house.

"I need a warrior's armor," Skadi told the smith.

"I do too," Tenji added.

"Heavy or light?" asked the smith. Skadi tilted her head and smirked.

"Heavy then," Bahilu agreed.

"Light for me," Tenji explained. I need to be able to move freely. And a good spear if you have one."

"I do," Bahilu told her. She pointed toward a rack near the back of the pavilion. Tenji nodded and made her way toward it.

"You are quite tall," Bahilu observed. "But I may have something for you. I made it for a half ogre noble, but he never picked it up." She motioned for Skadi to follow her. Displayed on a wooden manequin were a thick cuirass of dwarven steel. Its elegant surface was forged with roaring lion's head shoulder pauldrons. The skirt was cast of small, thick artculated rings of fine silver. The matching greaves and bracers were also decorated with roaring lion's heads all with green crystal eyes. The inside of the armor was comfortably padded with thick leather and soft cotton.

In the back, Tenji had removed and was admiring a steel spear with a thick, razor sharp barbed head, a leather wrapped hilt, and a haft etched with garcefully flowing lines inlaid with gold filagree.

"I'll need to make some adjustments to fit your particular build, but that could be ready by tomorrow," the blacksmith told her.

"We'll take them," Skadi agreed. The northwoman removed a sack of golden coins and several small, round cut rubies from the pouch on her belt. "Will this cover all of it?"

Bahilu smiled. "Nicely," she agreed. "You are most welcome here."

>>>>><<<<<

The air of the shadowy tavern was alive with music, dancing firelight, tobacco smoke, laughter, and the smell of cooking meat. The warm, frothy ale burned comfortingly down his throat as the rogue drank a long draught. He slammed the empty flagon down on the wooden table before him and chased it quickly with a shotglass filled with dwarven cogniac. The dwarf spirits were a potent fire in his belly and spirit. He was already well into feeling relaxed and heavy headed, when a buxom woman with flowing auburn curls and a revealing neckline in her red leather and cotton dress, laughed playfully as she sat down beside him. She met his eyes with her own and smiled fetchingly.

"Buy a lady a drink?" She asked him softly. Leon smiled. "Without a doubt, love!" His words were only slightly slurred, "A name first." He wagged his finger sagaciously. "Must have a name."

"Tylin," She smiled, moving closer. She placed her hand discretely on his knee and gave it a pleasant squeeze.

"You must be new here," she decided.

"Couldn't tell you for sure," Leon waved down one of the serving wenches, who looked flirtingly at him, but disappointed that he had found other company. "Another round for me and one for the lady," Leon requested.

The waitress hurried off but looked back several times, her face concerned. The music of the resident bard and the loud laughter and shouting was being replaced by a pleasant buzzing in the rogue's ears, and his vision was beginning to blur about the edges. The drinks were set down before them after a few minutes of flirtatious small talk. Leon pressed an overly generous tip into his waitress's hands, but her look of worry did not disappear.

"Run along, girl," Tylin told her pleasantly. "Go find your own pretty toy." Tylin swept up the ale flagon and drank deeply, plunked it down on the table and quickly upended a small shotglass, setting it down with a sharp, satisfied exhale.

"Here, here!" Leon laughed, and she slid closer to him, her smile warming seductively. He wrapped one arm around her waist and drank down his ale and cogniac briskly. After several more rounds, she placed both of her shapely arms about his neck and drew herself in close enough for a kiss, but instead whispered suggestively. "The boys around here are so dull. Maybe we could go somewhere more quiet?"

"Absolutely!" Leon agreed triumphantly.

He sprang to his feet, stumbled, momentarily losing his balance as his head swam pleasantly, but he steadied himself quickly on the edge of the table. Tylin stood with him.

As they left together, the raven bearded dwarven priest, watched the rogue quietly over the rim of his own tankard of ale. He shook his head with a smirk, mumbling to himself about the inability of humans to hold their liquor. As Leon rose and left with the chestnut haired woman, Bulwark followed at a discrete distance. His priestly robes had been replaced by heavy ringed dwarven chain mail covered by a thick steel breastplate, and a splinted and spiked white leather tabard bearing the golden symbol of Pelor. Across his back was a massive two handed steel battle hammer. He laid several silver coins down on the table with a heavy spiked steel gauntleted hand.

A coppery moon filled the starlit tropical sky. Its trail danced like a great bronze icicle on the obsidian and deep blue waters of the bay. The shadows gathered about the tall iron oil lamps that lined the wide avenue and lurked sulkily in the alleyways. Tylin planted a deep kiss on the rogue's mouth as she took his hand and led him toward one of them.

"My flat is this way," she reassured him, helping steady him as he stumbled slightly. They disappeared into the mouth of an alley, and the dwarf quickened his pace to follow. As the warm moonlight of the main street faded behind them, 3 large figures stepped out of the gloom. They were armored in thick, soft black leather, black hooded cloaks with silver clasps.

"Don't you two make a lovely couple," one of them said menacingly.

Tylin drew closer to Leon and caught her breath in alarm. Leon sighed with disappointment and looked down at the beautiful dark eyed courtisan at his side.

"Friends of yours?" he wanted to know.

She shook her head earnestly. "No," she said hurriedly, "I promise!" she reached for a dagger at her side.

"Lads," Leon said reassuringly. "If this is what I think it is, you need to just go ahead and bring out the rest of your mates, because...only three of you? Seriously?" he tisked condescendingly, "That won't even be fun."

One of them cocked his head and they moved forward.

"That's it, then?" Leon wanted to know. "I was hoping for a chance to show off for my new friend."

The three brigands were upon him, knives flashing. They moved with skilled precision and serpentine speed. But even in his inebriated state, the rogue was quicker. He ducked easily beneath a knife blow and planted his boot in his assailant's knee. It splintered with a sickening crack. He caught another man's wrist and drove the knife deep into his other assailant's chest. Both crumpled to the ground. One spitting blood and the other rolling about clutching his shattered leg in agony. A knife seared deeply into Leon's flank, but he rammed his elbow into the third man's mouth, sending him reeling backward. Leon stomped his boot artfully onto the pommel of the long bladed dirk of the man with the wounded knee. It rang like a bell against the stone floor of the alleyway as it leapt up into the air. Leon snatched it artfully, advancing on his adversary. Sweat was beginning to trickle down and coat his shocked body as the blood left him through his side. He beckoned his foe forward with the fingertips of his free hand.

"I'm all warmed up now, friend," Leon smiled fiendishly. The buzz of the alcohol was leaving his senses, replaced by the icy burning of the wound in his side. The cloaked figure backed away, turned and fled. Leon smiled weakly turning to reassure his lady companion.

Her blade sunk deeply into his abdomen as she drew up close to him.

"You should have stayed dead, Guildmaster," she hissed menacingly. As Leon crumpled in her arms a look of dazed confusion and surprise filled his face. He barely felt anything as Tylin's razor sharp blade slid across his throat. The alley way pitched as a wave of cold nausea swept over him. The hard stone ground rose up gently to meet him and he remembered no more.

The morning sun was high in the powder blue sky and shone brightly on the crystal waters of the harbor. Mustafa stood on the docks at the head of the gang plank as the last of the barrels and crates of supplies were loaded onto the ship. Aboard the main deck, Fazil was taking careful inventory. He noted each item in the manifest, and directed them to their final location down in the cargo bay.

Indigo Red slid with spiderlike grace down a sail line from the crow's nest high above. She let go completely nearly eight feet in the air, turning a full, graceful somersault in mid air before alighting with catlike grace onto the deck. She grinned at Fazil and winked a cobalt blue eye at the rotund dwarf, who rolled his eyes and returned her grin grudgingly.

"I like the new look," she reassured him gesturing toward the deep emerald colored sails.

"Thank you," Fazil nodded. He hadn't been sure about how the others would react to the color, but it was all the shipwright had available and he was pleased that Indigo seemed to genuinely like it.

Over the ringing bustle of the docks and the loading of the ship, Fazil could hear Flaxen's voice as she was teaching Fatima how the foodstuffs were to be ordered in the larder. Cool waves lapped gently against the lacquered black hull of the ship. Mustafa shielded his eyes with his dark strong hand to see more clearly down to the end of the pier. A look of alarm came over his ebony, angular face.

"Oi!" he bellowed. He placed his fingers to his lips and blew a loud piercing whistle, "Fetch the healer!"

Without looking back, the shirtless adept sprinted down the dock. The ship came alive and within moments. The ponderous and towering Doc Tiny pounded down the gang plank, healer's pouch in hand.

The short, hulking dwarf cleric cradled the unconscious form of Leon in his arms as he walked up the dock toward the ship. Doc Tiny swooped the rogue up like a mother picking up a sleeping child – Leon seemed small in the Ogre's huge arms. Leon was pale and shuddering quietly.

"What happened to him?" Skadi demanded, her new armor catching the sun beneath her new cloak of white and grey bear pelt, lined in thick leather and trimmed in wolf's fur.

"He got jumped in an alleyway," Bulwark told her as they moved quickly back to the ship.

Doc Tiny directed them to take the Rogue to the Ogre's quarters, which he had set up to double as the ship's infirmary.

"I healed his wounds – but the poison in him is beyond my skill."

"Poison?" Skadi demanded, as they placed Leon on one of the 3 cleanly made beds. "What kind?"

"Well, lady," the dwarf explained. "If I knew that, he wouldn't be in the shape he's in."

"He'd no doubt be dead if you hadn't shown up," Mustafa reassured the dwarf.

"Did you see who did this to him?" Longknife asked quietly, her calm demeanor comforting the priest.

The dwarf looked questioningly at the bastett then at Tenji.

Longknife smiled "I'm Longknife - the Captain of the Wail," she introduced herself.

Tenji proceeded to introduce them all. As Tenji and Doc Tiny started tending to the rogue, Longknife asked the dwarf again. "What did you see?"

"Leon left the tavern with a girl. Very pretty girl, red head." the dwarf described. "Always trouble."

Skadi cleared her throat.

"Sorry," Bulwark blushed. "Anyway, three men followed them into an alley. There was fight, and by the time I got there, Leon was down along with two of the thugs, but the other one and the girl were gone."

Longknife and Mustafa exchanged glances. "What did they look like?" The bastett wanted to know.

"Humans. Black leather armor. Black cloaks." The dwarf recounted.

"Silver clasps?" Indigo Red asked. The dwarf paused. "Aye." He recalled.

"Faces tattooed?" Indigo continued.

"I think so, on the dead one, yes." The dwarf nodded.

"Shadow Guild," Longknife shook her head.

Doc Tiny snapped his fingers.

"Wyvern venom and zombie blood." The half ogre rumbled, as he lumbered off toward his apothecary shelves. "I got this, Captain... If it's not too late."

"Indigo," Longknife quipped.

"Aye, Captain?" she replied.

"Get us under sail for Scimitar Island before those devils get on my boat," the bastett instructed crisply.

Indigo Red nodded and turned to leave. As she passed the cleric she said, "Welcome aboard priest. And you were right."

"About what?" the dwarf asked.

"Red heads," Indigo explained batting her own ruby tresses with a finger.

"We are trouble," she winked.

Skadi shook her head hopelessly. She felt a tug at her cloak. Fatima was looking from her to Leon, wide eyed with concern.

"Is he going to be OK?" The child asked earnestly. "Please don't let him die..." she pleaded.

Skadi smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder, towering over the child. "Don't worry," she reassured the girl, "Something tells me it's not his time."

>>>>><<<<<

A crisp wind filled the emerald sails of the Phantom's Wail. Her black prow sliced effortlessly through the clear blue waters of the Azure Sea, as she headed south east toward Scimitar Isle. Longknife barked brisk orders to the Castaway Rats as they moved quickly and skillfully about the deck, and she expertly guided the helm. The bastett made minor course corrections at the direction of Indigo Red, who poured over her charts and compass. The galleon's deep, smooth prow pitched rhythmically as it glided gracefully forward. Below decks, Doc Tiny and Bulwark, assisted by Flaxen and Contessa (the other captive serving girl from DiMarco's dungeons at Half Moon bay who had elected to stay aboard as crew) tended the unconscious and feverish rogue as he tossed and turned.

The infirmary smelled of incense, herbal salves and sweat. Kept meticulously clean, scrubbed, and tidy by Doc Tiny; the large stateroom was lit by pale sunlight streaming in from round portholes in the bulkhead and lanterns of blue and amber glass dangling from the carved timbers overhead by fine steel chains. Fazil had fitted several of the bulkheads with shelves and a workbench. Doc Tiny had lined them with a cornucopia of herbs, spices and alchemical and apothecary supplies. The work bench was now scattered with a mortar, pestle, calcinator, a two chambered alembic and retort – all masterfully crafted from blessed crystal trimmed in polished copper. They now bubbled with a soft vaguely acrid smelling concoction. Doc Tiny and Bulwark discussed the rogues condition quietly, as Flaxen and Contessa wiped his forehead with clean wet cloths. The rogue's eyes rolled rapidly back and forth beneath his tightly closed lids and he moaned softly half speaking.

"He's dreaming," Flaxen observed. "Looks like a bad nightmare."

"It's the wyvern venom," Doc Tiny explained, "It causes deep and terrifying dreams."

"It is said," Bulwark reminisced, "That there were priests from an ancient order called The Brotherhood of Sleep who would ingest an elixir distilled from wyvern venom so that their dream avatars could do battle with malevolent spirits from the outer realms."

The archer tossed and turned restlessly and in obvious pain. The look on his pallid, sweat soaked face alternated between joy, sorrow, and fear and he mumbled to himself almost inaudibly. As a symphony of tortured and tempestuous emotions danced across his face, a tear ran down his eye and the halfling minstrel caught a glimpse of a name under his breath. "Coryna."

>>>>><<<<<

The snow in the orchard was deep and the moonlight washed the winter forest in pearl and silver shadows. His mother had warned him of the wolves, and the dangers of the woods at night, but he had stolen out of bed shortly after moonrise and climbed skillfully down the thick vines which had clung to the stone walls of his family's keep for generations. He and Coryna had monsters to slay and justice would not be denied! In his small, child like hands - the wooden sword his father had fashioned for him was a weapon of invincible power this night.

She met him beneath their favorite apple tree, but the years that had slipped deliriously by had transformed the freckle faced, bright eyed little girl with the short black curls he had played with all his life into a raven haired, sapphire eyed beauty with skin like a wild ivory orchid and a mouth like warm burgundy wine, that he pressed to his own. He slipped his arms effortlessly around his best friend's slender waist as her feather-like hands caressed his face and they fell together amongst the soft grasses.

A snarling worg leapt suddenly toward them! But he and Coryna had been watching it from afar as it prowled the outer fence line of one of the sheep rancher's pastures from his father's barony. The arrow found its mark, expertly and sunk deeply into the worg's flank. The beast snarled in agony and rage as it closed the distance between them with a single bound. As Leon swiftly fitted another arrow, Coryna sprung from his side, her sword flashing in the starlight, cutting the beast from mid air. It fell lifeless to the ground with Coryna's blade deep in its chest and another of Leon's arrows sunk into its flaming red eye, gently brushing a lock of her onyx hair aside as it winged silently passed her. She held his hand and gave it reassuring squeeze as he dropped a handful of earth into the grave they had lowered his father's casket into. He silently swallowed the bitter bile of his rage. All his father needed to have done was give them a bowl of earth and a chalice of water from their well and they could have had a powerful ally. But the Baron was a proud man with a deep and abiding wisdom. He had explained softly to his son that the price was never so simple with any who bore the crest of the death god. Now, their ancestral home was in ruins, their rich fields trampled and salted and the village outside the walls in flames. He watched as his mother wept openly. Tears of joy and pride welled up in her eyes as his arms found their way effortlessly around the waist of his best friend, and her featherlike fingers caressed his face. Wedding bells peeled and a group of village minstrels began to play their wedding song and her maid of honor showered them with rose petals as they embraced. Coryna screamed in horror as the black armored Shadowblade raiders converged on the archer pinning him to a tree and holding a jagged, wickedly curved knife to his throat. Four had fallen to Coryna's blade before they had overwhelmed her, shackled her and tossed her into a slave wagon. Their daughter, Lillianna lay lifeless in a field close by. Leon howled in agony and rage as the blackened steel blade seared through his ribs and into his gut. The fire of the dwarven spirits gave him courage and focus, as drove his dagger viciously into the guild Doyen's heart. The Jass Thieve's Guild master's look of betrayed surprise was frozen on his face as he fell dead at the feet of his most talented pupil and protégé. A dim almost lifeless half smile played for a brief moment across the new Guild Master's face. "You're sure that's where they're holed up?" he asked Silas. Silas nodded. "Perfect place for a bunch of necromancers and their goons," his second reassured him. "Creepy old chapel, isolated location, feared by the locals." Leon nodded, leaning back in his thick leather chair behind the great stone desk. "Get me Ballel, Vryn, Eskellar and Gyorj. I want these murdering skull sucking devils myself." Silas nodded and departed silently. Leon bellowed in fury and frustration as his strike team fell to the chapel's flagstone floor screaming to their knees and then lifeless as the radiant bolts of dark energy tore through them, burning the life from their flesh. The necromancers and Shadowblades had been ready for them and they had cut them down like wheat. They had been betrayed. The heel of the Death knight's boot of spiked black steel was hard on his throat. "My master would speak with you, guild master." Her voice was ice and malevolence beneath her skull-like great helm. Approaching them from the shadows behind the altar, beneath the bright golden beam which shone down from the round, deep set window of stained glass above the desecrated altar of Pelor, and nearly blinding him, was a figure hooded and cloaked in black, leaning on a staff topped with a crystal skull. Beneath his ebony cowl, the pale, skeletal witch priest wore demon forged armor of masterwork articulated and viciously spiked black mithrill, inlaid with the crest of a fanged skull in black opal. "We need not be enemies, Guildmaster of Jass" the reassuring voice was soft as venom and cold as iron. "Ally with me. My power will be your power. All I ask is a bowl of earth from the grounds of your guild and a chalice of water from its well. It is a small price." Leon's stare burned into the witch priest. "You have taken everything I love. You have nothing I want," he spat the coppery tasting blood from his swollen mouth as he pressed it against Coryna's soft supple lips, his hands finding their way effortlessly about her slender waist as her featherlike hands caressed his face. His mouth filled with bile and ash, as he pushed her decomposing, worm ridden corpse away from him. Her dead eyes burned with hellish red flames and a swarm of insects and vermin vomited from her dead jaws.

Leon screamed in torment and disgust as he sat bolt upright in the infirmary bed. His body and bed linens were soaked in sweat. A bright beam of golden sunlight streaming down from one of the deep set round portholes filled his vision nearly blinding him. He wiped the tears and sweat from his eyes and face with the cool wet cloth that Flaxen offered him. "We thought we were going to lose you there for a while." She told him.

"How long was I out?" he asked. "Three days," The ogre informed him. Leon's entire body ached with a deep, distant fire and he laid back as waves of exhaustion washed over him. "Why do I feel like I've been trampled by a heard of gorgons?" The rogue wanted to know.

"You were delirious," Doc Tiny told him, "the poison from the blade you took nearly killed you." Leon looked thoughtfully at the amber lantern swinging softly back and forth with the reassuring pitch and yaw of the ship.

"You were dreaming." Flaxen added. Leon looked at her and smiled faintly.

"No, love" he told her. She tilted her head quizzically.

Bulwark's voice was calm and deep as he placed his thick strong hand on the rogue's forehead to see if his fever had finally broken.

"No, Flaxen," the dwarf told her. "He was remembering."

Leon smiled weakly an echo of the old playfulness returning to his eyes. "Aye, priest," he agreed soberly.

"Can I get you anything?" Flaxen inquired.

"Some rum would be fabulous," he told her.

The dwarf solemnly removed a wide silver flask from beneath his thick steel breast plate.

"Dwarven spirits," he answered Leon's unasked questions.

The rogue accepted the flask with exhausted gratitude. "You are a scholar and a gentleman." Leon lifted the flask with a nod of thanks and downed the fiery spirits with a smile and a satisfied sigh.

Doc Tiny shook his head. "Well, he's back alright."

# Chapter 5

Of the Brotherhood of Sleep and the Grey Minstrel – By Kuvrynn Ssambra

As far as we can tell, the Brotherhood of Sleep was a coven of priests dedicated to the elven god Corellan Lairthyn. Their sole purpose was to guard the living world of the "wakeful" against the spirits of those who bore the sword Suchara but were killed by means other than taking their own lives with the blade itself.  
The spirits of these fallen sword bearers, called the "Toal" existed in a nether dimension which allowed them to enter the dreams of their victims, and torment them into madness and eventually slay them after weakening them night after night.

The priests of the brotherhood developed an elixir distilled from wyvern venom and devan blood, which allowed them to enter into a deep and prolonged sleep, and enhanced their psionic abilities, allowing them to engage and battle the Toal and protect the sleeping spirits of their living victims. The Brotherhood of Sleep was small, and reclusive, and over time their numbers dwindled to a very few. One of the last priests was a young bard convert named Galeth Goethe. Unbeknownst to the Brotherhood, he was the brother of Gathrid, the last sword bearer prior to the one called "The Messenger." It was The Messenger who slew the dragon queen Takisis with the blade.

Galeth is said to have left the Brotherhood after a very short association, and followed after his brother Garthrid's trek across the flaness into the Sea of Dust, in an attempt to save him from his descent into madness. His brother covered his tracks well, creating a false trail which appeared to end in the great swamps of the Rushmoors. But their twin bond was too strong, and Galeth was able to pick up his brother's trail into the Sea of Dust. It is said that in a final failed plea to his brother to cast aside the blade, his brother pushed him down the steps of the great pyramid temple, rather than kill him with the Darksword. Galeth fell to his death, and his brother, now descended fully into grief and madness slew every man, woman, and child in the Forgotten City and then fled inside the pyramid. Shortly after, the great waters which flowed from the pyramid's face and gave life to the city and the surrounding desert dried up and the Pyramid temple was sealed from within. From that day on, only the wind on the sands and the sad hypnotic music of the Bard's spectral mandolin could be heard in the desert night.  
Centuries later – the adventurers who recovered the cursed blade and used it to defeat the Dragon Queen are said to have been led out of the Rushmoors and into the Sea of Dust by a ghostly bard garbed in Grey, which would appear in the taverns and inns where they took rest. The priestess Solias alone was able to understand the songs of the Grey Minstrel Galeth, who would leave clues as to where they should follow him next.  
After the champions reawakened the temple, and brought back the temple waters, many years passed. The drow nobles of House Occluda, in a bid to create a unique and profitable Inn and Tavern in Mithmyren, ordered ebony wooden flooring and custom carved stone from the Temple wood and stone cutters from the Forgotten City. The spirit of Galeth the Grey Minstrel, is said to have accompanied the wood and stone from the pyramid haunted by his music to the drow city of the Faerun, where it now haunts the very timbers of the Grey Minstrel Inn.

Perhaps waiting to aid another group of champions on a grand adventure, or perhaps to finally find and aid one of his descendents in a time of need.. Or perhaps just to add the haunting sounds of his sad, unfinished music to the endless, sunless march of eternity, and find solace beneath the stones of the earth and away from the Gods which cursed his brother and his family.

Grasping the sail line in a single hand, Indigo Red lowered herself smoothly down from the crow's nest high above. She twirled in an impressive mid air display of swirling acrobatic pirouettes, until her violet booted feet alighted softly on the deck.

"It's a big island," she told them. "The jungle is thick. But the only smoke I can see is on the far end, to the north." She gestured to the high cliffs beyond the lush stretch of tropical trees and foliage between the towering cliffs and the ivory sand beaches. The setting sun was burnished copper and fire on the sapphire and lavender waters, and a waterfall thundered into the lagoon from high up the sheer cliffs.

"The sun is behind us, so I doubt anyone has seen us," Indigo told them. "Unless they have a lookout posted this far south."

Longknife nodded and ordered the small wooden pinnance lowered to the water along the starboard keel. Skadi, Bulwark, Tenji, Leon and Longknife rowed quietly towards the verdant island of jagged rocks and tall white cliffs. They continued forward through the narrow opening in between tall forested bastions of rock into a lagoon of crystal waters, ringed by ivory beaches and lush coconut and date palms. Concealed by the gloaming light, the Phantom's Wail disappeared across the horizon with orders to return in a week's time. They beached the pinnance in a secluded cove, covering it with palm fronds and cypress branches, hiding it from view.

Leon seemed unusually pensive as they crossed the beach toward the huge waterfall, being careful to stay within the tree line. Skadi, and Bulwark (quiet by nature) were focused on the campfire in front of the small shack near the shore, and the group of a dozen yellow sashed brigands surrounding it.

The group of dragoons guarding the beach consisted of five orcs with thick hide and leather armor, their faces and ears pierced with gold and silver. There were also two spear and bow wielding bastett, four saber slinging humans, and a huge troll leaning on an iron Morningstar the size of a small tree. All were swilling bottles of rum, and singing raucously.

"Troll's mine," Skadi stated quietly.

"If you insist," Longknife agreed with a smirk. "Leon," she prompted, but the rogue appeared lost in thought.

"Leon," she repeated, more earnestly.

"Aye, love?" the rogue replied with a smile.

"Stay behind the tree line," she instructed. "Just there. You should be able to get a clean shot. We will need your arrow cover."

Leon nodded. "Shall I keep the priest with me then?" He asked.

Bulwark looked up sourly at the archer. "I'll be joining the fighters," Bulwark explained simply. "I may be a priest, but I can hold my own in a fight."

"I think he was worried about the rum," Tenji offered.

Leon chuckled distantly. "How well you know me. What say I eliminate the two archers from the mix before you four heroes rush in. Then I'll focus on the human men. Try to not get between them and Coryna."

Longknife and Bulwark looked curiously at the rogue.

"His bow," Skadi explained.

"You named it?" Longknife inquired.

Leon simply stared back at her.

"I call her Grace," Bulwark offered, patting the head of his hammer.

Longknife shook her head and rolled her eyes. The sun had fully set. The stars were winking silver and blue in the dark canopy of the sky over head. The golden opal moon left a comet's trail on the shining black waters of the lagoon and shimmered pearl and silver on the waterfall near the bonfire and ramshackle guard shack.

The archer waited patiently. As soon as one of the bastett bowman had created an acceptable distance between himself and his counterpart; Leon's arrow whistled imperceptibly above the rush of the falls. The bastett fell lifeless to the shadowy shore, an arrow transfixing his throat.

Skadi hurtled from the darkness, fixed with single minded cunning on the great armored troll. Tenji and Longknife were close at her heels. They emerged into the ring of the firelight like charging wolves converging silently on a kill. The second bastett bowman cried out sharply as another, near silent arrow sunk deeply into her chest.

But the yellow sashed slave raiders know as Draga's Dragoons were no strangers to night time ambushes. (And their reputation for ferocity in battle was well deserved). With the fires of their courage stoked by the rum in their bellies, they were standing in an instant, weapons drawn.

The great, chitonous skinned, razor tusked troll came quickly to his feet. He brought his massive weapon to bear on the charging northwoman. Skadi ducked skillfully under the monstrous arc of the toll's weapon. With a mighty downward stroke of her axe, she hacked into the troll's wrist and smashed her hammer into his face with a devastating backhanded blow. The troll roared thunderously in agonized fury. He smashed his gauntleted fist into the Skadi's steel skullcap, sending her reeling.

Two more yellow sashed human marauders fell snarling with arrows protruding from their chests. A brief, predatory smile played across the rogue's lips.

Longknife danced agilely among the orcs, ducking fluidly beneath axe and sword blows. Her twin blades flashed with lightning precision as they cut deep, lethal incisions in the throats of two of the snarling dragoons.

Skadi managed to regain only a single knee as the troll was upon her. He cradled his nearly severed hand close to his chest, bearing down on her with his huge morningstar held now in a single hand.

Skadi rolled to the side as the troll brought his weapon down upon the empty sand with a thud. Skadi shattered his good elbow with a mighty kick, then drove her axe deep in his skull as she came to her feet.

Tenji leapt forward and high into the air, striking downward with her spear, like a jungle serpent dropping from a tree limb. Her spear plunged through the chest and out the back of an orc. The raider collapsed beneath her, as she landed in a tuck and roll. Ripping her spear from his chest as she came to her feet, she blocked the downward blow of another orc's axe. A sizzling bolt of red lightning arced from her hand. It burned into her attacker, knocking him off his feet. He landed several feet away on the beach with a clap of thunder and the smell of charred flesh. He lay twitching on the dark beach – never again to rise.

Two more yellow sashed humans fell screaming, pierced by Leon's arrows. Bulwark struck aside a thunderous blow from the spiked club of an orc raider with his massive shield. He smashed the head of his hammer down onto his opponent's thigh, just at the knee. There was a sickening crack of splintering bone. The orc howled in pain, sinking to his knees. The dragoon caught the wrist of the priest's hammer hand in an inhumanly powerful grip, snarling viciously past his fangs.

Bulwark drove his helmeted forehead into the orc's face. He wrested his weapon hand free and drove it down onto the orc's shoulder with another sickening thud of shattering bone and rending flesh.

A sword blade cut a long but shallow slash into the fur and flesh of Longknife's back. She whirled to face her attacker. Her blood soaked blades caught the firelight. The yellow sashed dragoon managed to parry one of her swords, but the other nearly separated his head from his shoulders, as it slashed deeply across the front of his throat. He pitched forward, fountaining blood onto the wet sand.

The company lowered their weapons and surveyed the beach. Longknife stumbled slightly and eased herself down to one knee. Leon emerged from the shadows of the tree line and made for the carnage around the campfire. The dwarven cleric found his way quickly to the wounded bastett, to assess her injury. The others joined him.

"You'll be fine," Bulwark comforted her with a smile. A soft golden white light began to play about the dwarf's heavy hands as he laid them on her gaping wound. The light spread across her back. The others watched fascinated, as the wound began to knit and close. Within moments, the bastett stood up rolling her shoulders in surprise. Her wound was completely healed, as though it had never been there at all.

"Aren't you a handy fellow to have about," Leon smiled admiringly at the dwarf.

Skadi met Longknife's gaze squarely, her taciturn face doing little to reveal her relief at seeing her injured friend mended and hale.

"You need better armor." The northwoman observed, matter of factly.

Leon recovered his arrows while Tenji and Longknife rifled through the clothing of the fallen dragoons. Skadi and the dwarf searched the shack. In addition to several barrels of cheap ale and bottles of rum, the shack was well supplied with enough large cured leather wineskins, dried meat and fruit, and tropical nuts to last over a dozen people many days.

Skadi shook her head discontentedly.

"You don't approve of the cuisine?" The Pelor priest inquired.

"The food's fine," she sighed.

"What then?" He inquired.

"Doesn't anyone in this damn part of the world drink mead?" she muttered. The dwarf chuckled, shaking his head in commiseration.

It was Bulwark who discovered the map drawn on oiled leather. It appeared to detail the way from the beach, through the forests on the upper island, to a ravine camp near the cliffs of Scimitar Island's northern shore. The map indicated the presence of a tunnel in the cave behind the waterfall near the shack.

Back at the bonfire, Skadi and the dwarf joined the others. After filling their packs, they each took their share of the coins from the dragoon's belt pouches. They rested until just before sunrise, when they began their trek through the jungle to the island encampment of Draga and his Dragoons.

Well concealed behind thick trees and underbrush at the back of the cove, was a low, wide tunnel behind the waterfall. The natural spillway lead some 500 yards steeply up into the cliffs. A loud rushing concourse of deep water flowed out of the tunnel, feeding the pool in front of the cave. The stone ledges to either side of the laughing water were wide enough for two to walk abreast. The party soon found themselves in the damp rushing darkness of the passage, with only the soft golden glow of the dwarf's crystal lantern to guide them. Much of the concourse was smooth from centuries of flowing water, and the stones were slick and treacherous.

After some distance, a spot of daylight began to appear ahead of them. Eventually, Bulwark was able to douse his lamp. The stone spillway finished its climb upward through the wet darkness to a sandy floored tropical jungle clearing. There was a wide path on the far side, and a deep rushing river flowing from the jungle beyond, into the tunnel behind them. The foliage surrounding the clearing was lush with date and coconut palm trees, cypress boughs covered in hanging moss, and thick patches of brilliant orchids in purple, red and yellow. Either side of the entrance to the wide path leading into the jungle on the far side of the clearing was marked with a squat stone column topped with a muscular spear wielding man with a grass skirt and a shark's head. The whole clearing was alive with the musical calling of birds and the rush of the river. The party remained in the shadows of the tunnel, scanning the clearing intensely.

"Why are there no guards?" Skadi wanted to know.

"There's always guards," Bulwark agreed quietly.

"Skadi," Leon whispered. "You and Tenji go on ahead and see what's out there. We'll wait here."

Skadi and Tenji both silently shot him a raised eyebrow.

Leon and Longknife emerged cautiously from the spillway, looking carefully about the tree line as they moved into the clearing.

"Thanks for joining me, love," Leon whispered gratefully to the bastett as they moved forward stealthily.

The sky was just becoming pale and the clearing was still heavy with the fading shadows of dawn, and they were careful to remain in them.

"I want you to remember this moment, archer," she responded softly. "I might need you to return the favor some time."

Once the two scouts had reached the safety of the jungle eaves, they motioned for the others to join them. The well cultivated path followed the western shore of the river through the lush, verdant shadows. The jungle was alive with the laughter of the flowing water, the music of birds, and the rich fragrance of newly blooming flowers and honeysuckle. There were signs all along the path of the passing of hundreds of hooves and booted feet, but none of it was recent. It had been many days since the path had been used.

After nearly a day of travel, the sun was beginning to lower in the skies to the west, above the lush canopy of mossy boughs, thick leaves and bright flowers. The sandy path opened suddenly into a deep clear lagoon of crystal clear water, like a great emerald beneath a sapphire sky. A narrow stone and wooden causeway had been built through the center of the lagoon to allow passage over it, to the path that continued back into the jungle on the opposite side. Several hundred feet to the left of the causeway, a bright low fire burned in a stone ring in a flower filled grotto, just beneath the trees at the edge of the lagoon. Just beyond the fire, a large wood and stone hut with a thatched roof was lifted nearly 10 feet off the jungle floor by thick wooden stilts. A thin plume of white smoke rose up from the fire through the tree tops, and into the darkening sky. Longknife took in a long breath through her nose.

"Someone is cooking gator," she told them.

The dwarf's eyes widened hopefully.

"What does the map say?" Skadi asked Tenji. The witchpriest unrolled it and studied the markings closely.

"I think this is us here," Tenji indicated, pointing to an area about a third of the way to the northern ravine. "So this rune here is that clearing with the hut."

"What does that rune mean?" Skadi asked. Tenji shrugged, but Bulwark took the map from her and looked at it carefully.

"It's an old devan rune," he told them. "It has two meanings."

The company was silent.

"Well...!" Leon prompted after several moments.

"One of the meanings is oracle," the healer explained. "The other is demon."

"Well, then let's hope it's the first one," Leon noted.

"We should bring tribute," Skadi observed. The rogue wagged his head in disbelief, his eyes wide. "You want to visit the demon," he clarified. "And bring it presents?"

"If it's an oracle, and we bring tribute," the northwoman explained, "she might be able to help us. Tell us something useful."

"Absolutely, love," Leon agreed sardonically. "Or it's a demon and it's going to eat our souls."

"It's worth checking out," Longknife decided.

"Oh, sure, absolutely. What could possibly go wrong?" The rogue sighed heavily.

The small clearing inside the tree line was ringed with a thick bamboo fence, topped with sharp ivory spikes. A sturdy wooden gate which stood unlocked and partially open marked the grotto entrance. The compound itself had a sandy bottom lined with large flat stepping stones, a great fire pit, and gardens of orchids. The entrance to the hut was an open archway covered by a curtain of wooden bits, shells and crystal beads. Hanging from the eaves by hemp ropes were bleached animal skulls, bones and teeth. Roasting golden and brown above the fire was the expertly butchered carcass of a great alligator. Two strange, wicked looking creatures in tattered robes, resembling hunched old women with emerald green skin, obsidian eyes, tangled black hair, and strong gnarled hands ending in sharp talons shuffled about the courtyard.

One tended the fire and the other was harvesting berries and fruit from a small orchard. Skadi entered the compound first.

"We seem to be having guests for dinner," hissed the hag tending the fire through yellow fanged jaws.

"Do our guests bring favors?" Wondered the other, shuffling back toward them. Both leaned on staves of wax wood, topped with woven crystal beads and a small alligator skulls. Tenji shuddered. The evil and power of these two creatures coursed through her like a wave of nausea.

"We bring tribute, honored oracles," Skadi bowed, ceremoniously. She handed one of them a leather pouch filled with coins and gems. Leon sighed under his breath and one of the hags cocked her head slightly, fixing him with a piercing black stare.

"And good manners," noted the hag who took the offering.

"And pretty company," the other observed looking hungrily at the dark cloaked rogue. Leon suppressed a shiver and smiled ingratiatingly.

"I'll fetch the drink," said the hag picking the berries. She shambled back to the hut and up the ladder leading to the entrance.

"We are strangers here," Skadi told the oracle. "We seek a man called Draga."

"No," the crone croaked. "Not a stranger, northerner. Two like you have been here before. Long ago." She nodded toward Tenji and Skadi and tore off a large chunk of meat from the roasting carcass. The hag hunkered down on a smooth log beside the fire. "Why do you seek the hunter of men?" the crone rasped.

The second sister clambered down the ladder with many a grunt and sat beside the other, offering her sister a large jug of polished black pottery.

"Our memories were stolen from us," Skadi explained. "We were sold as slaves to Draga, and we wish to know who sold us."

"Not all of you, though," The witch observed. She wiped the ruby red liquor from her mouth with the back of her hand. "Just you, and the one with the spear. There is a darkness upon your minds we cannot see through. The rest of you are clear to us."

Leon, Longknife and Bulwark shifted uncomfortably, but Tenji and Skadi were intrigued.

"What do you mean by people like us, long ago?" Tenji asked.

"Some of the answers you seek may be found among the living," one of the sister's hissed hypnotically. "But the questions you must ask, can be found among the dead." She gestured toward a gate in the fence which was not there seconds before. Two bamboo torches flickered to either side, and a narrow path of over grown stones twisted off into the dense, dark jungle to the west.

"The widest and brightest path almost never leads to the truth," the other emerald skinned crone advised them. She licker her lips with a forked tongue. Skadi and Tenji exchanged glances as they looked at the gate. Leon shook his head in disbelief.

"We're not really going through there?" The rogue queried.

But Skadi was already bowing in thanks and Tenji was placing a bottle of rum into the hungrily excited hands of one of the sisters. Bulwark sighed heavily.

"They really are going to need a priest," the dwarf grumbled.

A velvet blanket of damp, fragrant shadows slowly enveloped the westward winding path through the trees as evening descended. The night song of the jungle began to change. The music of the birds was replaced by a chorus of crickets and humming cicadas. The twitter of small animals quieted, replaced by the occasional deep roar of a distant predator. The path was sandy, and treacherous with thick roots and vines. Its border was marked by logs and stones and the occasional odd statue of the shark headed statue. Bulwark identified the idol as Bashok, an ocean deity worshiped by many natives in the region, including a race called the Tarsque who were said to resemble shark like humanoids who hunted the seas.

The jungle canopy over head completely obscured all but the briefest fragments of starlit sky and the waxing opal moon above them. That left only the soft, golden light of the dwarf's lantern to illuminate the path and keep the darkness at bay. They trekked several hours into the night before finding a suitable place to rest. The wood from the jungle about was mostly green and damp, but a hot jet of arcane flame conjured from the finger tips of their witchpriest produced a small, smoky fire. It proved enough to prepare a modest meal and keep the local fauna at bay, so only the occasional shining pair of eyes winked briefly at them through the shadows at the edge of the firelight before disappearing.

Tenji woke from a deep sleep to the soft music of the Rogue's flute, and the smell of sizzling bacon. The stars had begun to fade from the pale pink and grey sky though the leafy boughs above her.

She sat up on one elbow.

Skadi and Bulwark were close to the fire preparing a thick, toothsome smelling stew of bacon, pine nuts and potatoes in what smelled like coconut milk. Longknife still slept soundly at the foot of a mango tree, and Leon was off by himself near the edge of the path. Tenji walked over and sat down quietly beside him. When he stopped playing, she spoke.

"That was nice," she told him with a smile. "How long have you played the flute?"

"Since I was a boy," he told her.

"So, how much do you remember?" She asked him. His face grew troubled and his stare darkened.

"Enough," he responded. But despite her urging, the rogue would not discuss the matter further. Instead he returned to his flute playing, stopping only for the occasional sip of rum from the bottle at his side. When breakfast was finished, they started out again. The jungle grew denser and the path narrowed as they pressed forward. By early afternoon, Skadi and Longknife were hacking their way through the thick vegetation, and the path seemed nearly lost.

By mid afternoon, the vanishing path, thickening overgrowth, a brief dust up with a screeching swarm of enormous vampire bats, and a giant tree viper dropping onto the northwoman's shoulders and losing its fanged head to one of Longknife's lightning fast sword blows; all had the company feeling skeptical enough of the Seahag's directions for them, to finally contemplate turning around.

Then, with no warning, the path ended with the jungle in an isolated rocky ravine. It was surrounded on three sides by sheer, massive cliffs. Nearly the entire canyon floor was filled with a deep warm lake of spring water. In the center of the lake was a small island. In the center of the island is a tall stone pillar – obviously a monument of some sort. At its base was an altar of stone.

"What's this, now?" The dwarf murmured.

But Tenji and Skadi were already rushing forward. Smiling with renewed vigor, they had shed their weapons and armor and were happily bathing two days of sweat, bug bites, and jungle grime from themselves. Longknife and Leon required only an exchange of amused glances before joining them. Bulwark remained on the shore. His eyes carefully watched the water and the jungle behind them for the emergence of unwanted guests.

"Join us!" Tenji called, splashing water in Bulwark's direction.

"No thank you," the dwarf grumbled in reply. Tenji held he nose with one hand and waved the air away from her in mock distaste with the other hand.

"Please," she chided. "We insist."

"I'm a dwarf," he shook his head. "I'm supposed to be smelly."

Skadi emerged first from the lake. The dwarf sat on a large log, leaning forward on his hammer. Replacing her armor, the northwoman inquired, "How do you plan to get to that island without getting wet?"

"Figured we might try that raft over yonder," the priest pointed without removing his hands from the hammer head where they rested. Several yards down the shore, concealed beneath a copse of trees was a large raft of thick logs bound together with heavy hempen rope.

"Fair enough," Skadi nodded with a slight smile. One by one, each of them emerged refreshed and renewed from the mountain spring. When they had dried themselves and eaten a quick meal, they drug the raft across the shore and into the water. Once the reached the tiny island, Tenji was able to decipher the runes on the altar in front of the monument.

"What do they say?" Longknife asked.

"They marked it as the location of the tomb of Sir Castius," the witchpriest told them. "They describe him as undead slayer, demon bane, and paladin of Bahamut. The runes also read: Only those with righteous blood are worthy to enter his tomb."

"What do you think that means?" Longknife questioned.

"Well," Bulwark cleared his throat. "It's a tomb. I've seen one like it before. Let's see if this works. Leon, hand me your knife."

The rogue nodded and withdrew a slim, wickedly sharp silver stiletto from the pocket in his black leather vest and passed it to the dwarf. Bulwark drew the sharp polished blade across his palm until a rivulet of blood dribbled down onto the stone altar. After a few moments, stone began to grate against stone. The altar slid away from the pillar, revealing a set of dusty marble steps leading down into darkness. One by one, led by Tenji, they each descended the steps. The tomb at the bottom was dimly lit by braziers filled with softly glowing crystals. The luminous stones cast a ghostly light, revealing faded frescoes adorning the stone walls. They all depicted various scenes of a paladin in silver chain mail riding atop a gigantic armored white tiger and battling hordes of armored demons. In the center of the sepulcher, was a single stone sarcophagus with a lid carved in the likeness of a fully armored knight.

"Should we open it?" Tenji wondered.

"Best to leave the dead undisturbed," Skadi warned.

"This was meant to be found," Longknife countered. The others looked at her questioningly. "If the tomb was made to be opened by the blood of someone righteous, then whoever built it, wanted it to be opened by a righteous hand. Whatever is here was meant to be found."

"Sounds good to me," Leon agreed. "So, how do we open the box?"

"We, don't," Tenji warned. "Bulwark's heart is true. The tomb opened for him – but he is holy priest. If this place is guarded by blood magic like that, it may not be safe for anyone but him to try and open the sarcophagus."

Skadi nodded and stepped forward. "Give me a hand, priest," she instructed.

Bulwark nodded.

Tenji was about to protest, but Skadi grasped the corners of the lid at the head, and Bulwark at the feet of the stone sarcophagus. Tenji and Longknife exchanged uncertain glances, and Leon took several steps back.

The heavy lid resisted for a moment, then slid to the side in a puff of musty dust. Inside, the moldering remains of a tall warrior clad in silver chainmail trimmed in moon opals lay with two elegantly curved longswords sheathed in lacquered leather across his chest. Attached to his belt was a large pouch of soft black leather, embroidered with arcane sigils in golden thread. Affixed to his skeletal left forearm was a bracer of seamless, silvery ivory, identical to the one on Skadi's own left arm. Bulwark let out a low whistle of approval. The hilts of the two swords were identical – polished elven mithrill, their pommel's inset with large luminescent moon opals like the ones in the chainmail. Their guards and hilts were masterfully forged to resemble coiled oriental dragons with moon opal eyes.

"Those swords and armor were meant to be worn by a single warrior," Skadi observed. "A dual wielder."

They all looked at Longknife. Her emerald eyes widened humbly.

"I would be honored," she breathed.

She accepted the armor ceremoniously, girding herself with it reverently. Then, she freed the blades from their sheathes. The blades were polished to a mirror finish, razor sharp, and etched with elegant but strangely alien runes that shimmered with a faint silver radiance. The armor and swords were nearly weightless, and Longknife gazed at them in awe.

"That," Leon observed admiringly, "is a game changer."

"The pouch should go to Bulwark," Tenji observed. "It feels enchanted to me. In a good way, though."

"Enchanted, how?" The priest inquired as he removed it from the belt. He handed it to Tenji, who reached inside. Her hand and then her arm were completely swallowed by the pouch up to her shoulder.

"I can't feel the bottom," Tenji told them. "It's bigger on the inside than on the out."

"Like a TARDIS," Leon commented.

The others looked at him, confused. "Never mind," he dismissed it quickly.

"What of that bracer?" The dwarf indicated the silvery ivory armor on the paladin's forearm.

"Don't bother," Leon advised.

"Why not?" Asked the bastett.

"Skadi can't get hers off," the rogue explained. "I doubt his will come free either."

And it proved to be so. No amount of physical effort, arcane enchantments from Tenji, or holy command words from Bulwark would release the bracer's hold on Castius' skeletal arm.

"It would appear the archer is correct," the dwarf finally acquiesced. "Perhaps we should leave it with the honored dead. It should be safe here."

To this they all agreed. With reverence they resealed the sarcophagus of Castius and closed his tomb.

They left the island lake behind them with the setting sun to their backs. Soon the deep pulsing darkness of the jungle gathered about the light of the priest's lantern, as they picked their way slowly down the path back toward the sea hag's clearing. They marched forward slowly, speaking very little. They finally made camp and rested until well after midnight. Bulwark prepared a pot of stew over a small fire, while Skadi sharpened her axe. After they ate, Tenji took the first watch and the others fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

They arose just before sunrise. After several hours, they were back in the Sea Hag's clearing. Tenji looked around in disbelief. The hut and the fire pit were gone. The sandy ground was devoid of the gardens and stepping stones and the tall fence and gates were missing. The clearing was over grown with a tangle of roots and vines, and there was no trace that anyone had ever lived there at all.

Leon let out a low whistle. "What's this about then?" He wanted to know.

"Were did the dark sisters go?" Tenji whispered. "Is this the right clearing?"

"It is," Skadi pointed with her axe toward the lake and the causeway beyond the ring of trees.

"Well, where did they go, then?" Longknife wondered. She looked down thoughtfully at the angelic forged blades and armor she now wore. Bulwark gave a long, slow smile.

"I don't think it was an accident that we found Castius or his tomb. Look." He pointed back at the entrance to the path where they had emerged.

There was no path. The ring of trees was solid, thick with tree trunks and bright orchids. Instead of a pathway there was only a tall stone statue of a coiled dragon. Skadi looked down at the bracer of ivory and a sad smile played across her face. "Rest easy brother," she told Castius. "We shall no doubt meet again."

The others followed her as she strode silently from the empty clearing.

# Chapter 6

Excerpt From:

A Brief History of the Devan Hybrids  
– by Yllysyndry Northwind of the Society of the Seven

The angelic being called Archeon in the elven tongue is also known as the Artificer of the Forge of the Heavenly Host. She is the maker of angelic weapons. As is well known, the Heavenly Host is constantly at war with the Armies of Hell.

Long ago, after a fierce battle with a score of Tanari devils, Archeon fell to the prime material plane, badly injured and amnesiac due to a blow to her head. She was found in the woods by a grey elf huntsman called Eronos. As neither of them knew who she really was, Eronos took after Archeon to live in the elven city of Enstaad. Her iridescent pearl skin, tall stature, sparkling black hair and blazing gold eyes made her stand out among her new community. Eronos gave her the name Letheya and his family welcomed the beautiful stranger into their home. Eronos was the son of the great armorer, Bors, who recognized the callous on her otherwise shapely hands as that of a forger. In the hope that it would help her to regain her memories, Bors invited her to work in his forge. During her time there, she helped him to develop the magical elven chain mail and the wondrous alloy known as mithril.

When it seemed that her memory was forever lost, Letheya married Bors the Artificer. Shortly after their wedding, the city of Enstaad was attacked by a band of Tanari. During the fight, they called Letheya by her true name of Archeon and her memory was restored.

Bors was mortally wounded as he fought the devils. Archeon quickly destroyed the Tanari. She realized that while she could not save him on this plane, he could continue to live with her at the Forge of the Heavenly Host. She gathered her husband to her and left for her forge.

As they crossed into the Elysian Fields, they were challenged by Shauum, the Golden Celestial Dragon. Archeon petitioned Shauum for Bors to accompany her to her Forge. Shauum agreed if Archeon would agree to create the Figurines of Wondrous Power for Bahamut to imbue with his power as a part of the great plan. She agreed and forged the gold lion, and the silver tiger, carving the ivory bear from a claw of Bahamut himself. Soon after her return, she realized that she was going to have a baby. But the Forge of the Heavenly Host was no place for children. After her child was born, Archeon wrapped him in a dream cloth embroidered with his name, Devan and placed him on the steps of a Temple of Shauum, the Golden Dragon. Devan was taken into the temple as a foundling. As he grew, it was obvious that he was not elf nor human but something new. The head priestess thought that he might be a half dragon. Devan had the supernatural skin and eye color of his mother with bright gold hair and his father's pointed ears.

As time passed, Archeon and Bors had more children. Each child was left as a foundling at one of the Dragon temples or other good-aligned temples. Over time, the temples began to refer to these foundlings as 'Devans'. Devans are notable for their pearly skin and gold eyes, tall stature and great strength. Most are gifted with an instinctive skills at the forge. Frequently, these children become great warriors.

If these children live long enough, they are visited by their mother on their 100th birthday, their origin is explained and they are given the choice of a place at the Forge of the Heavenly Host or remain bound to their earthen parents or families. If a Devan dies in battle before their 100th birthday, their soul joins the constant heavenly battle as a standard bearer. The children of a Devan usually have a single supernatural characteristic, such as gold eyes and a noted affinity for the forge, otherwise they take after the non-Devan parent. Such children are also very rare. Most Devan choose to join their parents at the Forge or are slaughtered for their rare, precious blood.

Devan blood, specifically, their last drop of blood, is the main component of reanimation spells by necromantic mages and clerics of Nerull as well as the plane shifting potions of the mysterious Ithilids (Called Mindflayers in the common tongue).

The Brotherhood of Sleep often requested that Devans donate their blood for their sleep warrior potions as it protects against the negative side effects of the wyvern venom also used. The Brotherhood of Sleep have, in return, sheltered and protected the Devan. It is rumored that one of the original Brothers was descended from a Devan and that the legendary Hood of Repose that allows the wearer to enter the dream world while he sleeps was made from the dream cloth of Devan.

Their northward trek through the flowering jungles of Scimitar Isle ended near dusk of the fourth day. They were all feeling the effects of the long march. The sandy jungle path finally ended at the opening to a high, narrow canyon. Towering above them on either side were red sandstone cliffs. Rivulets of clear, sparkling water flowed down them, and the cliffs were lush with vines, date palms and thick ferns. The floor of the ravine was littered with large, elaborate tents made of cloth, hides, and palm fronds. At the far end of the gorge, sat a cluster of wooden crates filled with equipment and supplies.

From their secluded position they could see dozens of raiders with yellow sashes lazing about the camp eating, drinking, fighting, and milling about. Longknife noted with some trepidation, that a conclave of them near the far northern end of the canyon were tall, heavily muscled humanoid creatures with frightening shark-like heads and thick spiny skin. They were armed with fearsome ivory spears and spiked clubs. They guarded a group of wooden and iron cages, filled with haggard slaves and prisoners. They also acted as sentries for a set of narrow stone steps carved into the bedrock at the rear of the canyon wall, that lead up to a cave like entrance flanked by two burning braziers, high up at the back of the ravine.

"How many?" Skadi wanted to know.

"Too many," Longknife told her. Skadi grumbled under her breath.

"So what do we do?" Tenji queried, ducking back down behind a large log in the trees to the left of the path, to avoid being seen.

"We could wait until it's dark and try to sneak passed them," Longknife offered.

"That's a long way," Bulwark shook his head skeptically.

After a long, awkward silence, Leon's face drew a grim smile. "Draga is a slave merchant," mused the rogue. "He's a business man."

The others looked questioningly at him. Leon replied simply. "Let's do business."

>>>><<<<

"I don't like this plan," the northwoman grumbled. Tenji and Longknife nodded silently in agreement, shifting their wrists uncomfortably in their manacles.

"Well," Leon assured them under his breath. "If it doesn't work, you'll have your brawl for the bards to sing about."

The dwarf had left his white tabard behind, hidden safely in the trees, and appeared now as a massively muscled and heavily armored mercenary, with his great hammer across his back and a Tenji's spear in his hands - prodding along the bastett, Skadi, and the witchpriest (who were loosely manacled and marching docilely between them.)

The rogue, bearing his bow over his shoulder, and the bastett's angelic blade's on his belt, led them confidently through the sleeping encampment toward the foot of the stone steps at the north end of the ravine. Skadi's axe and hammer were concealed beneath her bear and wolf skin cloak.

Two of the shark headed tarsque raiders stepped in front of them, crossing their spears in the firelight and blocking their passage toward the stairs.

"What's this, little man?" one of them snarled at Leon.

The rogue was nonplused and looked with deadly confidence into the eyes of the frightening creature looming over him.

"Tell Draga," he said slowly and with deadly quiet, "That Leon D'Rouge of the Jass Thieve's Guild comes bearing gifts and a business proposition."

The yellow sashed tarsque hesitated. "Why would I do that?" It leered down a him.

"Because you respect your master, and you know what your fate will be if his tribute is...spoiled," Leon replied evenly, undaunted.

The tarsque paused. Leon held its stare unflinchingly.

The tarsque gave a hissing snarl and stepped aside, motioning them onwards. Leon nodded approvingly and led them up the steep, narrow stone steps and into the cave's entrance between the two burning braziers.

Within was a single large cavern, whose ceiling dripped with stalactites. Plush, luxurious carpets and cushions covered the sandy floor. Oil lamps and luminescent veins of crystal coursing through the stone walls and stalactites illuminated the grotto softly. In the rear of the cavern near the left hand wall, rested a deep pool of icy cold, crystal clear water, surrounded by a cluster of ferns. Near it, was a large wooden canopy bed, a desk, an armoire and a large stone footlocker, all clustered around a stone fire pit.

Dressed in tiger skin war robes, and covered in golden tribal tattoos, a ebony skinned human leaned on a thick staff. The fearsome weapon was barbed with metal thorns and briars. The tiger shaman laughed deeply as they entered.

"So you have returned my merchandise, D'Rouge." The slave master greeted him in deep, soft voice.

Lounging about near the bed were several lithe, fetching young women with ebony skin, tightly curled dark hair, all clad in revealing tiger and lion skins. Near the entrance, were four of the hulking tarsque, their dark eyes glistening in the shadows.

"I have," Leon agreed casually.

"Never give without take with you though, Guildmaster," Draga observed.

"Naturally," Leon agreed.

"So what do you want?" Draga asked carefully. A confident smile played across his face.

"Tell me," Leon said slowly, "who sold all of us to you. I will purchase our freedom from you at twice the price you paid, and we will leave in peace."

Draga laughed with a deep, musical chuckle.

"And if I don't?" He countered.

Before anyone in Draga's cave could react, the manacles slipped from the wrists of Tenji, Skadi and Longknife. Bulwark turned on his heel and drove Tenji's spear deep into the chest of one of the Tarsque guards.

Two searing mana bolts blasted forth from Tenji's outstretched palms lancing into the chest of a second shark headed guard. Longknife's angelic blades sailed through the air, and the bastett sprinted forward to meet them. She freed them from their scabbards with a single fluid motion. With predatory speed and feline grace, the silvery mithrill blades flashed and burned with an inner pearl moonlight as they slashed with scalpel like precision and downed a third tarsque.

Even before the Slave Lord was able to take a step back and raise his staff in dense, Skadi's hand axed rocketed through the air and buried itself into the saw toothed icthyian skull of the final tarsque raider. The northwoman turned and seized the slaver by the throat, lifting the large man off his feet with a single hand. He choked and gasped as he struggled futilely, his long legs kicking helplessly as Skadi's golden stared held his menacingly

"I think you will," Leon stated calmly. "It's a reasonable offer, and profitable for you, I think." He tossed a pouch heavy with gold coins at Draga's dangling feet. The slaver sputtered and gasped.

"Yes, yes..." he gasped. "Of course. Please put me down."

Skadi lowered him to the ground.

"You make a compelling... argument." Draga breathed, regaining his composure and stooping to pick up the pouch of coins.

"So who sold us to you?" Skadi demanded quietly.

"All of you were a package deal," Draga explained. "Sight unseen from a Nerullian Deathknight calling herself Maelstrom."

"How do we know he speaks the truth," Skadi asked quietly, her burning gaze never leaving the slaver.

"Because," Draga continued. "She was an agent only. She told me who she served."

"Who?" Tenji demanded.

But it was Leon who answered. "He speaks the truth," the rogue told them. "Maelstrom works for a necromancer named Kyshon."

"You are certain?" Bulwark asked.

"Yes," Leon told him.

"How can you be sure he isn't lying?" Tenji insisted.

"Because I remember them," Leon told her.

With the withering stare of the northwoman never leaving him, the rogue's dagger unsheathed and held to his back, and a new pouch filled with golden coins and sparkling jewels hanging from his belt, Draga gave orders for the prisoners in the canyon to be released and given safe passage back through the jungle to the southern harbor.

The party and the freed slaves arrived on the beaches beneath the waterfall at dawn on the seventh day, and by nightfall they were under sail and tacking strongly north west toward the city of Highport. The crescent moon was high in the black, starry dome of the heavens. Indigo Red was at the helm, as Leon leaned against the railing along the foxcile drawing deeply from a bottle of dark rum and watching the moonlight shimmer on the Phantom's frothy wake. Skadi sat on the quarter deck beside him, sharpening her axe and softly discussing with Fazil, the merits of each of the prisoners from Scimitar Isle that wished to remain aboard as crew. Tenji and Longknife were closely examining the runes on Longknife's new blades.

"This rune appears on both of them," Tenji explained.

"Do you know what it says?" The bastett inquired hopefully.

"I think so," she told her. "I think it says 'Angel's Embrace' but I can't be sure."

"Does anyone here believe that we have seen the last of Draga?" Leon piped in suddenly. It was Skadi that broke the tense and awkward silence that followed.

"We paid well for his cooperation. He would be a fool to come after us," she decided.

"That pouch of gold may have covered what he bought us for," Leon returned. "But it hardly covers the loss of his fastest ship." He gestured at the vessel around him with the neck of his rum bottle. As the others digested this, Skadi simply stated, "Let him come then."

"You are the Guildmaster for the Thieve's Guild in Jass?" Longknife asked him.

"Was," Leon corrected.

"What do you mean?" The bastett asked.

"I was betrayed by my second," he told them. "Honor among practitioners of the larcenous crafts not withstanding." He gave a rueful smile and took another pull from the rum. "Upon the greatly exaggerated rumors of my death, and that of my four best enforcers, Silas has no doubt moved into my office and taken up my chair."

"So much for boring and ordinary," Tenji grinned. "What are you going to do?"

"I," Leon told them with a sigh and a playful smile, "plan to have another drink."

"I meant when we get back to Highport," the witchpriest corrected.

"Well," he mused. "First, I am going to do what I can to help you get your memories back. I can't be the only one having all the fun." He winked at Tenji.

"You aren't going to try to get your guild back?" Longknife wanted to know.

"All in good time love," he told her with a sigh, finishing the last of his rum with a long swallow. He threw the bottle as far as he could out into the darkness. "I'll settle up with Silas soon enough. But this Maelstrom person and her Lord Kyshon are due a reckoning first."

"Well, we have our name," Skadi mused.

"Aye," Leon smiled, "And I think I know where a good place to find a token of his might be."

"Where?" Skadi asked, intrigued.

"A little garden spot about 5 days north of Jass called the River Willow Chapel."

"Near Jass, you say?" Bulwark chuckled, shaking his head knowingly.

"Conveniently, yes." The rogue shook his head, a sinister smile playing across his face.

>>>><<<<

Their stop over in Highport was brief. Two days to re-provision, meet with the Abbotess of Pelor, and see that the two dozen prisoners freed from Scimitar Isle were set safely ashore with enough silver in their pockets to feed and lodge them for a good while. The Abbotess was grateful for the offering they presented her, but deeply troubled when she learned the name of their adversary. She left them in the gardens overlooking the sea for a long while. When she returned she presented Bulwark with a polished ebony box, trimmed in bronze. Inside the box were several glass vials of a vaguely luminescent but wholesome looking red elixir. She explained to them that these potions would fully heal the one who imbibed them of even the most mortal of wounds, so long as they were not inflicted by demonic magic or weapons.

"I know the name Kyshon," she told them. "He is a necromancer and high priest of Nerull, and his power is greatly feared. I cannot break the curse he has over you myself, but I believe now there is in fact a ritual which we can invoke here, that might restore what he has taken from you. But I must have something made by him. Please be safe and may Pelor watch over you."

They weighed anchor and put Highport to their rudder on the dawn of the second day. The Phantom's Wail sailed swiftly south east and then west around the coastline of the Pomarj peninsula, for nearly two weeks. Then they left the open seas and tacked north up the Jewel River along the eastern border of the principality of Ulek. They finally lowered anchor after nearly three weeks at the port village of Jass.

Small geographically, the river village was a maze of wooden shacks and brick buildings with thick shuttered windows and dirty streets. Known as both a respected center of commerce as well as a den of villainy along both sides of the river, those who dwelled there and managed to survive its lawless intrigue (and knew how to navigate the gallery of rogues and scoundrels which prowled its narrow streets and alleyways) grew rich from the Riverine commerce and the slave and opium trades.

Over the years, an often volatile but mutually profitable détente had developed between the Jass Thieve's Guild and the town Chancellor, or, more accurately; between the Thieve's Guild and the head of Chancellor DuMont's constabulary, Morgenna Lestrade.

Morgenna served as not only Chancellor Dumont's strong right arm, but also his conscience. Morgenna was a deadly swordswoman and archer. She was also renown for her skill in brawling and unarmed combat, and she was feared, loved, and respected by her troops. As a purely practical matter, Captain Morgena had arrived at arrangement with the local practitioners of the larcenous crafts. As long as no murders were sanctioned and businesses and residents who paid their taxes and protection money in a timely manner were left unmolested, the Guild was free to ply its trade in exchange for a fair cut back to the Chancellor's coffers. But the arrangement had faltered and journeyed south since the former Guildmaster had disappeared under mysterious circumstances, and been replaced by his successor.

This new scoundrel, Silas Darkwater, was rumored to be in league with a particularly nasty group of street rakes and ruffians calling themselves the "Silver Eels." The Eels had been credited with a growing number of badly mutilated bodies of locals (mostly homeless beggars) floating face down in the harbor. The détente had been unraveling slowly but surely over the last several months.

Smoky lantern light spilled out over the warm dark waters from the boarded up windows of a ramshackle cottage built atop the rickety docks. Sitting in a wooden rocking chair with his booted feet up on a wooden barrel, a broad shouldered, gray bearded sea captain smoking a long stemmed tavern pipe rose to his feet. He watched them carefully from beneath the brim of his plumed, three cornered hat, as the Phantom's Wail drifted smoothly in, and Mustafa secured her mooring lines. The dock master strode confidently toward the gang plank, a large log book under one arm, and a dangerous looking rapier sheathed at his hip. "Greetings," he hailed them with a formal bow. "I'll be needing to meet your captain and know how long you plan to stay."

"I'm the captain," Longknife shook his hand as she strode to the end of the gangplank. "This is my Master at Arms, Mustafa."

The dark skinned monk bowed courteously, as Leon, his hood pulled over his head, slipped unnoticed off the ship and through the shadows gathered about the lanterns on the pier. He disappeared into the alleyway between the Inn of the Welcome Wench and One Eye'd Achmed's Bakery.

"My crew is small," Longknife told the dock master. "12 hands in all. We are here to trade, re-provision and enjoy some shore leave, before sailing north to Dyvers."

"Well met then, Captain Longknife. The docking fee is two gold pieces a day, and the constabulary keeps a close watch on the harbor. If you bring no trouble with you, no trouble should come to you."

Mustafa nodded and smiled, pressing a pouch of 20 gold coins into the dock master's palm." His eyes widened with approval. "I shall keep an eye to you myself," he assured them. "Welcome to Jass."

Leon slipped comfortably into the familiar shadows of the dirty labyrinth of refuse strewn alleyways. These had been his home for a long time, and a place where he found solace and escape from memories of a life that haunted him. His feet moved soundlessly. He floated wraithlike through the dimness. Ahead of him, in a nexus of interconnecting alleys, a ragged group of homeless beggars sat huddled on filthy mats around a small trash fire. Most of them passed around bottles of cheap grog and shared spits of greasy, freshly cooked rat meat that had been toasted on the fire. Several of the beggars looked up at him as he approached the fire.

"Hey there, young fella," one of the older, more haggard men greeted him. He tried unsuccessfully to get a look at the rogue's face beneath the shadow of his cowl. "If you're not here to cause trouble, you're welcome to share the fire. Ain't much, but we got a little meat if your hungry."

There were three children among them, who drew closer against two of the women as Leon put his hands out to warm them.

"Kreth, you old fool," Leon chuckled despite himself. "You'd welcome the Lord of Hell himself to join your merry campfire."

He pulled his hood back, and the old homeless veteran's eyes grew wide with joy.

"Balls of the Gods!" Kreth declared in surprise. "We heard you were dead!"

Leon embraced each of them warmly.

"Those rumors are a bit exaggerated," he told them. From under his cloak, he produced a large leather wine skin and a burlap sack filled with dried fruit, nuts and thick pieces of salted jerky, which he handed to one of the women.

"Bless your soul," Kreth praised him as he upended the wineskin. After taking a long pull, he passed it to another of the beggars. "Thank the God's you're back."

"We're missing some faces?" Leon inquired.

"Five, boss," one of the others (Vlor - a black furred wolven fenrir in dirty tan leggings and a thick leather vest) told him. Leon's face grew dark, and he sat down by the fire.

"Talk to me," he told them.

The others gathered close. They nodded in agreement as Kreth and Vlor relayed how Silas had stopped helping them and the rest of the network of homeless people in the city in favor of working with the Silver Eels.

"At first, it weren't no big deal," Kreth explained. "But then the guild stopped buying our eyes and info. Then, some of the cloaks started raiding our nests. Not much at first, but it started to get worse. Then the Eels started in. Rolling us for sport. We lost Ald, and Gynia. Found them bled out in the alley behind the Wench. Then Beld and Algrum. Found them floating in the harbor."

"And Leatherneck Mary?" Leon asked.

"Ain't nobody seen her in nigh on 2 weeks now," Kreth told him.

Leon shook his head. "How long has this been going on?"

"Boss," Vlor looked at him sadly. "You've been gone for near on a year..."

Leon was silent and grim for a moment. "It's been cold out," the rogue noted. "Why aren't you in the warehouse?"

"That's where the Eels are crashing now," Kreth told him.

Leon digested all this. He looked earnestly at each of them. During his tenure as the Guild Master, the homeless and the urchins had been his eyes and ears on the streets. They were dependable, trustworthy, and required little by way of bribery. A few silver coins a week, and a safe place to stay at night. This last item had been a warehouse that Leon had acquired as payment for a delinquent debt.

Over the years they had grown to trust and rely on one another. They were never many, but he had always extended the guild's protection to them. Finally, he spoke.

"How many Eels are there?" The rogue asked with distaste.

"Best we can tell, around 30," Vlor told him.

"And Lestrade?" Leon inquired.

"She don't like it anymore than we do," Kreth explained. "But she don't have enough muscle to stir it up with Silas. Not with the Eels in his back pocket."

Leon paused to consider this.

"Wait for an hour," he told them. "Then I want you to go to the docks. There's a black ship there with green sails. Go in groups of 2. Women and the kids first. They will let you on board and make sure you have something to eat and a safe bunk. Won't be much – but Doc Tiny is a good cook and it's a roof."

They each nodded and began smiling hopefully.

"This may take me a day or two to get sorted," he warned them. "But I will get it sorted."

They agreed and Leon got up to leave. "An hour, then two by two, 10 minutes in between," he repeated.

Then he disappeared back into the shadows.

>>>><<<<

Morgena Lestrade leaned back in her chair and sighed heavily. The candle light spilling across her heavy wooden desk, piled with stacks of reports, edicts and warrants, did little more to warm her than the crackling fire in the low stone hearth to her left. Earlier in the day, the chancellor had been emphatic that something needed to be done regarding the increased violence and attacks on the local merchants by the grey hooded ruffians calling themselves the Silver Eels. But the Captain knew her small group of less than 25 volunteer constables was no match for the brutal gang of rakes. And as long as they did nothing, the Eels were willing to not attack the guards.

She sighed in frustration.

"Long day?" Said a low, mellifluous voice from the shadows near the door to her office.

Her trained, warrior's reflexes had her on her feet in an instant, sword in hand. A cloaked figure emerged from the darkness and into the dull radiance of the hearth and the candles. A black hood hid his face.

"You are a fool and a dead man to enter here," she warned him. The intruder clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"I'm sure you could kill me quite easily," the cloaked figure told her. "Which is why I am unarmed. I'm no match for you." He took another step forward toward the light his arms outspread, showing he had no weapons. "But if you do that," he warned, "then I won't be able to solve our mutual problem for you."

She knitted her brow angrily. "What mutual problem?" she demanded suspiciously.

"Seems our waters are infested with a rather nasty tangle of eels," the figure replied. "So, if you spare my life, and promise not to send your constables after me, I should be able to deal with that for you, without it involving your loyal troops."

Leon came fully forward into the light, pulling back his hood. The captain snarled furiously, leaping across the desk toward the interloper. She seized his vest in her strong, battle hardened hands and pressed her lips passionately to his. After a lingering and breathless kiss, she pulled back and stared deeply into his eyes.

She struck him hard in the mouth with her gloved fist, sending him reeling backward and off his feet. He fell back roughly, his vision swimming with stars, and his jaw burning.

"I heard you were dead," she scolded him.

She helped him to his feet. Kissing him again. Longer and more gently this time.

"Well, the night's still young," Leon observed off handedly.

"Your successor is a real pain in the arse," the captain told him. "How do you plan to solve our mutual problem, without it blowing back on my boys?"

"I got people," Leon reassured her. "What I need is time."

"How much?" she asked.

"Couple of days," he told her. "There's a black ship with green sails at the docks. You and your boys see to it that no one bothers her or her crew. I'll take care of the eel problem."

"Done. What about Silas?" She wanted to know.

"His time is coming," Leon vowed. "But first things first. I need to get this sorted. Silas is a coward and a traitor, but he's smart. He doesn't move an inch without backup. And I'm willing to bet that if I take out the eels, I defang his sorry arse."

"I agree," she nodded.

Leon bowed as he receded back into the shadows. "Until we meet again," he whispered

"You're not staying?" She demanded. "You just got back?" but the Guildmaster was gone. Morgenna huffed in frustrated annoyance.

>>>><<<<

"Ok," Indigo clarified, her brow knitting. She leaned across the table of navigational charts in the captain's quarters. "How many hobos? For how long?"

Leon sighed with resignation. "Hobos?" he repeated ruefully. "Really?"

The navigator returned his stare flatly.

"Seven," the rogue continued. "And three kids. They need safe shelter while we get this worked out."

"We?" Repeated Longknife.

"So don't come," Leon told her. "I'm sure Skadi and I can handle all the glory between us."

"What makes you think I want anything to do with this?" the northwoman wanted to know.

"Fine," Leon shook his head. "Stay on the boat. The villagers can sing about the bravery of Tenji Bulwark I, and you can be lost and forgotten. Besides, nothing rhymes with Skadi anyway. It would mess up the otherwise epic lyrics."

Skadi grumbled and shook her head. "If you die I'll have to find this Riverwillow Chapel myself. How long before these beggars arrive?"

Mustafa knocked softly on the door and stuck his head in. "There's women and children asking to come aboard, captain. They said Leon offered them sanctuary?"

"Well," Longknife mused. "At least you checked with us first."

Leon smiled rakishly.

"Bring them aboard," Longknife told the Weapons Master. "See to it they are fed and made comfortable. There should be more arriving."

"Aye - aye." Mustafa agreed. He shut the cabin door softly.

"Well, Fatima could use some friends her age..." Bulwark offered hopefully.

>>>><<<<

It was dark. Leon had brought them to the part of Jass even the rougher denizens tried to avoid. The warm smell of sewage mixing with still ocean waters filled the shadows. The dilapidated, boarded up warehouse built on the docks over the water, was thought long abandoned, and had fallen into disrepair. But new residents of a most unsavory nature now occupied it. The grey cloaked brigands calling themselves the Silver Eels, were there by permission of the Thieve's Guild. They operated with near impunity in the city of Jass now. Kidnapping, extortion, robbery, and brutality for hire. They were feared by pirate, constable and citizen alike. They were untouchable as long as they kept to their understanding with the guild and the constabulary. No one under guild protection was to be touched. The guild got their cut. The guild and the Mayor's constables looked the other way: Anyone else was fair game.

Rickety, unstable looking wooden steps led down from the main dock to the landing bay and front door to the warehouse. There were no windows and no other doors. 3 grey cloaked thugs guarded the front entrance; laughing, bragging and swilling grog near a brightly crackling fire. One was a hulking, troll brute with thick armor and a heavy mace. One was a lightly armored half orc, smaller with quicker weapons. The last was a raven haired half elven woman with a short staff, and arcane magical energies crackling about her finger tips as she bragged and laughed with the others.

Skadi was quiet as they surveyed the entrance from a safe distance. "That's it?" she wondered softly.

"I'm sure there's more inside," Leon offered.

"We'll need to do this quick and quiet," Longknife assessed. "Or they will alert the whole place."

"Coryna and I will handle the mage," Leon offered. "Tenji, you get the drop on the half pint with one of your death bolts. Skadi, we'll move when you and Longknife jump the big guy."

They all nodded in agreement.

One by one, they crept quietly down the dock until they were just beyond the reach of the firelight. They could hear the brigands discussing the pathetic pleas of the beggar they had just left floating in the harbor. Leon steeled his jaw and drew back his bow.

It was over before it even began.

Leon shoved the body of the mage into the inky waters with a soft splash, after removing her and the other two ruffian's grey cloaks.

"Three down," he muttered softly.

"So," Longknife asked him. "Through the front door then?"

"Nothing so ostentatious, love," Leon chided. "There's a skylight in the roof near the back. It goes down into a little store room in a loft above the main storage area. It's barely a bigger than a broom cupboard, so it's not likely anyone will be in it. From there it's room to room. Quick and quiet."

Leon removed a small grappling hook and a heavy silken line from a pouch in his cloak. After only two tries, the hook found secure purchase somewhere on the roof above. He smiled with satisfaction.

"Ladies first," he gestured.

Tenji and Longknife ascended the rope easily to the roof along with the rogue. The northwoman, apparently unaccustomed to the stealthy nature of the activity, made it up a bit more laboriously and with many a muffled curse under her breath. But once aloft, her preternatural strength allowed them to bring the dwarf up with relative ease. Inside the warehouse, the loud and riotous depredations of the Silver Eels allowed them to move from room to room with relative ease in the deep shadows. Convinced of their own invulnerability, the gang members drank, brawled, gambled, and vandalized their surroundings without fear of reprisal.

They were completely unprepared for their visitors.

Leon moved with silent, cruel precision. The jovial, charming rogue had been replaced with a focused, silent predator. He killed mechanically and without passion, gathering trophies (grey cloaks and sashes) as he went. Tenji and Bulwark found it disturbing. Longknife found the quiet absence of banter refreshing, and Skadi seemed unaffected. Nearly 30 had fallen to the blades and arrows of the interlopers in less than two hours.

Finally, they found themselves waiting in a dark, faintly foul smelling wooden corridor, with the bastett pressing her ear to a closed door. Flickering firelight and the sound of laughter and soft voices came from the other side. The sound and riverine smell of the dark waters beneath them wafted up from the spaces between the floorboards beneath their feet

"Four," the bastett responded before Skadi could ask.

"Mage?" The northwoman wanted to know.

"Yep," Tenji told them. "I got this."

Each of them nodded.

"Save one, please," the rogue requested. "I'd like to have a chat..."

Longknife nodded and the lock on the door gave way to a barely perceptible flick of the Guild Master's wrist. Inside, was a softly lit chamber, glowing with candles and lanterns of copper and amber. The wooden floors were strewn with Ketian rugs. A pile of silken sheets, pillows and blankets, screened by a tent of gossamer mosquito netting in the center of the room served as a bed. Sitting about on the elegant wood and brass furniture were a tall, athletically built swordswoman with short cropped blonde hair and black silk and leather fighter's robes. She wore a wide grey sash about her waist and a grey silken cloak about her shoulders. A great, wide bladed scimitar polished to a mirror finish hung at her side. Large blood rubies set in the snakeskin wrapped hilt glistened in the firelight. Near the fire pit in the center of the room, a saurian woman in snake and alligator skin robes, holding an ornamental oaken staff crusted with uncut amethysts across her lap was deep in counsel with a large ogre in pieced together leather and plate armor and a human female adept, both in grey hooded cloaks.

Without a word, a bolt of purple energy surged forward from Tenji's outstretched hand. It burned into the alligator skin clad shaman. Two arrows streaked soundlessly forward and buried themselves deeply in the chest of the female adept as Longknife and Skadi charged forward into the chamber. The alligator shaman was visibly hurt by Tenji's blast of arcane mana, but she recovered almost instantly. She lowered her staff and a blast of radiant green plasma arced forward, enveloping Tenji, and sending her flying backward off her feet, slamming her into a wall. She fell face first to the wooden plank floor and lay still.

Sparks flew as Longknife's twin blades flashed and burned with a dim pearlescent radiance; but the Praetor of the Silver Eels skillfully riposted the deadly whirlwind of steel with her scimitar. With unnerving grace, she managed to swirl and duck downwards, striking Longknife's legs out from under her with a sweeping kick.

Skadi barreled headlong into the hulking ogre, hammering him with a flurry of axe and hammer blows. The onslaught drove him backwards. Blood splashed and flowed from numerous wounds as he bellowed in fury. Two arrows from Leon's bow found their mark in the throat and chest of the shaman. She fell, unable to scream as she choked on her own blood.

Bulwark was quickly at Tenji's side, the white gold radiance spreading outward across her body from his hands.

The ogre's great double bladed axe bit deeply into Skadi's left forearm, and would have undoubtedly severed it completely from her body had it not been for the ivory bracer she wore. The same brutal downward stroke also opened a large wound on her left thigh, tearing through the steel chainmail skirt before coming round for another blow.

Tenji bolted to her feet and leveled her spear. A scintillating bolt of holy white light blasted forward with a thunderous crack, tearing the great ogre from his feet and sending him reeling backward. Skadi stumbled forward, oblivious to the pain, driving her axe deeply into the ogre's chest with a fearsome snarl. The ogre expired violently, as blood splashed from his chest and between his fanged jaws.

The leader of the Eels stifled a cry of pain and stumbled as an arrow pierced her right thigh and left shoulder almost simultaneously. Longknife vaulted agilely to her feet and struck the praetor hard on the wrist with the flat of her sword. The scimitar fell nerveless from her hand. She stumbled back, her eyes darting quickly between the dual wielding bastett advancing toward her, the witchpriest with the spear leveled in her direction, crackling with arcane energy, the blood soaked barbarian staggering toward her – eyes clouded in berserk fury, and the dark cloaked archer with his bow trained on her.

She dropped to one knee and raised her weaponless hands in surrender.

"I yield!" she called. Her commanding voice edged with desperation. Longknife sent the polished scimitar skating across the floor and out of reach with a kick.

"Well, isn't this your lucky day, love," the archer cooed as he kept his bow trained on her. "I have questions."

The dwarven priest made his way forward to the wounded northwoman and his healing magic knit her wounds as they watched.

"If I like your answers you can leave Jass alive. If not..." Leon made a sideways gesture with his head indicating the corpses of her fallen comrades.

"Doesn't appear I have much of a choice," she assessed.

"No," Skadi rumbled ominously.

"Not so much," Tenji added.

"Please," Leon lowered his bow and gestured toward one of the tables and chairs. "Do make yourself comfortable. No need to be uncivilized. Poor yourself some wine and tell me about your arrangement with Silas..."

>>>><<<<

The dim, shadowy shop was cluttered and overflowing with piles, stacks and shelves filled with odd, unusual trinkets and items of every description. Sitting at the rear of the shop, behind a desk surrounded by a translucent silk netting was a dark robed and cloaked man with an angular face, strange silvery grey eyes, and a closely trimmed salt and pepper beard. He fixed his gaze on Skadi as she entered the shop and began looking through the stock. Quietly he rose and approached her.

"Welcome, my lady," he purred, "to my store. I am Silas. Please make yourself comfortable"

"Thank you," Skadi bowed with feminine courtesy.

"You must have travelled here recently," Silas observed. "Because I would most surely have remembered meeting a creature as stunning as you?"

"I have," Skadi smiled fetchingly, holding his silver eyes in her golden gaze.

"How may I serve you?" Silas wanted to know.

"I was hoping you could give me a fair price on some items I recently...acquired," she told him. Her voice was a velvet whisper. She removed a large gunny sack from over her shoulder. From it, she removed a blade wrapped in a grey hooded cloak. She unwrapped the cloak revealing a wide bladed scimitar with a snakeskin wrapped hilt set with rubies. Silas' eyes grew wide with surprise, and Skadi's soft smile took on a dangerous edge.

"I have another 30 or so cloaks like this one. What is the lot worth, in your...expert opinion?"

"How did you get those?" Silas stammered.

"One at a time," Skadi responded sweetly. Her eyes flashed threateningly. Silas took a step back, his surprise becoming laced with suspicion.

"What do you want," Silas queried carefully.

"Well, it's not so much what I want," she confessed.

But it was Leon who completed the sentence, emerging like a wraith from the shadowy dimness of the shop's recesses.

"It's what I can do for you...number one," the rogue stated quietly.

"D'Rouge!" Silas stammered in disbelief "They told me... I mean, I heard..."

"Heard I was dead?" Leon's voice was calm but laced with venom. "Sorry to disappoint." Leon stepped forward, picking up random objects and pretending to examine them.

"You seem to have done well in my absence," he observed casually. Silas swallowed hard then his voice grew steely cold. "We have, D'Rouge. Very well. All of us. Fine, you're back. What do you want."

"I want," Leon said carefully, "for you to keep doing an excellent job running the guild, in my continued absence" Leon told him.

Silas' eyes widened in surprised interest. "Go on," Silas urged cautiously.

"Shall I, then?" Leon fixed him with a withering gaze. "Your Eels, are finished. I want you to resume the old agreement with Lestrade. I want you lead the guild as you have been, but I want my cut to be delivered half to Lestrade, and the other half to be used to restore and maintain my warehouse and see to it that Kreth, Vlor and the others are kept under guild protection. They are to be fed, and provided for out of my percentage."

Silas nodded.

"This is my guild, Silas. Make no mistake. You can run it, but if you betray me, Kreth's people, or Lestrade again, I will find out, and I will end you, and you will never see me coming." He extended a gloved hand to the rattled thief, meeting his eyes evenly.

Silas took it reluctantly and shook it.

"We have an accord, sir," Silas agreed with a tenuous half smile.

"Good," Leon nodded. "Now we can be friends again."

"So," Skadi interjected. "The sword and the cloaks? How much?"

Silas looked up at her.

"Don't be stingy," Leon warned light heartedly. "I've learned the hard way, believe me..."

Leon and Skadi left the store and strode through the shadowy dirt streets and damp night air. The shadows were alive with fireflies and the smell of night blooming jasmine.

"So," Skadi asked, tying the red silk pouch bulging with pearls and round cut sapphires to her belt. "Do you trust him?"

"No," Leon confessed. "But I trust his survival instincts. He won't double cross me again, because he knows I have eyes on him now. Just not whose or which ones."

"Hmmm," Skadi replied absently.

"He liked you quite a bit," Leon grinned.

"Really..." She smirked. They turned off the main avenue near the Inn of the Welcome Wench and headed back toward the docks.

"That's the most I've seen him pay for anything. Ever." Leon indicated the new pouch on the northwoman's belt with a sideways nod. "Care to join me for a drink?" Leon invited her.

Skadi shook her head. "I should get back to the ship," she told him.

"The Wench has the best mead in Ulek." He told her. "Made from a lavender and rose honey they bring in from near Eru Tovar..."

Skadi paused. A slow smile played across her face.

"That's my girl," Leon chuckled. "Thought you might like that."

Soft golden firelight flowed out from the saloon style doors that swung freely open and shut under a wooden shield. Painted on it in bright colors was a buxom, smiling serving wench carrying a foaming flagon of ale in each hand. Inside the tavern, the sounds of raucous laughter mingled with merry shouts and the music of a minstrel's mandolin. The main foyer was bustling with pirates, brigands, mercenaries, fishermen and enticingly clad barmaids bearing platters of cooked meats and trays of grog and ale. They found a table in the back of the tavern, near a brightly blazing fire in a wide brick hearth. Leon flagged down one of the barmaids and whispered into her ear as he pressed 2 platinum coins into her palm.

She blushed and smiled.

"And tell Smythe we want the stuff from Eru Tovar in the back behind the Lortmil Cogniac," the rogue instructed cheerfully. "Not that troll piss he keeps at the bar."

She nodded eagerly and bustled back into the crowd.

"So," Skadi leaned back in the oaken chair, enjoying the feel of the fire. "How far away is this Riverwillow Chapel?"

"Fresh out of shop talk, love," Leon sighed. "I need a drink, a song, and a soft bed."

Skadi shrugged and gazed about the room.

"Perhaps," Leon continued, "a bed filled with that delightful creature yonder." He flashed his most roguish smile at a young, chestnut haired farm girl in a cotton dress and leather tunic who had been staring at them discretely since they entered. Her current companion, was a portly young fisherman with tanned skin who seemed dull, uninterested, and well into his cups

"I think she was looking at me," Skadi observed off handedly.

"Well, now – wouldn't that make for an interesting end to an eventful day..." Leon mused.

He began rummaging through his cloak and producing a short wooden pipe and a pouch of fragrant tobacco cured in vanilla and Madera wine. Skadi sighed heavily and shook her head, returning her gaze to the fire. Leon filled his pipe and puffed it alight using a tall candle from their table, as he glanced at the menu.

"Hungry?" He asked the northwoman.

"I was," she jibed him.

They glanced up and saw the barmaid returning, bearing a tray filled with roasted turkey legs, sliced tropical fruits and a large dusty crystal jug of mead. Skadi's eyes grew wide.

"I think I feel my appetite returning," she confessed with a grin as she noted two large ivory drinking horns on the platter. "I can see why you like this place."

The mead was velvety and sweet in the northwoman's throat, and washed down the fruit and meat covering the platter, satisfyingly. The rush of laughter, firelight and soft music overtook the evening, and the first rosy fingers of dawn were dusting the starry sky, as Skadi found her way back to the gang plank of the ship and her thick, fleece lined bed in her quarters, where she was rocked to sleep by the rhythmic rise and fall of the ship's keel. She did not awake again until well into the following afternoon.

Fazil had already arranged for the re-provisioning of the ship when Skadi appeared above decks. The Castaway Rats were bringing the last of the barrels and crates into the cargo hold when she located Doc Tiny. The Half ogre cook was in the ship's scullery preparing a rather savory smelling pot of bacon and fish stew over the warm cooking fire. He handed her a large wooden bowl and spoon with a smile.

"Everybody aboard?" Skadi wanted to know.

"All present and accounted for, admiral," the cook said with a soft toothy grin.

"Longknife know you call me that?" Skadi asked, a mouth full of stew.

"Not so far as I know," the cook admitted. The door to the scullery opened suddenly, and Fatima stepped inside, proudly planting her fists on her hips.

"Indigo has been teaching me how to throw daggers," she told them. "And I can hit the target every time now!"

Skadi and Doc Tiny nodded and smiled with approval.

"Want to come see?" The little girl offered.

"As soon as I finish breakfast," Skadi promised.

"That smells good. Can I have some?" Fatima wanted to know.

"You just ate, little one," the ogre chided.

"Aaawww," Fatima pouted. "Guess I'll go practice some more." She turned on her heel and headed up the ladder well to the sunlit decks above.

"Trouble, that one is," Doc Tiny remarked paternally.

"Just wait until she discovers boys..." Skadi added ominously.

By the dawn of the following day, armor, clothing and sails had been mended, spoils sold at market and traded for provisions at Calico Jacks, supplies stowed, bows re-strung, and weapons sharpened. The Phantom's Wail put the port of Jass to their stern. The sun was setting, and a brisk breeze, still smelling faintly of the ocean to the south, moved up the Jewel River from the delta of the Azure Sea.

>>>>><<<<<

The pale crescent moon was just beginning to rise over the crest of the river, when the Phantom's Wail lowered her sails and weighed anchor. They were 4 days north of Jass along the western shore of the Jewel river. Longknife gazed thoughtfully through a long brass spyglass up the river. Resting atop a steep, grassy earthen slope, a thick copse of trees, flowering vines and thorn bushes almost completely obscured the high belfry tower and stone walls of the Riverwillow Chapel. Stone steps set in the ground led up from a wooden dock on the shore of the river, to the chapel's tall, heavy double doors. The building itself was a small stone church 250' x 350' with a narrow belfry tower rising almost 60' in the air, just slightly below the top of the tree line. There were no windows visible in the stone walls. Across the river from the chapel, dark waters lapped and whispered against a steep rocky beach, dotted with patches of thick green bushes. Several hundred feet from the eastern shore, the cracked stones and weathered mausoleums of an ancient cemetery were overgrown with thorny vines. They clawed at the moonlight like old teeth and bones. Things moved furtively in the shadows. Perhaps just the local fauna, or something more sinister. Most of the stone monuments and headstones had cracked and fallen, and were now covered in vines and dark earth. Longknife could see three mausoleum buildings overgrown with flowering vines, but whose elegant and regal architecture and stone work had withstood centuries of weather. She, Skadi, Tenji, Leon and Bulwark made their way carefully up the western shore toward the chapel. They kept beneath the shadows of the tree line until they reached the dock and the terraced earthen pathway leading to the threshold of the chapel. The gloom of the night gathered about them. One by one, the stars began winking above them, and the shadows deepened beneath the trees. Nothing moved, and no light flowed out from the round stained glass window above the sealed double doors. Leon inspected the lock closely, and removed the picks and tools from a pouch on his belt.

"Can you undo it?" Bulwark asked.

"I Think so," he mumbled softly. "This lock is unusually complex. Someone really doesn't want visitors."

"Is that normal for a church?" Inquired the northwoman. The dwarf gave a quick sideways smile. "Depends on the church."

After what felt like hours of frustrated whispering and mumbling by the rogue, the internal mechanism of the lock suddenly gave way. The great wooden doors swung ponderously inward, creaking on ancient hinges. Beyond, the smell of decay filled the hallway. The rough, grey stone blocks that made up the floor, walls and arched ceiling were covered in grime. The entry hall was lit with dull smoky torches and thick with shadows. Tattered black tapestries, woven with red fanged skulls and clawed skeletal hands, hung from the walls. Between the tapestries; mangled, rotting corpses were pinned to the wall by barbed iron straps. Their faces were locked in decaying screams of agony. Nearly 100 feet away, the hallway ended in another set of closed double doors.

Lunging toward them, as though birthed by the shadows themselves, mutilated and decayed corpses snapped and snarled with ravenous hunger, their eyes burning with hellish red flame. The party's weapons came instantly to their hands. As the Longknife's blades came free of their scabbards, they flashed and burned with a bright pearl lucence. The bastett's blades shone in the darkness as though the bastett held two pieces of a winter moon in her hands. The undead horde hesitated at the sight of them. They shielded their eyes with upraised arms and growled with fear and hate. Bulwark stepped forward. He held his golden holy symbol of Pelor out defiantly before him. It flared warmly, catching and seeming to hold the light of Longknife's swords.

"Be at peace," the dwarf's words were soft as thunder over the sea. "Rest."

Several of the zombies fell to their knees crying in agony and relief. The light dimmed in their eyes and then was gone as they collapsed to the floor. The remaining abominations growled in fury, clawing at the darkness. They did not advance, but neither did they retreat. Skadi steeled herself and marched forward. Longknife matched her stride for stride. A dazzling bolt of blinding white plasma streaked forward from Tenji's outstretched hand. It blasted into one of the Necrozombies, lifting it from its feet, and smashing it into a stone buttress. When it struck the floor, the red flame had left its dead stare and it lay still. Skadi and Longknife broke into a forward charge.

"Don't let them bite you," the dwarf warned.

A second blast of radiant energy, this time from the dwarf's holy symbol, brought down the seventh undead horror, smoke rising from its chest. Longknife's angelic forged blades wove dazzling arcs in the dimness, biting and burning deep into the necrotic flesh. Skadi's axe and hammer rose and fell like the deck of a tempest tossed ship, thudding and hacking relentlessly. Dead corpses were battered and tossed about the hall. Tenji sprinted forward, her spear whirling about her head. It struck down like the tail of a giant scorpion through the open mouth of a zombie, exploding out the back of its neck. Leon remained at the dwarf's side, his bow raised and an arrow knocked, as Bulwark began to march with slow determination toward the back of the hall. But the rogue was unable to get a clean shot in the flurry of movement and the oppressive dimness. He cursed under his breath, his bow bobbing back and forth as he sighted, lost, and tried to reacquire each target, but to no avail.

The zombies snapped and clawed with fanged, rotting jaws and clawed hands. Tenji, Longknife and Skadi managed to avoid the cursed bites, but ignored the tearing of their skin by strong, predatory talons. By the time the last of the undead had fallen, Tenji, Longknife and he northwoman were battered bruised and clawed open but unbitten and whole.

Tenji leaned against her spear. "Why did they fall without needing to destroy their spell focus?" She wanted to know.

"Their summoners must be close by," Bulwark observed. "So they don't need a focus item to maintain the enchantment. These are not like other zombies I have seen."

"How do you mean?" Skadi inquired.

"How many zombies have you known, dwarf?" Leon wondered.

"These are faster," Bulwark told them. "And their eyes... Never seen the glowing red thing before."

"Well, I don't like them one bit," Tenji decided.

Bulwark spent several minutes cleaning and binding their injuries before they turned the attention to the inner doors. Leon was growing visibly agitated.

"Something on your mind?" Longknife asked him. Leon frowned.

"Out with it, rogue," Skadi told him gently.

"This is where I was captured," he told them quietly. "Right there behind that door. My men were butchered, roasted by an ambush, and I was taken." He looked earnestly at each of them. "They were good men. Good fighters. We were betrayed...they ambushed us. I should have died with them..."

"Leon," Skadi put a steadying hand on the rogue's shoulder and smiled reassuringly. "That's not going to happen today." She looked calmly into his eyes and smiled. "They were ready for you, and you were not ready for them."

Her words calmed him. "This time, we are ready for them. They are not ready for us."

The rogue relaxed visibly.

The dark doors opened into a roughly cruciform, domed ceilinged cathedral. Stone pillars in the walls supported the roof above. An altar, defiled by black candles of human tallow and blood inscriptions, glowed on a raised stone dais. Suspended above the altar, barely visible in the shadowy candle light, the corpse of a tall young girl with raven hair and pearlescent skin like Skadi's, hung by her neck from a chain. Her body was sliced open, and her blood, fluids and innards dripped downward into a silver catch basin. The catch basin was being tended by a 3 black robed mages who chanted and gesticulated hypnotically. Surrounding the necromancers in a protective circle were six tall warriors clad in black plate armor. Skull like great helms hid their faces. Each shield was emblazoned with the emblem of a red fanged skull. In their hands they held long, viciously curved and cruelly spiked swords of blackened steel. The chanting mages seemed blissfully unaware of the presence of the company, lost in their dark ritual. The Shadowblade warriors were not only aware of their presence, but braced for battle.

A storm of rage clouded Leon's eyes. His bow sang like a swarm of angry hornets. A thunderous blast of raw electricity crackled from Tenji's spear. Skadi silently squared her shoulders, and charged forward. Longknife and Bulwark followed, their weapons brandished. One of the necromancers was lifted off his feet by Tenji's blast of lightning and sent hurtling into the desecrated altar where he convulsed and crumpled to the ground never to rise. The second mage fell face first into the fire with two arrows protruding from his robed back, spilling the bloody contents of the basin across the dark flagstones.

The dark armored Shadowblades collided with the company in a din of ringing steel blades clashing against shields. Longknife dashed aside numerous sword blows in a flurry of flashing mithrill, but still winced at the sheer number of strikes that struck her armored frame.

Skadi barely noticed the blows landing on her. She focused her silent battle fury on a single opponent; over powering him and bearing him to the ground with mighty blow after mighty blow in rapid succession. Bulwark centered his attention on battling his way to the last remaining necromancer. The mage ignored his advance. Instead, he extended his staff toward the archer. A radiant beam of vile darkness shot forward. Tenji stepped quickly between the archer and the deadly spell. The darkbolt seared into her with freezing fire and brought her to her knees. A wave of agony and sudden exhaustion washing over her. Tenji's head swam, the room darkened, and the stone floor rose up to meet her as she closed her eyes. Bulwark growled as a blackened steel blade bit deeply through his armor into his hammer arm. Longknife ducked nimbly under a deadly sideways strike.

The heavy steel head of the northwoman's one handed battlehammer stove in the helm of the downed Shadowblade she towered over, as the wide crescent blade of her axe removed the leg of a second dark guardian just above the knee. With an insectile bark from the archer's bow, an arrow transfixed the eye and then the neck of the black robed necromancer. He fell gagging softly on his own blood. Longknife leapt and lunged with feline grace. The point of one of her luminous blades flicked like a serpent's tongue – slipping easily through the space between a shadowblade's helm and his chain link collar. The other punched with needle-like precision through the eye slot of another's visor. Bulwark's massive maul roared upward in a mighty uppercut – smashing into the chin of his opponent. The Shadowblade's jaw and neck shattered with a sickening crunch and his head was nearly ripped from his shoulders.

The remaining black armored warrior brought his sword down hard onto the rogue. Leon danced agilely aside, but not quite fast enough to avoid a painful diagonal slash down his chest. Skadi's axe twirled through the shadows and buried itself deeply into the back of the shadowblade's helm. He fell to his knees twitching and collapsed at Leon's feet.

Bulwark knelt down beside the fallen witchpriest, wincing nearly imperceptibly with the pain in his own arm. Longknife joined him, her feline face dark with concern.

"Is she..." the bastett began, but Tenji moaned softly with pain and annoyance. "Not bloody yet I'm not..."

Bulwark suppressed a smile and gently sat her up. Leon stripped the ruined leather cuirass from beneath his cloak and began tending the laceration across his torso. Skadi ignored her wounds and sought out the location of the winch that lowered the body hanging above the altar. She found it, and the chain rattled softly as she lowered the dead woman slowly and gently to the floor. Without a word, Skadi ripped one of the black tapestries from the wall and reverently arranged the body atop it. The others joined her – their wounds bound an healed by the dwarf, as she knelt beside the body.

"She's like you," Tenji observed. "A...devan...?"

Skadi nodded. "Yes, I think so."

The northwoman closed the girl's lifeless golden eyes reverently, and smoothed her raven black hair against her now pallid pearlescent skin.

"Those tattoos," Longknife noted the intricate and alien symbols which had been expertly etched in silver and violet ink onto the devan's left cheek, neck and shoulder. "Do they mean anything?"

"I don't know," Skadi admitted. "But I feel like I should."

"We've seen those before," Bulwark commented.

"We have?" Leon wondered. "Where?"

"Longknife's swords," the priest reminded him. "It's angelic script."

Longknife smiled in wonder and withdrew her blades. It was true indeed. Many of the runes of protection on Castius' longswords matched identically the ones tattooed on the fallen devan. All but one that appeared on both blades. Bulwark stared long at the bastett's weapons.

"What does this one say?" Longknife indicated the unique sigil branded to the polished mithrill."

"That's the name of your blades," Bulwark told her.

"Right!" Tenji smiled. "The Angel's Kiss."

"Close," Bulwark nodded encouragingly. "Excellent translation, lady Tenji. But more accurately it says: Archeon's Caress."

Longknife smiled and nodded.

Bulwark muttered sanctification prayers over the disemboweled devan woman as Tenji and Skadi enshrouded her in the black tapestry. Then, room by room, they explored the rest of the chapel. The upper floors (consisting of a kitchen and scullery, several small priest's quarters and a parlor) were deserted and fallen into disuse. But the sharp and clever eyes of the bastett found the concealed entrance to a set of steep, narrow stairs beneath a trap door in the small reliquary behind the altar in the main sanctuary. The steps descended at a sharp angle down to an open archway. Dim firelight fluttered out into the stygian shadows of the stairwell, along with the powerful smell of decay and damp earth. Tenji and Skadi waited patiently for a skeptical quip from the archer, but instead (to all of their surprise) he descended first down the stairs.

Wordlessly, Leon checked each step for snares or pressure plates before putting his full weight on it. There was a steel grey determination in his eyes. At the bottom of the steps, the smell of death and decay nearly over powered them. Inside, five huge stone blocks, used as makeshift work benches rested on the damp, earthen floor. Rotting corpses in various states of dismemberment lay atop three of them, their faces locked in silent, agonizing screams. Five black robed necromancers dissected, studied, embalmed and prepared them for reanimation. Glass bottles and pottery containers of various herbs, unguents and ingredients sat atop crude, heavy wooden shelves that lined the walls. Braziers filled with glowing crystals and clusters of black tallow candles filled the crypt with uncertain light.

Leon remained in the shadows of the archway, beckoning the others with silent hand signals to remain quiet, and fitted an arrow to his bow. One of the necromancers collapsed silently across the dissected corpse she was working on, with two black feathered arrow shafts protruding from her back.

Skadi, Tenji and Longknife surged silently forward from the shadow of the archway. The warriors were upon the three closest mages before they could defend themselves, and the necromancers fell quickly beneath the deadly attack. The fourth however (an older and higher ranking mage judging by his red silken waist sash and the crystal skull capped iron rod dangling from his hip) was somewhat further back in the crypt, near one of the wooden shelves. He managed to duck behind one of the stone blocks as one of Leon's arrows struck it sharply and shattered.

Leon let out a curse and leapt forward from his position in the archway, sprinting toward the dark mage. Tenji, Skadi and the Longknife followed him, and they converged as one on the necromancer's location. The black robed necromantic adept rose to his feet and a blast of dark energy exploded from his skull headed rod, emanating in a dark radiant circle widening out to encompass the entire crypt. Tenji, Skadi, Longknife and Leon were thrown backwards off their feet and landed roughly. They lay stunned, weakened and wracked with icy agony. They struggled vainly, but only Skadi was able to regain a single knee.

"That was stupid..." Leon moaned softly. He shook his head to try and clear the cobwebs from it. A spear of dark light sprang forth from the necromancer's hand and speared the northwoman in the chest. Skadi fell backwards heavily and lay still.

The mage strode confidently forward.

He was blasted backwards by a dazzling flare of holy white radiance arcing forth from the Holy symbol of Pelor as Bulwark emerged from the shadowy archway. The necromancer's convulsing body fell heavily against one of the stone work benches. A web of serpentine energy coruscated all over his body and the life drained from his eyes.

"May the steward of the throne judge your spirit justly," the priest muttered.

Then he knelt beside the limp form of the northwoman. As the others groaned painfully and regained their feet, Bulwark cradled Skadi's head in his powerful arms. He closed his eyes. He prayed earnestly as a soft golden white light engulfed the fallen devan. Skadi's eyes fluttered open, but the priest slumped back, exhausted and drained.

"Are you ok, dwarf?" Skadi smiled weakly, her head still cradled across Bulwark's massive armored chest.

"I need to eat," the dwarf muttered.

"Well, nothing says 'lunch' like an evil crypt filled with dead, mutilated corpses," the rogue noted sardonically. He tossed a pocket flask toward the dwarf who nodded his thanks.

Skadi sat up took the flask from the dwarf and drained it's contents in a single draught. Bulwark scowled briefly at her.

Then she rose determinedly to her feet. She pointed to a low tunnel in the far northern wall beside the bookshelf and beyond the fallen red sashed adept.

"We need to check that area out," She decided.

"A few minutes to eat and catch our breath first, Skadi." Longknife countered.

The others nodded in agreement.

"But I like where your head's at," Leon told her with a half smile.

The damp earthen hallway ended at a set of great iron double doors, set in a stone lintel. Iron braziers flanked the portals and burned sadly. The flames glistening on the silver runes carved into the stone the doors. The doors opened freely to reveal a large rectangular chamber of closely fitted stone blocks. Thick carpets of black wool covered the floors. Tapestries of black silk, elegantly woven with images of the fanged skull visage of Nerull, or his symbol of the clawed skeletal hand, hung gracefully from the walls. The room was furnished with elegantly carved wooden furniture. A stone hearth burned warmly on the western wall, near a wooden shelf filled with leather bound books. In the north eastern corner a carved stone statue of the death god Nerull surveyed the room regally, with glistening jeweled eyes.

Lounging atop the altar of a small shrine, her dark red tresses falling over her pale flesh, polished black armor, and striking cobalt eyes; was a tall and strongly built woman.

She gazed at them and smiled malevolently.

Resting against the altar, within easy reach, was a massive, wide bladed great sword. Nearly six feet tall \- the blade measured nearly a foot wide and was forged from a shining obsidian metal. Wicked looking runes burning purple and silver covered the length of the razor sharp blade.

The sword glistened with an aura of dark fire.

Behind her, lurked two more of the dark robed mages. Their eyes glimmered in the half light. Four of the horrific, red eyed Necrozombies shifted back and forth restlessly in front of them, hissing and clacking their fetid teeth menacingly.

"So you are the heroes my master is on about," the woman assessed. "you don't look so bad. He wishes me to convey his regrets that he could not be here for your deaths. But he wants to assure you, that your rotting corpses will be a vessel for the most glorious of dark spirits. Do you wish me to convey any last messages to him?"

"Tell him the rumors of the Guildmaster of Jass's death are greatly exaggerated, Asgareth..." Leon purred.

He stepped forward and loosed an arrow. It found its mark in the left eye of one of the black robed necromancers.

The anti-paladin was on her feet, greatsword in hand in a single motion. She smiled diabolically at the rogue. The feral undead corpses lurched forward with unnerving speed. A bolt of black energy, like a rip in the night sky, radiated forth from the black metal staff of the dark robed necromancer.

A beam of white radiant power shone forth from Tenji's spear, colliding in midstream with the necromancer's dark bolt. The two fingers of energy shifted back and forth with the wills of their casters. Skadi appeared from nowhere between the rogue and Asgareth, striking aside the diabolical warrior's great black blade with a ringing blow from her hammer, as her axe skidded harmlessly off Asgareth's black armored breast plate.

With a single leap, Longknife was among the snarling, fire eyed undead. The blades of Archeon's Caress burned with opalescent fire as they flashed about in a deadly whirlwind. Asgareth's armored elbow landed a crushing blow on Skadi's left cheek, sending the northwoman staggering backwards. Stars flashed before the Skadi's eyes. She brought up her hammer and axe, barely warding off another mammoth blow from the burning black blade.

The divine energy finally beat back the dark radiance from the necromancer's staff. He was sent reeling backward. His staff shattered and smoke curled from his chest where the divine strike had smote him. Tenji charged forward to aid Longknife.

One of the zombies leapt from the shadows. It caught hold of Tenji's forearm and bit down hard on her shoulder. Its teeth crumpled but did not penetrate her steel shoulder pauldron. Longknife removed the head of one of the zombies with a sweeping strike of one blade, and drove the second blade up through the mouth of another. The glowing tip erupted from the top of its head and disappeared almost instantly out of its mouth again as both undead fell heavily to the stone floor.

Skadi howled in berserk fury. She shoulder tackled Asgareth, lifting her off her feet and bearing her down to the ground, driving her axe blade deep into the anti-paladin's shoulder. She smashed the steel head of her hammer into Asgareth's opposite forearm.

Tenji's spear tip whirled above her head as she pivoted free of the zombie's bite. The spear slid effortlessly into the skull of her attacker, driving the creature head first to the stone floor.

Asgareth slashed through the armor on Skadi's midsection with the dark sword, throwing the northwoman off her to one side. Skadi felt her strength leave her. A sickening blizzard of weakness tore through her body. Asgareth rose to her feet, her wounds healing before their eyes. An explosion of dark energy radiated outward from Asgareth in a perfectly circular arc. It burned through Leon, Tenji and Longknife, taking the strength from their knees and legs as they collapsed to the ground.

Barely conscious and acting on pure instinct, Longknife removed the head of the last zombie in a single, desperate stroke as it leapt on her to bite her before she faded into unconsciousness.

Bulwark stepped forward.

His holy symbol blazed with golden light. The anti-paladin cursed as the light burned into her eyes and tore through her body like a firestorm. Skadi felt life, strength and warmth returning to her as her wounds healed almost instantly. The northwoman vaulted forward toward Asgareth, as the dwarf lowered his symbol and staggered in complete exhaustion.

Skadi collided with the anti-paladin like a human battering ram. The devan lifted Asgareth off her feet, over her head and high into the air. The northwoman turned and drove the dark warrior hard onto the stone floor with a loud crash. The great black sword slid across the flagstones from Asgareth's nerveless fingers. Skadi drove her axe blade with all her renewed strength into Asgareth's forehead. It clove her skull in two, and wedged itself into the stone floor. Skadi rained terrible blow after terrible blow into the dead woman's armored remains, snarling in rage and battle lust.

Suddenly, the rage left her, replaced by a soothing golden white glow. She heard the words of the priest calling to her, as though from a great distance.

"It's done, child. Be at peace. You have your victory."

Bulwark's voice was deep and strong like a warm waterfall. Skadi stood and lowered her weapons, dripping with blood and gore. She looked down with detached disinterest at the ruined remains of the once mighty foe at her feet. Then she felt Tenji's had on her shoulder.

"Relax," Tenji told her, eyebrows raised in concern. "I think you got her..."

After nearly a half an hour of cleaning and binding wounds and passing around the last of the lavender and rose mead of Eru Tovar; the company felt well enough to search the Asgareth's lair. Again, it was Longknife who located the loose stone in the floor which hid the large iron chest.

Her penchant for locating hidden panels and portals was garnering great respect among the rest of the company. Leon was able to disable the scything blade trap which would have removed the arms of any unwary pillager, and then poison them to death as the bled out. The rogue was able to decipher the lock. The chest opened to reveal thousands of gold and silver coins, and hundreds of emeralds and blood rubies of every cut and size, sparkling in the shadows.

Tenji scrutinized the titles in the book shelf with child-like abandon. She removed several titles she found interesting, and secured them in Bulwark's bag of holding.

But it was Leon, who found the journal in Asgareth's desk. He scanned it briefly, but paused long over the final entry.

"Skadi, my love," he said quietly, "you might want to have a look at this."

Skadi took the parchment from him absently, but her face grew grim as she read it.

It is as I feared.

The Stonefist Temple Guardian has freed herself from her bonds and made her way here. She has regained much of her strength, despite the darkening of her mind. Though I doubt she is yet a match for Asgareth and her playmates, I will not risk a confrontation just yet. I will leave her, the pathetic Baron of thieves and the daughter of the Silver Rose Citadel to my children's hunger. I shall seek my vengeance on the guardian's kith in Sto – laat village should she best Asgareth, Perhaps I shall command the corpses of her monk guardians to feast on her flesh, lest they fall at her own hand.

  * K

Skadi choked back a bile-like rage. "He's going after my village, and I don't even remember who they are!" She whispered through clenched teeth.

Bulwark shook his head sadly.

"Silver Rose Citadel?" Tenji wondered, "what the heck is that?"

But Longknife looked with surprise at Leon. "You're a Baron?" she asked skeptically.

"Was, love. Was." The rogue responded. "In another life."

>>>><<<<

With the assistance of the Castaway Rats, the food stuffs, weapons, salvageable armor, shields and all the supplies, books and wealth of the Riverwillow Chapel were stowed aboard the Phantom's Wail. They sailed swiftly south with the current of the Jewel River. They stopped briefly for a day and evening at Jass to market what plunder they could.

Skadi left specific instructions to procure as much of the Eru Tovar Lavender Rose mead as the proprietor of the Welcome Wench would make available. (An order Leon heartily endorsed). When the supplies were secured, Leon met with Kreth and his people, making his presence in Jass notably visible. Then they were under sail with the rising of the moon.

Within days, the Phantom's Wail was tacking east along the southern Pomarj coastline. A warm spring wind filled her emerald sails, and the efficient but merry bustling of the crew, filled her decks and rigging. Longknife divided the crew into two watches. The night watch, overseen by Indigo Red and the day crew by herself personally. His allowed the Wail moved swiftly and relentlessly, day and night, back toward Highport. Skadi was resigned that she was of little good to her kin in the village called Sto-laat without her memories, and that their fate was almost surely sealed as the entry in Kyshon's journal was nearly a month old.

The brisk winds of April were yielding reluctantly to the warming waters of May, when the tall cliffs of Highport were visible off their prow.

# Chapter 7

Excerpt from:

The Librium of Bahamut

  * Professor Tai Xing Priest of Bahamut & Historian of the Dragon Temple of Heimdall

In those times, lost in the mists of time and memory, the Platinum Dragon sat upon the celestial Throne of Souls and guided those of us who had finished with our mortal lives to our final rest with justice, wisdom and mercy. Each of us was met at the gates of our eternal home by one of his Viziers. These grand Viceroys guarded their gates, protected then from intruders, and judged worthy or unworthy any souls still living who wished to enter into the outer realms.

It was during these times that Bahamut's grand golden generals sent their captains an lieutenants to watch over man to protect the innocent and the just, and guide and council those who sought knowledge and wisdom.

It was a time when dragons soared through our skies.  
But like much about the great cycle, the generals who guarded the lower gates - Those grand and most trusted of Bahamut's sentinels; whose eternal and constant congress was with the wicked, the terrifying, the seductive and the diabolical - began to question and become discontent. And as their resentment grew, their whispered musings were overheard and answered by the sister and most powerful general of the Banished Death Goddess Suchara. The Goddess Tiamat took the form of a great 12 headed chromatic dragon. And she and the discontented generals began to beguile and prevail over many of the earthly dragons to turn against Bahamut and those great winged earthly guardians still loyal to him.

As more and more of the dragons turned against man, faith and belief in Bahamut waned and those who dwelled in the flaness became distrustful of ALL dragons. Men formed bastion alliances of great warriors and societies of powerful wizards who hunted and slew dragons. Many of the dragons seduced by Tiamat and her shadow generals perished but not without leaving much death and devastation in their wakes. But dwarves, elves and men in their quest for safety and peace were not discerning in their attacks, and many of those dragons loyal to Bahamut but sworn to an eternally binding oath never to kill their own kind went into hiding, and many left the world all together, seeking the shelter of the outer planes.

As Tiamat's power grew, and the forces loyal to Bahamut diminished - the time of Bahamut began to wane. In an effort to regain the trust of men the platinum dragon and his generals commissioned the Angelic artificer Archeon to forge 3 great figurines, a golden lion, a silver tiger and an ivory bear. These he presented to those of his earthly priests who were still loyal.

He imbued the figurines with the power to temporarily summon one of his 3 loyal generals, and bestowed upon the priests of each of three of his temples a commission to select a champion who could guard each of the figurines and summon the generals to aid in the defense and protection of the peoples of the earthly realms, with the hope that those living souls would see that he and his golden generals still defended and cared for the living.

But Bahamut knew that to defend the living in this way, there would be times when the celestial gates would be left unguarded, the Throne of Souls vulnerable, and while the generals rendered direct aid to living men, the souls of the departed would be left to wander – lost in the outer darkness

So he instructed his priests to build 3 hidden temples where the figurines might one day be laid to rest when they were no longer needed.

He tasked his priests there to find and train champions to defend the temples, keep their true purpose secret and if needed, be strong enough to reclaim and return the figurines should the need ever arise.

To each temple, to aid them in this quest, he gave a bracer made from the ivory of his own claws. On each is inscribed a map to the location of one of the hidden temples – but the map can only be revealed by washing it in the blood of a Dragon temple priest. The bracer is placed on the forearm of each temple guardian upon their ascendency to their office and can only be removed by a blood ritual performed by the priests of the temple upon the death of the Temple Guardian.

The exact properties of the bracers are unknown, but they are said to confer great physical strength and health, and make the wearers invisible to magical location or divination. When Tiamat learned of this, she and her shadow generals ensnared the devil Xaphan(forger and fire keeper of the 9 Hells) to forge 3 other figurines, an iron wolf, an onyx serpent and a mithrill spider. Seeing Bahamut's wisdom in selecting the aid of the living, and also in having away to undo her own work should she need to do so - She too chose three temples and prevailed upon her own priests to there select dark champions, anti-heroes among the living peoples to corrupt the perception of Bahamut's gifts. And they did their jobs well.

As fewer and fewer men called out to him, and more and more of his children were hunted and slain, Bahamut grew saddened and weary and his power waned.

His influence and his presence were driven away from the lands of the living, and as such - his dominion over The Throne of Souls began to wane. Seizing her opportunity Tiamat and her followers amassed their forces and attempted to take the throne.

Tiamat seduced a black robed wizard of great power into summoning her to the realms of the living. Most of the remaining dragons were slain either by the forces of the living or the hordes of Tiamat herself - and their unborn children corrupted.

Tiamat's forces were defeated and she ultimately fell not by the platinum fang and claw of Bahamut, but by the touch of her former Mistress Suchara – wielded by the hand of a mortal man.

Bahamut, overwhelmed by sadness at the fall of his 3 generals and so many of his children, regret at the pain suffered by the living peoples and his failure to defend them, and crushed by sorrow for those souls which wandered lost in the outer darkness, unable to find and pass through their gates - left the throne and went to a place of hiding where he slumbers now in a great sleep.

With his slumber and the fall of Tiamat – all the other earthly dragons, both corrupt and benign have also gone to ground and fallen into a hidden slumber. Both Bahamut's figurines and Tiamat's have become unaccounted for and their bearers remain secret. The knowledge of the location of the Dragon temples has been lost, as many of the temple guardians have died without successors, and their final resting places are unknown. Only Bahamut's 3 loyal generals have knowledge of where he sleeps and how to awaken him – but before they can do so, they are foresworn to resume full unbroken guardianship of their gates and the Throne of souls and also to ensure that the eternal and u broken guardianship of the lower gates is restored as well.

Each of the figurines must be restored to their resting places in their temples so that their ties to this plane can be forever broken. Only then can Bahamut be re-awakened and the Throne of Souls wrested from the corruption which now controls it – and the eternal fates of all those who journey beyond the realm of the living. Only the champions of the Dragon temples can do this. For it is in the nature of men that only we can and must champion ourselves

Longknife leaned against the guardrail and closed her eyes. The crisp ocean breeze caressed her fur, and the rise and fall of the ship's keel as it sliced swiftly through the waves was rhythmic and soothing. The song of the ocean waves and the sea gulls filled the air, and the sun was bright and warm on her face. The voices and bustle of the crew seemed distant but, comforting.

For as long as she could remember she had been a sailor. Her earliest memories were of a wooden deck beneath her feet, and the taste of the ocean spray on her lips. Her father had taught her to sail and navigate, and her mother how to barter and engage in commerce. Her adopted uncle Mustafa, her father's gentle and fearsome Master at Arms, trained her how to fight with two swords at once.

She missed her parents. Mustafa, Fazil, and Doc Tiny and her childhood playmate Indigo Red were all that remained of her youth, now that the Siren was gone.

But the Phantom's Wail was home now. Faster and taller than her previous vessel, it was a fine replacement. Her good fortune at being given its command (and the unusual riches and adventure which had followed) were nothing short of miraculous. She knew down deep that her fate was now inextricably entwined with the dwarven priest and three adventurers who had freed her and what remained of her crew.

To flee from it would only bring them all travail.

Once Skadi and Tenji had their memories restored, there was no telling where the road might lead. Possibly even away from her ship and crew. But her destiny to follow the three "lost ones" (as she thought of them privately) was undeniably compelling. She shrugged. It was what it was.

Indigo's hand on her arm brought her back from her reverie.

"Permission to bring her to harbor and go ashore, Captain," the navigator requested.

Longknife nodded and smiled. The ruby haired acrobat turned and rang the ship's bell sharply.

"Furl the sails!" She called. "Moor to the starboard and make fast the gang plank! All ashore that's going ashore!"

Indigo guided the Phantom's Wail with effortless finesse alongside the tall wooded docks, allowing Mustafa to vault gracefully over the guard rail and alight on the pier. So precise was the navigator's helmsmanship, that Mustafa was able to stop the drifting of the Wail with one strong ebony arm, allowing the hull to gently touch the dock.

Mustafa, Fazil, Flaxen, Contessa and even Fatima quickly fastened the mooring lines and secured the gang plank. Longknife met the Harbormaster at dockside.

"That's a beautiful ship," the quartermaster, a sandy bearded dwarf with a plumed hat and open chested white tunic calling himself Dalin Ruun, acknowledged admiringly. "Welcome back to Highport Captain Longknife."

The bastett smiled and nodded.

"How long will you be with us?" Dalin inquired.

"At least a few days," Longknife told him. She pressed a small leather pouch containing ten gold coins into the quartermaster's palm. "If we need longer, I trust our credit is good?"

The quartermaster winked in agreement. "Aye, lass. It is."

Leon and the Castaway Rats began sorting and binging up the goods and winnings they had found no market for in Jass. Fazil and Doc Tiny made their way to the bustling, brightly colored maze of the Fish Market in search of ships stores and potential buyers for the Riverwillow Chapel plunder.

Skadi, Tenji and Bulwark; accompanied by a chatty and excited Fatima, made their way through the crowded stone avenues, up the forested white stone hillside, to the Chapel of Pelor. Vaya and Asphadal met them in the gardens over looking the sparkling sapphire waters and greeted them warmly.

"I am pleased at your safe return," Vaya told them sincerely.

Her eyes widened with gratitude as Skadi and Tenji presented her with a polished ebony box inlaid with fire opal filigree which was filled with large sea pearls and round cut sapphires. "Thank you!" She breathed.

The three of them told the lupine acolyte of their adventures on Scimitar Isle and the Riverwillow Chapel. She listened with rapt attention as the sun set crimson and copper behind the bluffs, and danced like fiery diamonds on the deepening blue of the waters.

Asphadal arrived as the fireflies flitted amongst the shadowy flowerbeds and the lanterns fluttered to life along the walls and pathways of the gardens. After she greeted each of them, Vaya lead Fatima away with a promise of pastries and fresh milk, and Asphadal examined the Journal of Kyshon closely.

"Written by his hand, you say?" The priestess asked.

Tenji nodded.

"Is that his blood?" the witchpriest wanted to know.

Asphadal frowned. "Not likely," the abbotess mused. "If this were his spell book that would likely be the case. This is a journal. Odds are it is the blood of one of his victims. But it is written in his hand, so it should work for the ritual."

She beckoned them toward the temple. "Are you ready, my friends?"

Tenji and Skadi nodded and followed her.

Vaya and the other acolytes had sealed off and prepared the main sanctuary. Between the altar and the gardens, two comfortable beds had been prepared with clean white linens. The aroma of Franeksense and sandalwood filled the room, wafting from silver thuribles set atop the altar amidst clusters of softly glowing white candles. Vaya produced two phylacteries filled with a softly luminescent elixir, and motioned for Tenji and Skadi to don robes of white silk and cotton and lie down on the beds. Once they had done so, Bulwark placed around each of their necks an amulet of Pelor's symbol, struck from burnished red gold.

Asphadal's voice was soothing and soft. "This elixir is a derivative of the one used by the Brotherhood of Sleep," she explained. "It will free your spirits to wander the dream realm which exists between our world and the astral plane. While you wander there, our ritual should be able to free you from any darkness's or curses which have been laid upon your physical bodies. If the ritual works you will likely see some sort of portal. Through that portal are your memories, but be careful," she warned them. "Many who enter the dream realm are seduced by it and will not willingly return. Only your will to heed our voices when we call you can lead you back. Are you ready?"

Skadi nodded.

"Yes," Tenji agreed.

They each in turn put the vial to their lips. It was bitter and had a vaguely copperish taste to it. Their heads were swimming pleasantly as they laid back. The domed ceiling of the temple seemed to dim and drop away from them. The musical sound of Asphadal, Bulwark and Vaya's chanting faded. The temple dome was replaced by a vast night sky. Tenji floated in the endless void. Stars shone silver and blue all around her. Glowing, multihued nebulae floated amongst streaking comets, burning suns and shining moons.

The silence was deafening.

Disoriented, Tenji could barely hear her own thoughts, and her voice made no sound. She had no idea whether she floated there for moments, or hours. Fear and confusion began to seize hold of her. She began to flail about in fright, but there was no physical purchase, just the endless floating void. Then, a golden archway winked into existence in the distance and began rushing toward her. The gate opened, swallowing her in white light as she screamed soundlessly.

She sat up in bed to the soft knock on her chamber door. "Come in," she called, rubbing her eyes.

The heavy, iron reinforced oaken door to her bedchamber swung open softly on well oiled hinges. Jalal, a broad shouldered salt and pepper haired priest in well polished but battle worn steel armor, stepped inside with a courteous bow. A look of concern and distaste darkened his wise, tattooed face. Outside of the tall, deep set window of thick pained glass, the early morning winter sun danced like diamonds and fire on the deep turquoise waters of the river beyond the citadel walls. It filtered pale gold through the deep green boughs of the forest on the far shore. A small fire crackled brightly in the hearth of elegantly scrolled silver veined white marble beside the window. Outside, she could hear the shouts and ringing metal as her fellow warrior priests and paladins drilled and trained in the garden courtyards of the Silver Rose Citadel below her.

"Guardian," Jalal beckoned softly. "The lady Solias has asked for you. There is a visitor in the parlor."

Tenji nodded and stood up as the door closed. She quickly donned her ceremonial golden and black dwarven steel armor. Most if it was piled behind the stone desk that was stacked with various leather bound arcane and divine spell and ritual books near the fire place.

She grumbled in frustration under her breath as she failed to locate her left boot and right bracer. After some searching, she eventually found them mixed in a pile of clothing at the foot of her bed. She clasped on her gold trimmed, red cloak of office, swept up her spear, and made her way through the citadel to the visitor's parlor.

In all her years of seemingly endless martial and weapons exersizes, academic research, arcane and divine spell study, Tenji particularly enjoyed the diplomatic sessions. Greeting and negotiating with visiting dignitaries, nobles and visitors always felt like a refreshing break from the arduous regimen of her citadel and reliquary guardian duties. Her abiding sense of gratitude at being groomed over a life time and finally honored as the Citadel's ranking warrior and martial priest never left her. Solias had been the only mother she could remember, and Jalal like an uncle. Their love and approval were the sunlight and water that filled her spirit. She strove ceaselessly to please them, never allowing the idea of disappointing them to enter her thoughts.

But her life of honor and love of family and duty left little time for anything else. Even her brief romance with one of the young cavalry officers (a raven haired, sapphire eyed half elf) never fully bloomed. So lost and caught up in her study of arcane and divine spell casting and weapon mastery she was, that she didn't even know he had departed for his duties in Eru Tovar until several days after he had left.

She shook her head to clear the wistful memory of his roguish smile from her thoughts and entered the parlor.

An unusually tall and stunning woman in the furred cloaks and bronze trimmed steel armor of the northern barbarian tribes was in deep and earnest conversation with Solias – the high priestess of Heroneis and head of their order. Tenji raised an eyebrow in surprise. In addition to her tall, powerful stature, the northwoman had thick, flowing auburn tresses, striking golden eyes, and strange pearlescent skin. Two masterfully forged hand axes of dwarven steel hung from her thick wolf pelt trimmed leather girdle, and a large bracer of strange silvery ivory covered her left forearm.

Tenji bowed formally and announced herself.

The towering northwoman turned and regarded her with her piercing, alien gaze. Solias smiled warmly. "Guardian, this is the Lady Skadi of the Stonefist Temple. She has come with a request of us, and I should like your thoughts as our Reliquary Guardian and Chief Protector of the Citadel."

"Guardian," Skadi greeted her with the formal bow of a trained diplomat. "I am here with an urgent request for aid."

"Be welcome here, Lady Skadi," Tenji told her. "If you come in peace, abide here in safety and take comfort while you stay. What is your errand?"

"The monks of my order have sent me on a quest," Skadi told them. "A darkness gathers in the east and marches toward you. A vast phantom army, led by a lich of terrible power."

"We have no word of the movements of such a force," Tenji responded.

"None do," the northwoman explained. "They appear with the mists of the night. Without word or warning. They are seeking Bahamut's figurines of power."

"Why?" Tenji wanted to know. "I mean, besides their obvious value as weapons."

Skadi's haunting gaze grew dark. "They wish to stop the return of the Platinum Dragon to the Throne of Souls, so that Nerull can seize it for himself."

Tenji stopped to consider this. She had read of the Soul Throne in her studies, but there was little written of it in the lore. "Please," the guardian indicated one of the leather couches with a gesture. "Sit. Be welcome. When did you last eat?"

"Thank you," Skadi seemed relieved as she sat down. "I am not hungry, but if you have some mead?"

"We do," Solias confirmed.

She nodded to Jalal (who had been lingering outside the doorway watchfully) and he departed.

"How can we help you?" The High Priestess prompted. "We are told that the Platinum Dragon has left the inner realms and now slumbers eternally leaving the peoples of this realm tasked with our own defense. What is it you seek from us?"

"We must awaken him," Skadi said plainly.

"How do we do that?" Tenji inquired, fascinated by the northwoman's grim sincerity.

"An ancient prophesy, kept secret by my order, says that in order for Bahamut to awaken, his 3 figurines, and those of Tiamat, must be returned to their reliquaries. It is my destiny to return them."

"What does that have to do with us?" Tenji asked.

"The Lady Solias is the steward of the Ivory Bear," Skadi told them plainly. "I am here to ask you for it, so that I may lay it to rest."

Tenji was silent, and Solias's gaze was fixed and focused. Skadi waited politely for them to answer. Tenji responded carefully.

"Even if we had the figurine. How do we know you speak he truth? And even if you speak the truth, how do we know that if we give it to you, that you will succeed in your quest to return all six?"

Skadi replied slowly and earnestly. "The Lich's forces are unstoppable. He seeks the figurines as well, but to destroy them permanently, so Bahamut can never return. He will surely come to you, because he, like my order, knows you have the Ivory Bear. He will come to you in the guise of an ally, with an offer of peace. But be warned. He will use whatever force and power he has, to take it from you. And when he does, all will be lost."

"How do we know you are who you say you are?" Tenji asked frankly.

Skadi nodded in acknowledgement. The towering northwoman held out her bracer. "My order gave me this when I came of age and took the oath of the temple guardians. They tell me it is carved from one of the scales of Bahamut himself. Lady Solias, I am told, can with but a touch, divine the truth of this."

Solias tilted her head and smiled briefly.

"The brothers of Shauum are indeed wise," Solias conceded. She laid both hands on the silvery bracer and closed her eyes. Her expression softened with wonder and she smiled.

"You speak the truth," Solias breathed.

Skadi sat back, accepting the chalice of mead offered to her by one of the Citadel acolytes and drinking deep. Solias and Tenji stood. Tenji addressed the northwoman. "Your visit, your candor and your trust honors us," Tenji told her with practiced grace. "Please take your ease here. The lady Solias and I have much to discuss."

Skadi nodded and Tenji and Solias left her to her mead and her thoughts. Solias and Tenji found one of their favorite spots in the garden. A fragrant grove of hanging wisteria surrounding a natural stone waterfall and coy pond.

"What think you, guardian?" Solias wanted to know.

"I think Skadi is a true believer," Tenji offered carefully. "And that she's obviously a fearsome warrior. Maybe even hero and legend material."

"But..." Solias prompted.

"But if this army is coming here, then Heimdall is a critical aspect of our defenses. These walls have protected the lands about for centuries, and they've never been breeched. If she speaks the truth, then we will no doubt be the last defense of many."

"What are you saying then, Guardian?" Solias asked.

"I'm saying that if Skadi can prove that she has successfully laid the other figurines to rest, only then should we turn over Heimdall."

"Agreed," the High Priestess smiled.

"You are worthy of your office, Tenji," Solias told her. "I am proud of you. I will tell our visitor of our decision, and you may resume your training for the day."

Tenji stood, bowed, and turned from the grove to find Jalal. With Urseus gone, Jalal was one of the few worthy sparring partners remaining.

Tenji focused with lethal cunning on the steel armored steward. They circled one another around the lower courtyard, their spears twirling slowly. She barely noticed the opening of the gates and the clopping of the great war horse's hooves on the stone as the northwoman departed. Jalal lunged forward like a striking snake. Tenji was barely able to parry his blow and step to the side without showing him her back. Their training ended with the last light of day, and Tenji returned to her quarters and history books exhausted, bruised, and ready for dinner. She fell asleep at her desk, pouring over "A Treatise on the Conjuring and Manipulation of Elemental Lightning" by Yllysyndry Stormbringer.

Two days after the departure of the golden eyed northwoman, Tenji awoke with a start to the peeling of the silver warning bells of the citadel walls. A great mist had gathered about the citadel courtyards and covered the river and the plains beyond with a frosty veil. From her high window, she could see that the valley was filled with the campfires of a vast army. More massive than any she had ever seen or read about. She turned sharply to a soft but urgent knock on her chamber door.

Jalal, armed and armored for battle, stepped into her room. He spoke gravely. "Guardian, Lady Solias commands that you assemble and lead the heavy infantry to defend the southern gate."

Tenji nodded.

"And she said to give you this," Jalal added, handing her a wax sealed scroll. Outside her window, Tenji could hear the tramp of boots and the metallic clamor of steel armor and weapons as the paladins and martial priests of the citadel assembled with quick, military precision. After girding her armor and taking up her spear, Tenji opened the scroll. Written quickly, but in the High Priestess' hand, the message, her final orders, read:

Guardian,

Defend our bridge and gate to the last spear. But should the walls fail, you MUST not fall with them. Find the northwoman, Lady Skadi. Then - Seek out Urseus in Eru Tovar. Fulfill the Prophesy of Bahamut at all costs. Let not the cost of our strength and honor be in vain.

Tenji took up her spear and made her way to the southern court yard. She took her place at the head of The Iron Company, the most highly trained and mightiest heavy infantrymen on the flaness. She stared forward at the mammoth raised drawbridge of thick, steel reinforced ironwood. She gripped her spear tightly, her jaw set. Then she turned and faced her men.

"These walls," she told them, "have never been breeched. These blessed stones and the warriors who guard them have never known defeat! Enemies feared and mighty have broken against them like waves against the cliffs of the sea and yet they have stood!"

The iron company murmured in agreement.

"And never, in all the ages, have these great bastions been defended by a stronger and more righteous force than they are this day!"

The roar of agreement grew louder as spear and lance clashed defiantly against breastplate and shield.

"So let them come!" Tenji shouted. "Let them test their darkness and will against us, and let them feel the fury of Heroneis! For we shall make such a day, that our victory will live forever in songs, and be sung in the very feasting halls of the war god himself!"

The voice of the iron company shook the ground as they cried out in fury. Tenji bellowed with them.

"Honor eternal!"

Then the very earth beneath them quaked, and the great walls trembled and reverberated with a titanic blow against the gates. Iron company held their footing and their courage through three more as lightning and dark fury flashed from out of sight beyond the walls. As the gates which had held for centuries split and crashed asunder, Tenji roared with battle rage. The heavy spearmen of Iron company roared with her, as they charged forward to defend the bridge of the howling chasm.

Over two decades of ceaseless training took over, and the fury of battle consumed the Reliquary Guardian. Countless black armored minions of the Lich Lord Kyshon fell to her whirling spear and searing arcane onslaught. Despite being vastly outnumbered, iron company held the bridge against wave after wave of fearsome Shadowblade warriors. It was then that the tall, raven haired, flaming eyed deathknight clad in demonic plate armor appeared at the end of the bridge. Tenji strode forward purposefully and without hesitation toward the deathknight. Her spear joined with the massive, brutal greatsword in a blinding dance of sparks, colliding energies and ringing metal. The two forces blended together, clashing like the headwaters of two great rivers meeting one another in a stony delta. A rushing torrent of ringing metal, defiant shouts and agonized screams filled the valley.

The gate guard held its ground as wave upon wave of Shadowblade raiders forced their way onto the bridge, only to be repelled and sent plummeting into the chasm. The reliquary guardian, battered and exhausted lost none of her footing as she warded off the lethal blows of Maelstrom's massive blade.

From above, Tenji and the warriors of the citadel Iron company were periodically bathed in the luminous glow emanating from their winged high priestess. Their wounds healed and they grew refreshed each time the light touched them. But the hordes of Kyshon were vast, and even the high priestess's might was not infinite. Her bursts of healing light began to shine less and less, and one by one her warriors faltered and began to fall into the chasm.

Jalal's great long bow sang until its arrows were spent, and the supply of deadly feathered shafts being fetched for him was exhausted. Dozen's fell to his deadly aim, and hundreds to his squad of wall archers. Her divine energy nearly spent, the high priestess began her descent to join her warriors on the bridge when she heard Jalal's warning cry. "The courtyard!"

Tenji stayed to the rear, defending the bridge against the deathknight's advance, until the last of the Iron Company had reformed in the courtyard. Then, without warning, the deathknight was gone. Vanished as though she had never existed. Tenji's spear slashed through empty air. She cried out in rage. She turned and ran to the courtyard and stopped short beneath the gate towers. She gritted her jaw and hot tears of grief welled up in her eyes as she saw the High Priestess fall before the black armored Lich. The courtyard was strewn and piled with the dead and dying.

The shadowy lich turned and stepped unceremoniously over the empty shell that was once their high priestess. A sickening light burned in his eyes beneath his black, demonic helm. He raised his hand in a gesture toward her. As her mind went dark, it seemed to her that a second shadowy, black robed figure appeared from the darkness. The new cloaked figure took Solias into his arms and the vanished, as quickly and quietly as he had appeared.

Tenji fell to her knees. The cool, deep shadows consumed her awareness and a fell voice filled her shrinking consciousness with a single word.

"Forget..."

>>>><<<<

Skadi looked back over her shoulder at the towering white walls of the Silver Rose Citadel. Their broad battlements and graceful parapets reminded her of the cloud shrouded peaks of the Griff Mountains near her home. Her journey had been long, but her resolve had not faltered. She had but two clues remaining in her quest. The first, she had now confirmed. She now knew that the Ivory Bear lay in the safe keeping of the Silver Rose Citadel, and now she needed only learn where its reliquary was hidden. She now had but one course left to her. She knew the location of the reliquary of the Golden Lion - it had been her home since birth. She had lived, trained, fought, bled, studied, and dreamed there. She had even made love in the soft grasses beneath the conifer boughs of the hidden meadow near the gates. But that was over 50 years ago. And now the monks who had raised her were growing frail and a new generation was coming of age to succeed them.

The only course left to her now was to seek out the lightning sorceress Yllysyndry. It was rumored that the reclusive mage lived in a tower somewhere to the east of the barbarian city of Eru Tovar. The scrolls told how Yllysyndry defeated the forces of Lolth and the Dark Elves of the Faerun with the aid of a great golden lion. But the rumors of her also told that she traveled constantly between the sunlit worlds of the flaness and the stygian realm of the Underdark on adventures of her own, or on council business as an emissary of the Society of the Seven.

Even under the swift gallop of Battleborne, the great white maned bay stallion with white feathered hoofs (who had accompanied her from the village of Sto-Laat near her temple home) Eru Tovar was many weeks journey north west through the wilds. The wide stone road that from the southern citadel gate, turned sharply north at the base of the promontory atop which the castle rested. It followed the concourse of the river toward the City of Critwall, over a day's journey away. The sun was still rising in a pale blue sky, dusted with wisps of apricot clouds. A cool breeze whispered from the rushing, snow caked shore, through the rich, fertile grasses and rustled through Battleborne's thick mane. Skadi leaned forward and patted the horse's neck affectionately.

"Think we can reach the city and a comfortable stable for you by nightfall?" She asked.

Battleborne whickered and tossed his head in reply.

The northwoman smiled and urged the great warhorse on. If anyone knew how to locate this elusive sorceress, Critwall would be a good place to start asking. The road followed the river shoreline. The cool, whispering water was always to her right; and rich fields, prosperous farms, thriving ranches and deep fragrant copses of trees and wild flowers to her left. The lands about the citadel and the city had grown prosperous under the wise and just rule of Solias, and the road was frequented by travelers and caravans going back and forth. Most stared with open wonder at the golden eyed, pearl skinned barbarian. Many nodded and greeted her politely as they passed. Even at a relaxed walk, Battleborne's stride was long, and covered the wide distance smoothly and swiftly. But the moon was well into the night sky before Skadi finally saw he lights of Critwall twinkling in the distance, like jewels spilled out over a black velvet plain. During her years of intense combat training and academic studies at the Stonefist Temple, Skadi had read numerous times about the great citadel and the City of Critwall. It was one of the few cities to openly host a Dragon Temple of Bahamut. Most dragon temples were isolated and secluded in remote areas, but the city had welcomed the order of the Dragon, and their temple had thrived there. It was for this temple, and to a priest named Endross that the northwoman now made. The church would be a clean safe bed, a warm meal, and a fresh stable for Battleborne.

Skadi had known Endross as a small boy. Back then, he was a spirited, green eyed acolyte with sandy blonde hair, knobby knees and lean as a ripcord. She remembered his love of mint pastries and cream, and reminded herself to find a bakery before arriving at the church. She had begun her five month journey south through the Griff Mountains and the Hold of the Stonefist with full packs and a large belt pouch heavy with coin. The packs had grown somewhat lighter, but the pouch heavier. Mostly due to unsuccessful ambush attempts by several groups of bandits, a murder of harpies, and a rather large mountain cyclops who attempted to charge tolls to cross a bridge. The cyclops was now missing his only eye and his left foot, and his rather large cache of extorted coins.

Though she relished a life of solitary travel on horseback, sleeping under the stars to the crackling of a warm fire and the whisper of nearby water; after nearly 150 days in the wild, the thought of four walls, a tankard of mead and the soothing monotone chants of the monks was developing a certain appeal. Plus she was interested to see what kind of man Endross had become. He would be over 40 summers old now.

The mists were gathering thickly from the riverbank and quickly blanketing the roadway in a dense, smoky curtain. The clop of Battleborne's hooves grew louder, amplified by the dampness in the air. It was hard to discern, but it seemed that across the river, far from the opposite shore, Skadi could see what looked like a large campfire. As she squinted through the darkness, she felt a stabbing pain in her right thigh. She looked down and saw a short, black feathered shaft protruding from her leg. Her blood ran warm down into her boot. She winced in pain. Even as she pulled the arrow from her leg, a second arrow whistled from the darkness a buried itself in her shoulder. She cursed in fury and pain, and Battleborne reared and neighed defiantly. The northwoman's head began to swim as a wave of icy nausea overwhelmed her. She fell, paralyzed, from Battleborne's back. As the poison coursed through her system and the cold darkness enveloped her, she heard voices approaching her.

"It's her," one of them observed, emerging from the fog and shadows. "Tell lady Maelstrom we have the guardian."

The sound of a retreating horse's hooves faded into the night. One by one they came into view. They were tall, and clad in black platemail. Their faces were covered in skull-like great helms. There were five. Two had heavy great ewe short bows in their hands. The other three; viciously curved black iron broadswords.

Skadi staggered to her feet, fumbling with numb fingers for her hand axes. Her jaw was set with rage and her head swimming. Her entire body burned with freezing fire as they circled her at a safe distance.

"Impossible," one remarked in astonishment. "Those arrows have enough venom to bring down a basilisk." Battleborne stomped and whickered in defiance. Skadi stumbled forward toward the shadowy figures, swinging her axes wildly.

"Let's just finish her," one of the marauders warned. "She's trouble."

"Maelstrom wants her alive!" Warned one of the swordsmen. "Some kind of ritual. Doesn't want her to be 'reborn'."

Skadi snarled in fury. "Fight me you cowards!"

One of the bowmen let loose a third arrow which buried itself in her left thigh. The northwoman staggered and fell forward as the toxin coursed through her and stole the sight from her eyes.

"She'll live," The Shadowblade bowman remarked.

"Get the horse," one of the swordsmen commanded. "Maelstrom will want it for her stables."

The last thing Skadi heard before the chilling darkness took her, was the defiant braying of her traveling companion as the horse reared up over her protectively.

>>>>><<<<<

# Chapter 8

Excerpt from

A Brief History of the Society of the Seven

By Zorak of the North Wind

In order to understand the significance of the council, one must first be familiar with the historical context of its convention. There was a time when dragons soared through the skies. They were rare even then, but they were trusted counselors to the wise and guardians of the peoples of the flaness. But the age of dreams ended with the great battle between the Lich Lord Temprak, (a necromancer and conjurer of vast power) and a group of us who opposed him and his rise to power as he corrupted many of the great winged wyrms to serve him. Thousands died at his hands and those of his demonic hordes and many tens of thousands more were enslaved and oppressed,

With the aid of the good dragons, we invoked upon Temprak and his minions in his stronghold of Shadowspire (in a land now known as the Sea of Dust) a devastating ritual called the Rain of Colorless fire. In response he and his draconic and demonic cabal called up an invoked devastation which shattered burned and sickened the lands from the Barrier peaks to the eastern shores of what is now the Northern Province of the Great Kingdom. But it did not avail him. Temprak was defeated and his minions broken, but the devastation in the region now called the Sea of Dust was complete and a vast desert of ash and sand now stood where rich fields and forests once flourished. The lands to the east of the Barrier Peaks fared better but the harm done and the lives lost by the combined attacks was incalculable, and haunts to this day each of us who witnessed it with our own eyes.

But from the ashes; the men, elves and dwarves arose anew. They formed mighty alliances, built great fortresses and shining kingdoms and the Age of Might was born. Marked by a well earned distrust of magic and its practitioners – many societies banned the use of magic altogether, and some even hunted and executed those who wielded it. But the boons and benefits brought by the good mages,( found mainly among the elves, and the priests and servants of the divine powers) could not be denied. So under the stewardship of the great paladin Khelik Silverdawn, a governing council of mages was convened to harness and regulate the use of magic and hold accountable those who misused the arcane arts and energies to cause harm. 2 governing viziers (a junior and a senior council member) were appointed by Emperor Khelik to govern and represent the practitioners of each school of magic.

  * Those who practiced elemental and evokational arts wore white robes. Appointed to the council as white robes were myself (the Senior white robe) and my colleague Rylinn Fairystorm was named junior white robe. Our libraries, archives and reliquaries were housed in a tower of white stone on the southern shores of Nyr Dyv – The Lake of Unknown Depths near the free city of Greyhawk.

  * Those who practiced thaumaturgy, construct enchantment an divination magic wore grey robes. The gypsy Seer called Madam Eva of the Burneal Forest was chosen as the junior Grey Robe and the master enchanter Ruun Kwalish was named senior grey robe. Their tower archives and laboratories are located in a secluded hilltop deep within the Vessve Forests.

  * Those who practiced conjuring, blood magic and necromancy donned black robes and built their tower in the Howling Hills of Iuz. The human conjurer Nastaroth was named junior Black Robe and the necromancer Kyshon was named Senior Black Robe.

  * The emperor Khelik appointed as High Magistrate his own Vizier, the blood mage Morannon

Under the guidance of Morannon, the grey robes fabricated 6 powerful artifacts. Great arcane staffs. 3 Staffs of Power were presented to the junior council members. 3 Staffs of the Magi to the Senior council members, and an Angelic forged staff of mithrill and moon diamonds called Archeon's Tempest was carried by the High Magistrate. Once again, magic began to flourish and grow in the esteem of noble and commoner alike. It was during this epoch that each of the schools chose for each of their towers, a warrior guardian. For these warriors the elven smiths of the grey robes forged powerful swords, now called, "The Blades of Legendaria"

  * The White Robes chose for their avatar, the powerful northern paladin Gregor Von Zarovich and to him they gave the Holy Avenger called "The Replier"

  * The Grey Robed Mages selected the half orc Artak Ironmane, warlord of the Hold of the Stone Fist. To him they gave the powerful silver and iron greatsword enchanted with arcane sight and divination called "The Revealer"

  * The Black Robes chose for their champion the golden eyed devan hunter Kirion. To him they bestowed "The Ravager" an ebon and platinum greatsword enchanted to repel magical attacks and drink the life force of its adversary and use it to heal and strengthen its wielder

After the corruption and fall of Khelik and the murder of Morannon at his hand, I was asked by the council to assume the duties of High Magistrate and I have held that office and the Archeon's Tempest ever since. During my tenure, our council has managed to regulate and prosper the practitioners of magic without interfering or unduly influencing or harming the lives and destinies of the peoples of the flaness.

Under my watch, the junior Black Robe Nastaroth summoned and lost control of the Dragon God Tiamat and fled the counsel. His vacated position was filled by the dark elf scholar Kuvrynn Ssambra. After redeeming and vindicating himself, Nastaroth assumed the position of Junior Grey Robe, which was created when Madam Eva filled the position of Senior which was vacated upon the untimely demise of Ruun Kwalish in a tragic construction / enchantment ritual. Kuvrynn Ssambra then rose to Senior Black Robe status when Kyshon went rogue and murdered Rylinn Fairystorm to seal a pact with a dark force. I have since learned that entity to be the death god Nerull. The position of Junior White Robe has been assigned to my grand daughter the lightning sorceress Yllysyndry Stormbringer. The seat of Junior Black Robe remains vacant at this time.

"Eru Tovar," Indigo Red clarified, arching an eyebrow. "The barbarian city?"

Skadi and Tenji nodded affirmatively.

"That's a long way," Fazil shook his head. "At least 4 months, even under the Phantom's sails."

"Would it be faster to go overland, by horse?" Longknife wondered.

"Not really," Indigo countered. "If we take on crew, The Phantom can sail without stopping, and it's safer to go by water anyway. Fewer beasties to worry about."

"I think five more hands would be sufficient," Longknife mused out loud.

"Aye," Fazil agreed. "That should do."

"How long will you need to prepare?" Skadi wanted to know.

"Couple of days," Fazil assured her. "No more."

Skadi seemed anxious.

"As quick as we can, lady," Fazil reassured her. "But, why so far north?" The dwarf wondered.

"Because that's where our quest lies," the northwoman said simply. "We need to find the sorceress Yllysyndry."

"And Urseus," Tenji added.

"Fazil," Longknife directed. "If we stay to the western coast of the Wooly Bay, we should be able to reach the Selnitan river and Hardby in 10 days. Provision for 2 weeks. Mustafa, find five more able hands."

Fazil and the raven skinned adept nodded and departed from the Captain's quarters.

"There's something I want to do here before we go," Skadi mentioned. Longknife looked at her inquisitively. "It might take a day or so."

The bastett nodded affirmatively. The Northwoman put a hand on the captain's shoulder. "You and the crew need not come with us. This isn't your fight."

Longknife breathed deeply and formed her words carefully. "We owe you three our lives. Not just from Half Moon Bay, but many times over since. And, let's face it: While you have a knack for finding trouble, the trouble pays well. And I have you to thank for these..." she patted the twin hilts of Archeon's Caress.

"I'm in, Skadi. We all are," the bastett reassured her.

Skadi smiled warmly. "Good," she sighed with relief.

"Are Leon and the priest coming too?" Longknife wondered hopefully.

"They are. Last time we talked anyway," Skadi affirmed.

"I haven't seen them aboard," the bastett noted. "Are they back at the Church?"

Skadi chuckled. "Uh... no..."

The bastett narrowed her brow in concern. "Not Armand's..."

"Where else?" Skadi flashed a half smile.

Longknife shook her head. "Not you too?"

"No," the northwoman reassured her. "Not until later, anyway. I'm going to Bahilu's forge. I need to see a lady about an axe."

"So," the bastett let slip a devilish grin, made even more impressive by her shapely, sparkling white, razor sharp fangs. "The Fight Pit, around sunset then?"

"Aye," Skadi agreed.

"Will Bulwark still be on his feet by then?" The feline swashbuckler wanted to know.

Skadi chuckled. "It's not the dwarf I'm worried about."

The northwoman left the captain's quarters and made her way past the Fishmarket toward the city proper, with an excited and chatty Fatima as her escort.

"Eru Tovar," Longknife sighed. She leaned back in her chair and briefly glanced at the nautical charts spread out across her conference table. The morning sun through the small brass trimmed porthole was warm on her fur.

"That's a long way."

>>>><<<<

Cheers rang out in the shadowy, opium and incense laden darkness. Leon raised his flagon high in support, as Bulwark was driven to his knees onto the blood soaked sands by a mighty blow from a great trollish fist.

"Your priest is not doing so well, I think?" Hissed a green scaled saurian with ruby eyes and a crimson robe trimmed in gold. "Are you sure you don't wish to... reconsider?" Leon staggered intoxicated to his feet, as Bulwark rose shakily and swung exhaustedly at the massive, scarred warrior towering above him. He spat blood and grumbled something uncomplimentary about the Guildmaster under his breath.

"Another, 200 gold on the priest!" Leon announced, his speech slurred by too much ale. The saurian merchant and a hulking half orc dock worker, leaned toward him menacingly.

"You sure you can cover your end?" The saurian hissed warningly.

"You are in over a thousand gold," the half orc added.

"My Dad's a Baron, mates," Leon reassured them, upending his flagon, and calling for more. He pressed a gold sovereign into the palm of the buxom, almond eyed serving wench in revealing harem silks and winked.

"Another ale, love! And another round for my new friends here!"

She smiled with concern as the troll in the arena brought his massive, chitonous fists down hard on Bulwark's shoulders, driving him to the sand again. The priest shot the rogue a questioning glance. Leon gave a barely perceptible "not yet" shake of his head. Bulwark muttered with frustration and staggered back to his feet. His arms guarding his head.

"A baron you say?" The saurian seemed pleased.

"Aye lads," Leon agreed with a bleary eyed grin. "My dad has more money than the Caliph!" The saurian and the dock worker exchanged satisfied glances.

"You're on!" The half orc clapped Leon roughly on the shoulder, grinning cunningly.

Bulwark shook the cobwebs from his vision and landed a solid blow on the troll's abdomen. The troll stared down at the priest with a skeptical smirk.

"That all you got, little man?" He growled. Bulwark met his stare and said nothing.

>>>><<<<

Bahilu set her mallet down beside her massive anvil and wiped her forehead with the back of her green tunic sleeve. The afternoon sun was warm beneath the wood and stone shelter where her forge glowed red. It sparkled on the polished steel weapons and glistened on the bronze filigree and jewel set hilts.

"Matching war axes?" The smith repeated. "Dwarven steel?"

"Yes," the devan confirmed.

Fatima sat on a log near the pavilion and munched hungrily at a loaf of warm bread, smiling happily as she described her latest round of adventures to Bryn, who listened intently and refreshed her glass of goats milk.

"You know your weapons, northwoman," the blacksmith told her. "Those are rare. Very difficult."

"So, do you have any?" Skadi raised an inquisitive eyebrow. She discreetly placed a small pouch filled with platinum coins and 3 square cut blood rubies down on the blacksmith's anvil.

"I said difficult," Bahilu explained. "Not impossible. Come back tomorrow at dusk." The blacksmith pushed the pouch back toward Skadi.

"Keep it," the northwoman urged. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Skadi motioned for Fatima to join her. The child and Bryn embraced briefly, and the little girl wiped a mustache of milk from above her lip. "So do we get to go see Bulwark fight now?" Fatima asked hopefully. Skadi nodded and smiled.

"A grand idea," she agreed. She took Fatima's small hand and followed the child toward Armand's House of Chance. She patted the leather purse hanging from her belt to reassure herself that she had brought plenty of betting money.

>>>><<<<

Leon laughed joyously as Bulwark was sent reeling by a heavy blow from a massive chitonous fist. The troll smiled victoriously as he moved in on the staggering dwarf for the final blow. The rogue produced a pouch filled with gold and platinum coins and several square cut emeralds. "Fifteen hundred on the good dwarf!" He cheered deliriously, upending his flagon of ale and calling for another.

The half orc, and the saurian spice merchant's eyes grew wide as the coins and gems glistened in the amber light of the small table lamp. The spice merchant produced a silk purse with similar contents, but the dock worker shook his head.

"I'm all in at 500 boys," the halforc confessed.

Leon clapped the halforc's massive shoulder roughly. "Very well, good sir," his words were now slurring noticeably. "Your 500 is well met!"

Skadi shook her head sardonically as she approached the table. Leon greeted her with a playful slap to the buttocks which she ignored (for the moment). She fixed him with a wilting stare as she deftly snatched up the fresh ale that the serving girl brought, before the rogue could get his hands on it. She nodded and smiled briefly at the flustered Guildmaster as she took a long pull.

She plunked the flagon down hard on the table and shouted, "500 gold on the dwarf!" She raised her pouch high and shook it. At the table beside them, a well heeled man in a white robe and turban nodded in acceptance and smiled through his thin, well groomed beard. Bulwark looked with annoyance at the rogue as he ducked under another swing from the toll's mammoth arm.

Leon smiled soberly and gave a slight, undetectable nod.

Quick as a cat, the priest locked hold of the troll's thick wrist and drove his forearm into the troll's elbow bringing him to his knees, while simultaneously smashing the top of his head into the troll's chin. The great creature reeled as stars swam before his eyes. Bulwark planted a stiff boot in the troll's thigh and launched himself upward, driving his knee into the troll's chin and his elbow down onto the top of the troll's head. The gladiator fell unconscious to the sand.

The battered dwarf stood above him, sweating, bleeding and smiling exhaustedly.

The saurian's eyes grew wide with disbelief.

The dock worker's jaw dropped momentarily, then snapped loudly shut. The hulking, thickly muscled halforc tried to get up and leave, but found himself unable to rise with Skadi's hand on his shoulder holding him down. His hand went briefly toward his dagger, but his collarbone began to grind painfully as the northwoman tightened her grip.

"Don't do that," Skadi advised him, smiling pleasantly.

The saurian hissed his displeasure and slid his purse toward Leon. He bowed stiffly and excused himself. The dock worker lowered his gaze and conceded politely. He finished his ale and muttered bleakly.

"Wife's gonna have my green hide. That was the last of it."

The Guildmaster grinned and gathered up his winnings. "Pleasure doing business with you gentlemen!"

Skadi caught the gaze of the dock worker momentarily. "Last of it?" She repeated.

The half orc nodded. "Dock work and boat repairs are scarce if you're not in the guild. And the only ships taking crew are the damn yellow sail slavers."

"That a fact?" A slow smile played across the Northwoman's face.

The half orc nodded affirmatively.

"What's your name?" She asked him.

"Artak..." the half orc responded, knitting his brow. "Artak Ironmane."

"That's a proud name. From a proud bloodline," the northwoman acknowledged. "And your wife's?"

"Grya."

Skadi pushed the half orc's pouch back toward him and then placed a large teardrop cut emerald, worth at least twice the value of the coins, on top of the pouch.

"You take that to Grya. If you need work, consider it a...sign on bonus. There is a black ship with emerald sails at the north docks. Ask for Mustafa and tell him... 'the admiral' sent you."

The half orc smiled gratefully. "Thank you, lady!" he bowed and left.

The white turbaned gentleman laughed heartily and placed his money in front of the northwoman. "It would honor me to know your names, Lady..." he bowed formally. They each in turn introduced themselves to him.

"And you are...?" Skadi prompted him.

He politely waved down a serving girl. "Cali," he told her. "Coffee and fruit and cheese platter for these fine customers."

Cali smiled and left quickly.

"My name is Armand," he told them. "This is my arena."

>>>><<<<

The afternoon sun was already sinking toward the horizon when the northwoman returned to Bahilu's Steelworks. The smith greeted her warmly, and led her back to the rear of the forge area. There, she unlocked a large iron chest with a key hanging from a chain around her neck. She removed a long coffer of polished wood and opened it, turning it toward Skadi to display its contents.

Skadi gazed down, and her eyes widened in recognition.

"Where did you get these?" The devan breathed.

The twin war axes were masterfully crafted of dwarven steel and polished to a mirror finish. Etched in red gold into both of the perfectly balanced, geometrically curved, double bladed heads, was the image of a roaring lion. The hilts were wrapped in red wyvern hide leather, and the pommel of each was a large blood garnet.

They were Skadi's old axes, gifted to her before she left the Stonefist Temple by Sifu Jamal, head of their order. Her jaw shook and her eyes clouded over momentarily with relief and sadness.

Bahilu's brow furrowed in concern. "I traded a caravan merchant in the Fish Market for them several weeks ago...is there a problem?"

"No," Skadi told her quickly and gratefully. "Not at all. These will do. Nicely!" She looked back as Bryn tousled Fatima's hair and motioned for the child to return to her. The northwoman collected the young girl and walked briskly back towards the docks.

"Cool axes!" Fatima marveled with child like wonder. "Can I hold them?"

Skadi smiled and removed one from her belt, handing it to her as they walked. Fatima held it and looked at it carefully.

"Kinda heavy," She noted.

"Dwarven steel usually is," Skadi explained. "It's better for punching through armor. Especially if you have to throw it."

"Oohh," Fatima's eyes grew wide. "You can throw them?"

"Oh yes," Skadi reassured her.

"Will you show me how?" Fatima asked excitedly.

Skadi winked. "You need to be a little bigger I think. But when you are, I will."

"Aaawww," the child pouted. "I wish I was bigger and stronger like you now."

Skadi returned the war axe to her belt and lifted the child up onto her shoulders. "You will be before you know it," she reassured the precocious child.

>>>><<<<

Indigo Red and Mustafa paced up and down the immaculately cleaned teak deck of the Phantom's Wail, and reviewed the recent recruits who stood at attention in a line. Longknife and Fazil looked down at the proceedings from the conning deck above the captain's quarters. To the original five Castaway Rats that Skadi, Tenji and Leon had rescued from DiMarco's dungeons at Half Moon Bay (along with Flaxen the Halfling Bard and Contessa the seamstress and leather worker) Fazil and Mustafa had now added five more, bringing the ranks of the Phantom's Wail crew to a total of seventeen hands.

Artak had been added as a boatwright and deck hand, and his bride, Grya as a sail and net mender and scullery hand. Fazil had also selected a human woman with close cropped black hair, tanned leathery skin and a scarred jaw called Glass Eyed Alice as a sail hand, line rigger and ship's look out.

Mustafa recruited a fenrir longshoreman and dock worker named Canis - that came aboard with Artak as a deck hand and metal worker. Fazil also brought aboard a pipe smoking human male deck hand and riverine navigator with a grizzled black beard. He was apparently a mute, but made his mark in the crew ledger as "Briny Bill" with the flowing script of a scribe.

"Many sought work aboard this ship," Indigo explained as she paced back and forth, eyeing each of them thoroughly. "But only the five of you have been selected as crew." They each stood shoulder to shoulder, backs straight, chests out, and Artak and his wife clasped hands smiling.

"The Phantom's Wail is a most unusual ship, and you are lucky to be aboard her, as I am sure you know; since you have each been given a sign on bonus of more than most deck apes earn in two years."

They each nodded in agreement.

"We are an adventuring vessel," Indigo Red explained. "We sail under the command of Captain Longknife in support of an away team for whom we are sworn to loyalty, and by whom we are paid more richly than any of us has dreamed or rightly deserves."

Again, nods of agreement.

"The captain commands this vessel and quests with the Lady Skadi, the Lady Tenji, Bulwark of Pelor, and the Guildmaster Leon D'Rouge. I answer to the captain, but I speak for the crew and you lot answer to me! Should any of you ever have cause to question that, Mustafa and the rest of us will be sure you swim the deep. Your life here is simple: The rewards for loyalty and bravery shall be honor and glory. The rewards for hard work will be riches. But the rewards for betrayal will be swift and merciless justice. ARE WE CLEAR!?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" They called out in unison.

"You have each made your mark," Mustafa continued. "You each agreed to your share of the away team's bounty, and its terms. You have each sworn that you leave neither kith, kin nor obligation behind here nor elsewhere. Now you must swear again, publicly. Is this so, before us all?"

"Yes Sir!" They all sounded off in unison.

"Then we raise anchor now for Eru Tovar," Indigo Red announced. "You've been briefed on your posts. Make sail!"

Indigo Red turned on her heel and leapt nimbly up the ladderwell to the conning deck.

"Very inspiring," Longknife whispered out of the side of her mouth without taking her gaze from the crew.

"I liked it," Indigo agreed quietly, taking the helm.

Mustafa placed his muscled hands behind his lean, chiseled back and barked, "all hands to stations!"

The new crew of the Phantom's Wail broke ranks and assumed their posts. They raised and secured the gang plank, then freed and coiled the mooring lines. When the prow had cleared the docks, they unfurled the sails. Indigo Red eased the ship into the soft, crystal waters of the Wooly Bay and tacked north along its western coast line.

The evening crew was commanded by Indigo Red and Tenji with the ruby haired acrobat thief functioning as both the navigator and helmsman. The decks were manned by Fazil, Contessa, Artak, Grya, and Glass Eyed Alice. Doc Tiny managed the scullery and the infirmary.

As the moon descended over the shining waves and the sun rose, the night crew took their main meal and were replaced by Skadi and Longknife at the helm. The deck and sails were manned by Leon, Mustafa, Canis the fenrir, and Briny Bill. Flaxen and Fatima maintained the scullery and Bulwark the infirmary.

It was the Phantom's fifth day under sail from Highport. The warm ocean waters sparkled like diamonds and glimmered on the polished brass stations of the ship's gunwales, as the sun dipped red and exhausted toward the blue horizon. The wind softly filled the sails as the prow cut with blade like ease through the sea. The brass claxon began ringing out loudly as Glass Eyed Alice shouted down from the crow's nest.

Jagged hooks and chains erupted from the foam washing passed the keel, and latched onto the deck. Scaling the chains with frightening speed and ease were hulking, shark headed humanoid raiders, their chitonous armored hides and spears dripping with brine and flashing in the dying sun. The crew stormed out onto the deck as the alarm went up, sounded and repeated by each in turn as their weapons came free of their scabbards.

"Tarsque!" They each shouted, one after another.

Skadi and Mustafa were the first to burst from below decks.

"Flaxen, Contessa, Grya, Briny Bill!" Mustafa barked. "Get below decks with Doc Tiny and the child!"

The towering half ogre swooped up Fatima who growled in rage and struggled futilely in the cooks great arms trying to free herself and get to her daggers.

The northwoman's dwarven war axes flashed golden and red in the gloaming. Leon's bow sang. Tenji's spear whirled and danced.

Mustafa was unarmed.

The monstrous shark headed raiders poured onto deck from the waters below. The ebony skinned monk ducked easily under the spear thrust of a raider. He caught the shaft in a curious twist and used the raider's own great strength to twist the shaft sideways, shattering the creature's elbow. Then he drove its own spear back into its roaring maw. The raider was dead before it fell to the deck, and the monk was sailing through the air, driving the steel heel of his boot into the eye of another tarsque.

Indigo Red somersaulted gracefully through the air from the conning deck, her long, wickedly curved daggers coming free from their sheaths in mid air. She landed straddling the shoulders of one of tarsque, and drove both blades into the creature's skull. She rolled nimbly to her feet as the creature fell lifeless to the deck. Her dagger streaked through the air, burying itself in the eye of a second raider.

Two more Tarsque fell with Leon's arrows protruding from their throats. A third staggered as a short feathered shaft pierced him from the bow of Glass Eyed Alice.

Skadi sent the wounded creature off his feet with a shoulder tackle. He flew through the air, and over the side of the ship. Without stopping her forward charge, the northwoman drove the axe in her right hand deep into the icthyian skull of another shark raider, and opened the spiny chitonous throat of another raider with the axe in her left hand.

The blades of Archeon's Caress came free of the bastett's scabbards. They burned softly like a new October moon. Longknife growled softly, her fangs barred as she engaged one of the creatures. She removed one of its webbed, taloned hands at the wrist with a quick, surgical, downward strike. In the same motion, she drove the other blade quickly into its throat.

"Get of my boat!" She hissed, as it crumpled to the deck.

Tenji parried aside a spear strike and then impaled the creature through the bamboo and shell breast plate with her own spear. She ducked under a second strike from a heavy maul spiked with bits of shell and shark's teeth. A manabolt sizzled from her palm, and burned into her second attacker, lifting him off his feet and sending him over the side of the ship and back into the waters from whence he came.

Artak winced as a spear point tore through his flank. But the battle fire in his orcish blood flared. His heavy iron cutlass hewed mercilessly at his foe. Though physically larger, the tarsque was driven backward by the ferocity of the onslaught. Its wooden spear finally cracked in two and the half orc's iron found flesh. Now the deck ran with both their blood. As Artak hacked away at his dying adversary, two Tarsque raiders charged him from behind. Artak barely turned in time to see one of them stagger to the deck, his back feathered with long black arrows and Leon nodding and smiling at him beyond.

Artak parried aside the thrust of its spear with only the tough leather bracer on his left forearm. He slashed deeply into the shark raider's neck and chest with his cutlass. Blood splashed in the gloaming sun. A long, dwarven steel spear shaft whistled so close to Artak's ear as it passed him, that he could feel the breath of it as it pierced a raider's chest and burst from his back.

Mustafa's bare, ebony arms were held out before him, his hands flat and his fingers pointed, weaving and dancing like two serpents. A tarsque raider lunged forward with his spear. In a graceful, blindingly fast motion, Mustafa spun to the side. His hand shot out at a curious angle and deflecting the spear strike. The fingers of his second hand sunk deeply to the raider's eye, bursting it and sending the tarsque careening. As the tarsque staggered backward, blinded and in agony, the adept leapt forward and locked his muscled arms around the raider's neck and snapping it with a sickening crunch.

Tenji strode to Artak and helped him to his feet before retrieving her weapon. Skadi placed a hand on the halforc's shoulder and smiled.

"You were born for battle," she noted. "You honor your father's name."

Artak nodded and a smile replaced the battle rage on his thick jaw.

"Have the priest see to your wounds," Tenji advised him. The half orc nodded, noting several deep cuts and bruising forming on both the northwoman and the witchpriest as well.

"Ladies first," Artak offered with a half smile.

Longknife ordered the anchor dropped. She scanned the nearby coastline through her brass and crystal spyglass, as Indigo Red and Leon searched the fast skiffs of the tarsque raiders. While Bulwark cleaned bound, and healed wounds, the captain's sharp bastett eyes spotted the raider's tattered pennants flapping at the entrance to an ocean cave in the distance.

The search of the skiffs turned up nothing. So Longknife ordered them scuttled and their boarding lines cut. The crew raised anchor and Longknife guided the Phantom's Wail as close to the coastal cave mouth as she could, without running the ship aground on the rocky shoals. She turned the ship over to Indigo Red and went ashore with Tenji, Skadi, Leon and Bulwark.

They beached the captain's pinnance just outside and to the south of the cave mouth, where it widened into a large cavern carved into the stone by the sea.

They peered stealthily inside.

Cool seawater washed and lapped gently on the sandy floor. Barnacles, and colorful urchins covered the walls, and the stone flowed and cascaded like the waves which had formed it. At the far northern end of the cavern wall was a low, wide natural tunnel. Crude stone braziers burning smokily with a pitch soaked coal fire, flanked the tunnel opening. Guarding the tunnel were two more of the seven foot tall, 400 pound shark headed humanoids. Their hides were thick, tough, and covered in course spines. They were armed with bronze tridents wickedly barbed with shark's teeth.

"Only two," Longknife observed.

"Boring," Skadi noted. The bastett looked at the northwoman and flashed a soft, cunning smile. "Shall we?" She invited her.

Skadi nodded.

Longknife and the northwoman stepped forward boldly into the cave mouth. They strode confidently toward the guards. With silent predatory power, the tarsque surged forward, their trident's leveled. But they never reached their prey. They fell dead and bleeding to the wet sand, burned and blasted by Tenji's arcane energy bolts and pierced by black feathered arrows from Leon's bow.

The tunnel wound steeply upward into the side of the cliff and opened into a stone antechamber. Jaw bones of great dire sharks, tapestries woven of colorful seaweed, shells and driftwood hung on the rough, natural stone walls. A central fire crackled and warmed the large cavern. At the far end, rested a large bed consisting of piles of leather hides and fresh ferns. An exceptionally large tarsque raider with a crown formed from the jawbone and teeth of a shark set with pearls and aquamarines, lounged on the bed. He wore a great breast plate made from the polished shell of a giant sea turtle and a wide girdle of black sharkskin stitched with platinum edges and set with sea pearls and round cut emeralds. At his side was a masterwork dwarven steel spear, inlaid with ivory and topped with a long, curved razor sharp head forged to resemble a great shark's tooth.

Lurking nearby were small cadre of tarsque raiders, clearly the chieftain's personal guard. Longknife shook her head in an odd mix of mild frustration and amused admiration as the northwoman ignored all pretence of strategy and simply strode into the room with her axes brandished. The rest of the company exchanged glances and shoulder shrugs and followed quickly behind her. The tarsque chieftain roared in fury as he and his warriors rose to meet the intruders.

Two of Leon's arrows sunk deeply into the torso of one of the Tarsque. It faltered briefly, but kept advancing.

Tenji sprinted forward, and struck aside a sweeping downward swipe of a great barbed club with the whirling butt of her spear. In the same lightning fast maneuver, she thrust the razor sharp steel head of her weapon deep into her opponent's chest.

Longknife danced aside from a trident thrust and cut two deep incisions into the spiny flesh of her adversary. But she gasped and snarled in agony as the spear of a second raider bit deeply into her right hip. Her blood blended in a bright red splash with her enemy's on the sands of the cavern floor.

Without breaking her stride, sparks flew as the northwoman struck a flying spear from the air with her axes. She collided headlong with the charging chieftain. The dwarvish steel in her hands hammered with hellish fury against the towering tarsque.

Bulwark made his way to the staggered bastett's side just in time to deflect a killing downward spear thrust to her chest with his great battlehammer. The shark-creature's head snapped back as a black feathered arrow sunk deeply into its snarling maw. Longknife felt the warm soothing energy of Bulwark's healing spell course through her. What would have most certainly been a mortal wound closed and healed before her eyes.

Skadi's thunderous axe blows bounced and skidded from the Chieftain's weapon and his breast plate, and he sent the northwoman reeling with a mighty strike from his great spear. Leon cursed under his breath as the one clean shot he could loose, also ricocheted off the tarsque's armor.

The bastett came dexterously to her feet. A second tarsque was bearing down on the northwoman from behind, unseen by her as she regained her feet. Longknife leapt from the shadows and drove both her brandished blades into the raider's back and twisted hard. The shark creature fell, hemorrhaging into the sand, and never reached Skadi.

Tenji impaled the throat of one of the tarsque with her spear in one hand, while pivoting on her hip and blasting the chieftain with a radiant lance of red energy. The chief staggered backward, and Skadi was upon him. She bore him to the ground with a flurry of axe blows, never to rise.

The final raider fell to his knees and died, beneath the shining whirlwind of Archeon's Caress and a crackling bolt of lightning from the tip of the witchpriest's spear.

While Tenji and Bulwark cleaned and bound wounds, Longknife and Leon set about searching the Chieftain's grotto. His dwarven steel and ivory spear, his crown and his breastplate all found their way into the bag of holding hanging from the priest's belt. But it was once again Longknife who located the patch of disturbed sands near the chieftain's bed and the locked wooden chests buried there.

The tarsque had obviously been raiding successfully from this location for many weeks. There were four large chests, all filled and glinting with thousands of gold and silver coins, hundreds of large gems (mainly sapphires and aquamarines, but also dozens of diamonds and luminous sea pearls) and several pieces of exquisite jewelry and small jeweled weapons.

"This will do nicely!" Leon beamed.

"Let's get this back to the Phantom," Longknife advised. "This will serve us well in Hardby and beyond."

>>>>><<<<<

Longknife's bones still ached. Her side, though healed by Bulwark's curative enchantment, was still stiff.

But she had never, in all her days under sail, dreamed that she would ever leave a raid with such wealth as she now supervised onto the decks of the Phantom's Wail. Before stowing it in the cargo hold, she called all hands on deck.

Leon, Bulwark, Tenji (now leaning regally on the spear of the tarsque Chieftain) and Skadi, (the girdle of the tarsque Chieftain glinting around her waist) stood on the conning deck above the captain's quarters and looked down as the crew gathered on the main deck below.

When all hands had assembled, the bastett directed Mustafa and Fazil to open the chests so their contents could sparkle in the sun. As the Castaway Rats and the new crewmen of the Phantom's Wail Caught their breath and murmured in wonder, Longknife cleared her throat and addressed them.

"Here, lads – are the spoils of but a single raid, less than a week into our voyage. See for yourself!"

She let the dazzling display sink in.

"Our away team promised that all monetary spoils would be parceled out one third to the away team, one third to ship's crew and one third to ship's stores. The Lady Skadi and Lord Bulwark have asked me to forfeit their own shares to you as well."

She paced the deck proudly and watched the smiles and nods of approval from her crew. She closed two of the four chests with her boot and looked to Mustafa. "Master at Arms, secure these two chests in the hold."

"Aye, Captain" the adept's voice was deep and mellifluous. "Doc Tiny, a hand sir." The half ogre nodded and the two of them relocked and took the chests below.

"Quartermaster," she looked to the Fazil. The dwarf returned her gaze with a proud smile.

"Aye Captain Longknife," he chimed.

"We reach Hardby and the Selnitan delta in five days. The rest of this cache is yours to distribute equally among all hands as you deem fit. And for them to spend ashore or stow aboard as they will."

"Aye captain!" Fazil trumpeted, tipping his plumed hat.

"Quartermaster, dismiss the crew." The bastett turned on her heel and strode elegantly to her cabin, closing the door behind her.

"You heard the Captain!" Longknife could hear Fazil bark as she sat down heavily in the soft leather chair near the table containing her charts and a bottle of rum. "One at a time, you sea-wolves! Ladies first!"

The bastett smiled slowly. She looked at the lacquered scabbards of Archeon's caress on her bunk. The sapphire and emerald sea sparkled in the sun beyond the tall, heavy glass pained windows that looked out from the Phantom's stern. Outside the excited chatter and triumphant cries of the crew as they wished health and good fortune on the away team, mixed with the cry of the gulls, the rush of the waves and the bright ringing of the Phantom's claxon bell.

She poured some of the rum into a silver chalice set with citrine chips and trimmed in black gold. She sipped it slowly.

She found herself wishing very much that her mother and father could see her now. Longknife sighed and looked at her navigational charts again. Her father had told her stories of the great mountain city of the northmen. She had always wanted to see it.

But there was still many leagues of open water between them and Eru Tovar.

It was a great distance to cover.

A lot of time for something to go wrong.

The adventure continues in book II - Temple of the Golden Lion

Find it here:

 http://www.amazon.com/Chris-Martineau/e/B00LT3O594/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

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