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-- your humble gamemaster

Turn 16: out cold

You follow the path to the south, towards the port. The jungle becomes thicker and darker, and you hear strange cries and rustlings in the trees all around you. Some of them are enormous, the width of a garrison tower and fully three hundred feet high. This feels, somehow, like a bad place. You notice it's grown cold. Twix starts looking around wildly, but when Heflam asks him what it is, in an irritated voice, he refuses to say. The captive scout's eyes are wide in his head, and he starts to speak, but Twix flails away to motion him to be silent.

There is a sign here alongside the path, in Imperial Common. "Port this way. Run as fast as you can."

You do. Bombr is, once again, surprisingly fast for someone his size. Photius, once you release him, sprints ahead, clearly terrified. The rest of you rattle along behind in your legion armor of breastplate, greaves, sandals and helms. "You know," mutters Gepetto as you stumble along awkwardly, "this thing hasn't got much of a neck guard, has it?"

Twix suddenly shrieks, flailing at the air all around him. You can't see anything there. "Wolverines!" he screams at the top of a high falsetto, "WOLVERINES! AAIGH!"

Twix falls over backwards, stiff as a board, his eyes rolled up into his head. He's frothing at the mouth, unconscious. He's still breathing, but very cold. He's pretty heavy in that armor too, as you roll him over onto his back so he doesn't suffocate in the mulch and leaves into which he pitched facefirst.

Dane tries unsuccessfully to get Twix to drink some water, but he's not responding. The rest of you are gathered around in an anxious huddle. "Um," says Photius nervously, "it's better up ahead a ways, where the path climbs up and the trees are smaller. We usually try not to linger here."

"Why not?," asks Dane.

"Well, this place has a local name, like everything on the island. When the priest translated it, it turned out to mean Graveyard of Souls. A patrol got stuck out here one night in the rain when they were building the port a few years ago. Nobody ever saw them again. The priest told us they were eaten by the dead."

"Then why not build another path?"

"This is the only path between the port and the rest of the island. It would take years to hack through that jungle and build another."

Twix is out cold, and the rest of you are huddled around him. The light is beginning to fail. It's cold here, not frosty, but a damp cold that seeps into your bones. There is thick jungle with towering trees on either side of you, full of sounds that don't seem friendly or familiar.

And the path seems to have disappeared. You're now in a clearing.

"Told you," mutters Photius. "Maybe we should at least build a fire. Or try to keep going and find the path again."

"Or pray!" says Bombr, and begins removing his clothes again and singing.

Turn 15: Bunnies?

The centurion paused in his tracks. It had been another long, hot, sweaty day in this godforsaken jungle. His breastplate felt like it was cooking his insides, but he refused to take it off; if you can't get the men to wear their armor in this heat, at least you can set a good example. His helmet with its horsehair plume was hooked on one shoulder of his armor. Even Imperial pride had its limits on this oven of an island.

There, he heard it again. Someone was screaming his name, and running towards his small patrol. He made a point of leading patrols himself, to better know this posting. If only he hadn't gotten drunk at the governor's party back in Pyrrhus, he wouldn't have been banished here. Three years down, one to go. He was fit now, leaving off the drink that had brought him here. Determined to do a good job and get sent home with some respect.

He held up a clenched fist. The patrol halted on the narrow path. He walked backwards past the five legionaries , making a mental note of their names. He was furthest from the calling voice and had still been the first to notice it. Kitchen detail for these wretches. Still, on this secret island, days and days from anywhere with decent food or wine, it was the dregs sent to serve out here.

I'm the dregs, he thought.

"Centurion! Centurion Spurious Bellus! Centurion!" The figure came gasping into view around a bend, plunging through the thick brush, heedless of it whipping his face.

"Hold!" Spurious shouted. "Compose yourself! You are a soldier of the Empire!" Even if it despises you, he added mentally.

The solder hove into view and stopped short, gasping for air. Spurious saw his cut-up clothing, punctured with what looked like bite wounds. No armor; he had clearly been surprised in his sleep. This was bad, whatever it was.

"Well?"

The soldier started sobbing, as he wailed, "Rabbits. Giant rabbits. Not a man left alive in the camp. And the prisoners got away."

Sweet bride of fcuk, thought the centurion. Giant rabbits. What's next?

Got to keep up a strong front. Bad for morale to start getting nervous. Or maybe laughing, in this case.

"Alright lads. Bind up his wounds and drag him along. We're going to go to the port to see the priest about this. Reinforcements. Magic. We'll bring them in, and we'll get laurels for it."

"All the way to the port, sir?," asked a sad-looking legionary.

"All the way, soldier. After all, it's the first of the month tomorrow."

"So?"

The centurion leaned forward, put his hand on the reluctant legionary's bare shoulder. The man had stripped to the waist in this heat, against all regulations and common sense as well, with enemies about. Nevermind. Duty first. Write a book about all this later, when you're a governor yourself.

"So, lad, the wine shipment comes in on the first of the month. It's revels and Bacchus for the lot of us while we regroup with the priest to teach these spies a lesson."

The soldier brightened up, and began tearing at his ragged cloak to bind up his comrade.

* * * * *

You're outside the hut where you were bound. Giant thumping footprints recede into the darkness of the nighttime jungle all around the small Imperial encampment and its guard tower. Carnage abounds.

Turn 14: Captured

You pursue the fleeing guard further and further into the jungle. And further. He's young and fast, and sheds his spear, shield and bits of armor as he runs in order to speed up. Chip could catch him, of course, but Chip took off straight up when the pursuit began, and is out of sight as the rest of you run.

"You know," huffs the big guy in hot pursuit, "there is an alternative spelling, which my grandfather used. No vowel. Easier to pronounce too. Just Bombr. Ends with brrr, like you're cold" he gasps, leaping over a fallen palm trunk across the path. "Maybe we should just go with that. No offense."

"None taken," gasps out Heflam, just behind him.

Dane cries back from the lead position, "I think we may have more important things to worry about for now."

...as you all screech to a halt. The fleet-footed Imperial scout has led you to large jungle clearing of rocky red soil. As you all burst out of the jungle, you see the scout on the opposite side of the clearing, passing through a line of Imperial soldiers, who are armored and armed with bows, arrows on string, pointed at you. More troops close in from the jungle behind you, cutting off your escape.

The scout approaches a better-dressed Imperial, with an officer's crest on his helmet. He salutes, Imperial style, with a raised left arm. "Scout Lucas reporting sir. We found them. Sorry to report that Scouts Klaatu, Niktu and Barada have been killed, sir."

"Good work, Captain Scout Lucas," says the officer. "We'll take it from here. Get back to the garrison and get yourself some wine."

The scout disappears into the far side of the jungle. The officer turns and looks at you over his kneeling bowmen. He leans down to one, murmurs in his ear, and hands him a bright-red arrow with a glittering dark head. Looks like obsidian. The bowman puts the arrow on the string, scanning the sky above the clearing.

He doesn't have long to wait. With a shriek, Chip comes plummeting out of the sky towards the officer. The troops watch, rapt, as the bowman fires the red arrow. With a shriek of another kind, Chip plunges into the jungle, flailing his wings.

The officer looks pleased, and pats his bowman on the shoulder. "Fine shot. Just like the priest said." He looks up at you.

"There are fifty Imperial soldiers in this clearing. If you want to leave it alive, drop your weapons now. Better a prisoner than a corpse, like your dragon."

The arrows are nocked, the bowmen looking you in the eye. Behind you and a little to the side, the spearmen have their weapons lowered, and are also looking you in the eye. Fighting would be suicide.

Turn Lucky 13: In the event of a water landing...

One by one you all step through the gate, which unceremoniously launches you into the air towards the south with a sickening lurch. You see the island grow further away, the others behind or in front of you on the same long, long arc up. There is savannah under you, full of animals, then dense jungle cut by rivers and punctured by the occasional high hill. North, in the other direction, you notice a mountain rising from the savannah, dark against the horizon, receding, with storms on its crown.

You slowly begin to fall, even as you continue to plummet forwards. You see beach approaching to the south, much wider than where you landed on this island. And a port, a big port, a garrison town a wharf, cargo ships, smaller craft, buildings, and the filthy smoky haze hanging over it that says civilization.

You are falling faster, faster. You see a pool ahead of you, made of the same ancient stones, and briefly glimpse an arch on the side you're coming from, pointing back the way you came. There are two other arches pointing off at angles towards other parts of the island, and another arch on the far, south side pointing out to sea.

Moving so fast should crush you like a bug against the water, which should be harder than stone at this blinding speed. But it isn't. Even your belongings are intact, although soaked. Twix sputters and flails his way to the shore, while Dane swims there in irritatingly long, elegant strokes. Bombouar wrings out his clothes, muttering "sweet bride of Fcuk, soaked again...". Heflam is grinning ear to ear.

Gepetto looks at Heflam. "What are you so happy about?"

Heflam gestures towards the arch. "That was GREAT! Let's do it again."

Dane squints at the arches as he wrings out his clothes. "I don't think we can. The lines of force look different, like the arches are barred. I think we have to do what we came here for before we can use them again."

Gepetto grunts, "Huh. Well, we'll get our chance in a hurry. You idiots probably missed it, but we overflew a guard tower on our way in, less than a mile from this little swimming pool. They're probably on their way here right now."

Heflam quits smiling.

You're on the edge of a beautiful deep blue pool edged with overgrown ancient stones, with three arches pointing towards the island and one pointed out to sea. There's a mile of jungle between you and the beach directly to the south. The Imperial port lies to the southeast a few miles, based on what you saw flying in. The Imperials are probably on their way. The jungle is sparse enough to allow travel, but there are no actual paths, and it looks like nobody's been to this pool in centuries.

Turn 12: the Quest begins

Gepetto plays the dragoncite ocarina as he loops the thin gold chain it hangs from around his neck. The melody continues for some time; you all feel relaxed, happy, and somehow ... better. Dane notices his various cuts and scrapes seem to have disappeared.

You are all gathered in the fire circle around the leader and the other one with the red-feather cloak. It's late afternoon. The tattoo ceremonies are over, all of them similar to Twix's, except for the images and the details of what they might do. Heflam's remains a mystery; the leader simply promised Heflam would discover its uses in due time. Dane mutters something about his chi being focused, and the training postures with which he often fills his idle moments have taken on a new precision. He looks pleased. Bombar, meanwhile, has pulled a small, ornately tools leather bag out of the chest. He looks inquiringly at the leader, who grunts, leans over, and whispers something to him. Bombar looks pleased, and slides the small bag out of sight under his clothes.

The guards carry the chest away, out of sight, and other guards feed you dinner as the leader briefs you on the situation while the sun slides out of sight.

"Our bargain is that you rid our island of every last Imperial. This land is a week's walk across its breadth, the same along its height north to south. The Imperials stay to the coast, save for well-armed slaving forays into the interior villages. Most Imperials are at their port on the southern edge of the island, from whence they ship the products of the Smith and slaves as well. There are perhaps 100 troops, and merchants, and slaves at the port. There is also a wizard, an Imperial priest; we cannot see him as we see the others, and he is communion with the dead, so beware.

Your powers are yours to keep in exchange for freeing our island of all Imperials. Should you renege, these same powers will themselves turn against you.

Farewell."

And the next morning, they're all gone. There are no tracks to be seen but your own. They've left you food for a week, and skins of fresh water. They have also left Dane an obsidian sword, Gepetto a quiver of arrows with obsidian heads along with bow made of black wood carved with faces or masks, and Bombar a mace made of wood and blunt stone. Heflam finds no weapon, but there is a small ship carved out of black wood hanging around his neck, and as he touches it, his tattoo tingles.

The dragon seems a little bigger, as he circles above you in the morning light. He seems to like the smoked crocodile bits that Twix feeds him, as you clean up the remains of breakfast and prepare to start your quest.

I choose a tattoo exemplifying power, grace and protection. The focus of the image is fluid in his motions and knows the center of his being. His aura is almost a physical force which he uses to protect his being and project his will according to the focus of his mind's eye. This power will now be mine.

I watch the holy man carve this image into me and I smile. Ahhh... Through the pain I can feel the clean lines and flows of control awakening within and surrounding me. My being will now be even more able to sense and manage it's own existence.

Heflam's Mark

This image has always stuck with me, ever since I first saw it carved into the dock at Taz Matul. I've always considered myself a relatively simple man whose life just happened to lead him to sea. As such, I don't claim to know much about any worlds or lifes beyond this. That said, I've taken some comfort over the years in knowing that this symbol signifies the light or soul or somesuch in each of us - and its ability to reach out beyond this physical stuff that we lumber around in. Yeah, I like that.

Not sure what good this tattoo will do me. This is a rather spontaneous decision. In fact, until now I'd been one of the rare sailors that I've encountered who hadn't been inked or scarred. Nevertheless, it should look rather striking on my forearm.

The Brand Upon His Skin - Twix

The tattoo of Twix explained from top to bottom:

The Eyes of the Gods.
In the center is the All Seeing Eye that shines upon the earth. It sees all and roams the heavens looking to expose the evil that is done under its gaze. To the left of the All Seeing Eye is the Eye that Hides. It watches when the All Seeing Eye has left the Heavens to gaze elsewhere, but it turns its face to the evils of man, seeing less and less until the world is cloaked in darkness and the evils roam freely. To the right is the Eye that Blinks. Even when the Eye that Hides has closed itself to the world, the many eyes of the Gods remain, blinking tears at the folly of man. When they have seen too much, they fall to earth, never to see again.

The Eye within the Eye.
This is the Eye of the Sha. It sees where the All Seeing Eye does not. It sees that which is hidden to all other eyes. There are worlds that walk alongside our own, and the Eye within the Eye sees them all. This is the center of great magicks, and the fount of wisdom to those who choose such a path. It reveals the ways of the Dead, the souls of the Living, and the gathering of Powers. In men, it is closed, but when it has been opened it will see into forever.

The Teeth of the Dead.
Beneath the Eye within the Eye is the Teeth of the Dead. These are the instruments of command. From left to right: The Dominion Over the Beasts, giving authority over the animals of the earth, the birds of the sky, and the fish of the sea. The Influence Over the Spirits, giving authority over those which are not Gods, but who move in the places between the worlds. This power is not as great as that over the Beasts, but still influential. The Audience of the Gods, giving access to the Gods that they might hear the Sha's requests over any others. Finally, the Mercy of the Swarm, which gives the Sha protection and parlance with insects of all kinds. It is not the way of the Sha to hold dominion over these creatures, but they will not attack him directly unless it is at the direction of a Ch-tka. If the Sha is wise and gentle, the Swarm may even ally themselves for limited times, but will disperse at any real danger or distraction.

The Cradle.
All life comes from death. This is a fact that must be well understood by the Sha. For every destruction, something will be born, and for every birth, something must be destroyed. This Symbol has another meaning, for like any child of the world, the Sha has been given great power but not the wisdom to know how to use it. Thus, the child within is dark, for no one can know what it will become. Be the child grow into a force for good or evil, it will still find itself within the bounds of death, and so is the world spared from its power.

Turn 11 - Twix's Tattoo

The leader escorts Twix away from the fire circle, and red-feathered cloak follows. The sun beats down on Twix as he kneels on the rocky ground. The two others hold his left forearm out as the leader barks a command, and one of the escort guards approaches, and hands red-feather his black, gleaming glass knife and suddenly grabs Twix's arm, wrenches it flat to the ground, and sits on it at the elbow, so Twix can't see it.

The sun beats down. Twix wonders what's next.

The leader is murmuring. Red-feather is bending over the arm with the knife. The guard sings something softly. Suddenly, a sharp pain. The leader is rubbing what looks like dirt on Twix's arm, as he writhes in pain but is unable to move. The guard hands the leader a strip of cloth he takes from a pouch. The leader winds it expertly around Twix's forarm. They release him. He stands.

Twix, your arm hurts like hell. Blood is seeping through the bandage, but it seems to be mostly staunched.

The leader grabs your head with both hands, looks you in the eye. The guard and red-feather continue to sing as the leader says something in a language you don't know. Your arm tingles and stops hurting.

"Leave the bandage on until dawn tomorrow. Your tattoo is revealed. It is your flesh, carved and rubbed with the earth of this place."

The leader is glowing bright yellow. You rub your eyes, unsure if it's because of what you just went through, but nope, he's still glowing. Like someone outlined him faintly in yellow light. No, that's not it. Like he had a fire inside him.

The leader, as if he can hear your thoughts, nods solemnly. "Exactly. The fire inside."

You look at the others. They glow various golds as well. You look off in the distance, but the animals are too far to see.

You notice a movement near the party, which awaits you nervously back at the fire circle, another guard having discouraged them from approaching during the ceremony. It is a shadow. Nothing seems to cast it, since the sun is directly over head. It's hard to explain what it looks like, since it seems to melt away when you look directly at it. But when you look away, there it is.

You have an uncomfortable sensation that it is looking back at you.

The leader nods again. "Yes it is."

He pulls you around to face away from the party, further inland, on the savanna. He points to a village of small round huts with thatched roofs that you didn't notice before. It too is not entirely clear, shimmering in the heat or maybe in spite of it. There are figures near and in the village. Some are still, some run aimlessly. You hear a faint wailing that comes over the grass. With a shock, you see that all of them are wounded in some way, some with missing limbs, some walking slowly with their entrails streaming out behind. Those running have no heads.

"Beware the dead," says the leader, looking straight in your eyes, "for they will know you can see them. The happy dead have left the earth, but the unhappy stay here. Many are wroth and seek revenge against the living. In time you may learn how to speak with them or comfort them, but until you learn, keep silent."

You shiver, though you are not cold, wondering whether this was such a good idea.

Chip appears from the jungle, munching a bat, and lands near you. He looks at you with interest, but no apparent concern. He glows a bright silver, so bright you have to squint.

The guards, you notice, glow a faint blue, and they look ... insubstantial, now. You can see through them a bit. Although their weapons are still uncomfortably solid.

The leader returns to the circle, where Gepetto is fingering a gold amulet appraisingly. The guard and redcloak stay where they are. Twix remains where he is, staring off at the village.

The leader looks at Gepetto. "It is clear where your heart lies. Your choice is made."

Gepetto squawks his protest, but the leader is unmoved. He looks over the rest of your party, who have not touched the treasure. "Choose," he says.


[Wilson, you get double the effect of this tattoo if you actually draw it and post the drawing here, along with a short explanation of why it looks like it does. Ditto anyone else who opts for the tattoo.]

Turn 10

Your party is in a small clearing. As Twix and Heflam talk, and the rest of you listen, something changes. You suddenly notice the bird and occasional animal sounds that usually fill the forest have faded away. You get the feeling you are not along.

Someone steps out of the jungle. He is definitely a local, not an Imperial. He is naked except for a gourd covering his bits, and he carries a spear with a feathered shaft. His hair is elaborately piled and decorated, and his face and upper body are painted or tattooed in red and black and yellow. He has the drop on you completely, having emerged from the bush as silently as a ghost, in the middle of the day no less.

"No sudden moves, lads", murmurs Bombar, slowly nodding his head backwards. Five other figures have emerged behind you, as silent as the first. One after another, more and more file out from among the trees. They are all naked except for gourds, but only the first one has the markings or elaborate hair. You are completely surrounded, and the clearing is full.

The first one appears to be the leader. He looks you over disdainfully. Then he says something to the others in a low, quiet voice. It's a melodic language you don't understand. They break into smiles and laughter. Encouraged, Twix shifts to a more comfortable position from the awkward one he was in. The smiles disappear instantly, and three spears, carved wooden shafts with heads that look like black glass are an inch from his throat. The leader barks a sharp order in a very different tone of voice. The spears back off maybe an inch. Some of the spearmen carry knives made of the same black glass.

"For your information, those are obsidian blades," murmurs Dane quietly. "They are far sharper than steel. You wouldn't even feel them until important things were missing."

The leader says something else, softer, to you. He makes what looks like a beckoning gesture, turns on his heel, and walks out of the clearing without looking back. The other guys turn you, gently but insistently, spears at the ready, and propel you after the leader into the jungle.

The spearpoints are never far away.

You pick your way through the jungle for 10 minutes, up a rise, and come to path on a grassy hilltop. You head into the interior, the leader always in front with his head high, now talking to another man you didn't see before, almost naked and umarked like the guards, but wearing a cloak made of red feathers. You walk for half the day, pausing only at streams to drink, following the path ever further inland. It's a footpath, not a road, and therefore unlikely to be of Imperial manufacture. It's not even wide enough for horses to pass between the trees.

You emerge from the forest sometime in the early afternoon, following the path up over the lip of yet another rise. The path leads out into a vast grassy expanse punctuated with stubby trees. You can see for miles. There are elephants and gazelle in the far distance. You realize that you have climbed maybe a thousand feet over the course of the day as you look back at the forest receding downwards for leagues towards the sea, which is too far away to be seen.

There is a fire pit with a ring of seating stones and logs around it just off the path to the right, on the edge of the forest. You are escorted there. The leader and the one in the cloak sit looking at you as your escort sits you down, hovering nearby. Two of them produce bananas and some smoked meat, maybe crocodile, and some skins of water, and feed you a good meal.

At a word from the leader, the guards all withdraw to another circle nearby, and have a meal themselves. It's just you, the leader, and the one with the red feather cloak in the circle. The two of them look at you intently as you eat, not partaking themselves. Sometimes they confer in low tones in the unknown language.

Then leader leans towards you, his face earnest and serious. And says, in perfect unaccented Imperial Common, "We need your help."

Turn 9

"By the Smith, what is that bulbous oaf doing on my bridge!?", rings out in an enormous voice as Bombor struggles over the rickety bridge towards the rest of you.

The voice booms out of a stone building flying the same red flag with a gold $ on it that you saw in the tower on the beach. The building sits on a slight rise next to the river in a clearing, surrounded by five slightly smaller stone buildings.

A short but broad figure with a beard even larger than the voice stamps out of the central building, apparently the voice's owner. It's a dwarf. He carries a large metal wrench of some kind which he hefts meaningfully. He wears a leather apron without a shirt, is covered with grease and dirt, and is sweating even harder than the heat warrants.

"That bridge wasn't built for you fool imperials, I keep telling you!", he bellows, eying Dane and his strategically misplaced bits of armor. "About time you got here! We've been waiting. We need the manpower! Can't run the Smith without it!"

Clearly disgusted, the dwarf turns around on his heel and stamps back into the central building. You can see him descending some stairs as he enters; the building is just the cap on an excavation down into the stony riverbank. "Heave! HEAVE!" you hear him bellow. This is followed by groans and muffled curses, and the clanking, creaking sound of big machinery of some kind issues from the door, as smoke starts to billow from a chimney in the roof.

He sticks his head out the door again, and bellows even louder, over the din of the machinery, "WELL?" Sheepishly, all of you head into the doorway behind the receding figure of the irate dwarf. Chip quietly perches on the lip of the chimney, inhaling the smoke as if he likes it.

The interior of the building seems bigger than it ought to be. The building seen from the outside is just a cap on an excavated hole maybe sixty feet deep. As your eyes adjust to the torchlit gloom, and your ears to the clanking noise, you see the machine that sits in the middle of the hole.

The dwarf is off on the far side of the space, yelling at a larger figure with a whip in its hand. Near them are several men in rags chained to the arms of a capstan (a vertical bar with horizontal handles that stick out at waist height to push on). They plod in circles. Perhaps this is what makes the machine go. There is another capstan near them with nobody on it, and it has no chains.

Torchlight flares off of rods, cranks, gears, chains, and hammers made of brass, bronze, iron and possibly steel. One long arm, or tube, plunges into the ground. A spout produces a steady stream of what looks like gold, which falls into an upended spout below it. And a belt of some kind coming out of the machine towards you bears nothing but a series of small spheres, in diameter about the breadth of a woman's hand, which glitter in the torchlight, but a little too much. They seem to be glowing a bit. Another dwarf snatches each sphere up as it emerges from the machine, polishes it with a dirty rag, and holds it up to turn it in a shaft of daylight from a hole in the roof to examine it with a squinted eye. You see a small, curious reptilian head silhouetted in the hole in the roof, but the dwarf doesn't notice.

He yells to the other dwarf with the big voice, "Get that other capstan moving, or we'll never finish this order. I TOLD the commander to send men. Get 'em moving!"

The dwarfs look expectantly at your party. The one with the big voice points at the empty capstan as the man with the whip urges on the other one.

Turn 8

You are on a trail that switchbacks down the face of an escarpment. A river lies thirty paces, about a hundred feet, below you at the base of the cliff. The lip of the cliff is about the same distance above you. Six imperial legionnaires a couple of switchbacks below you are unlimbering their short swords and spears and headed in your direction. They are proceeding slowly, trying to hide behind the only shield they have between them, as Twix yowls and screams abuse at them and hurls fist-size rocks.

He manages to bean another one, who topples over backwards and falls into the river, where his armor drags him under. Then another. The remaining four are breaking into a run towards you now, abandoning all caution, no doubt regretting that they left their helmets somewhere else because of the stifling heat.

They get closer. Twix is frothing at the mouth now, and he picks up a small boulder in his rage. It probably weighs as much as he does, and it makes him sway on his feet as he actually lifts it over his head and hurls it into the midst of the remaining legionnaires, just one switchback below now. They are swept off the cliff.

Which is a good thing, because the weight of the rock pulls Twix after it. He falls down to the next switchback with a heavy thud. He lies unconscious. Chip flutters down after him, and perches on his head, apparently unconcerned.

This all took something under one minute. You all stare after Twix, not entirely sure of what you just saw.

Bombar stares, looks away, spits on the ground, looks back at Twix. He rubs his wrists where the cord chafed them. "Sweet bride of Fcuk", he mutters. The rest of you are surprised. You didn't know he was a devotee. Fcuk is the god of clothing and small household items, and his legendary mortal bride is the patron saint of women's undergarments. It seems appropriate, somehow. since you are all dressed in tattered negligees.

Insects buzz in the heat. The midday sun bores through you like a blast of fire. Twix lies on the switchback below, out cold and drooling, the dragon curled up and maybe napping on his head. Bodies of imperials lie in the river and on the bank. You see some small stone buildings across a bridge, just on the other side of the river. A red flag with that same sigil from the tower floats over one of them. It's hot and quiet.

Turn 7

You all struggle one by one up the pipe. You emerge shortly thereafter from the far end into a shallow pool on one side of a small river. You are surrounded by thick trees, which give way to palms and some visible late-afternoon sky towards the beach. As you emerge on the sandy edge of the pool, the little dragon shoots out of the water with a fish in his mouth. He flips it upwards, spinning in through the air and catching it again to gulp it down. He flies back to Twix's shoulder, where he tucks his head under his wing and belches discreetly.

There is noise from the direction of the beach. Some cautious reconnoitering on Gepetto's part reveals chaos down on the beach. The tower is in flames, and half of it has already collapsed, presumably into the tunnel you lately vacated. The porters have dropped their bundles some distance away on the sand and have formed a bucket brigade which seems to be having little effect. There are a couple of merchants conferring anxiously near the water. One is gesturing vehemently out to sea, where you can just see the notch of a sail against the horizon. The other is gesticulating with equal vigor in the general direction of the jungle. And your party. And the soldiers are running around shouting at the porters, each other, and sometimes even into thin air. As Gepetto watches, another flaming section of tower roof crumbles, and a soldier jumps out of the way just in time as it crashes onto the beach.

Gepetto returns to the pool, a little ways inside the border of jungle, and reports what he saw. The rest of you have discovered that the river water tastes fine, there are fish swimming around in there, and the jungle is full of coconuts and fruit trees. Food should not be a problem for the moment. You snack on coconuts and mangoes and urgently discuss your course of action.

You still have your cooking implements, your high-quality but soggy women's clothes, and some excellent weapons. Bombor carries a mace, Dane a scimitar he whirls absentmindedly, Heflam hefts his axe, and Gepetto picks through the inevitably crooked twigs on the jungle floor in mounting disgust with their unsuitability as arrow shafts. He grumbles something about the odds of success in whacking imperial legionnaires with an unstrung bow.

It's late afternoon. There is a narrow dirt path that parallels the river as it heads directly into the jungle in one direction, and out towards the beach in the other.

Turn 6

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A bruised and shaken Bombor, helped by Heflam, makes his way to join the other three of you and Chip at the end of a long, wide stone tunnel that runs straight inland from the tower about 100 yards. It's walled with small stones and appears to be man-made, and as your eyes adjust to the bluish light at the far end, you see it is shored with timbers here and there where some sand has leaked through near the tower. At the end of the tunnel a small stream flows in through a stone pipe about a yard wide that also admits some reflected sunlight; the pipe must run in from a pool or spring. The water flows out again through a metal grill in the floor on the opposite side of the tunnel. There is what appears to be a collapsed stairwell here, filled in now with tons of sand and rock.

There are also a small supply of firewood, a few torches, and a few barrels at the end of the tunnel, and some rope. A small spot of daylight on the floor reveals a chimney hole at the top of the tunnel, which is a little higher here, over a dark spot on the floor that looks like it hasn't seen a fire in years.

A few minutes later, with a terrible, smoky, flame-shot crash, the tower end of the tunnel gives way and collapses. The far end of the tunnel, with its broken stairwell and its trapdoor, is gone. The tunnel is now twenty yards shorter, and ends abruptly in a wall of sand and rock.

Turn 5 - Heflam

I come to.

Last thing I remember.... Gepetto leads us down the stairwell, dark as dark can be. I was second to last. The light from the kid's torch was always a faint glow that bounced off the ever-turning wall before me. Bombor shut the trap door behind me.

Then.... Falling.... Did the stairs collapse? Did they just vanish? I don't know. My back hurts. So does my front. Bombor must have fallen on me.

Can't see much. Still pretty damned dark. I hear splashing - but not like the ocean.

I sit up with an inadvertent groan - which reverberates through the chamber. It's a long and wide corridor, all stone. The far end glimmers green and blue, and a trio of men draw from what seems to be a passing stream. Here? Is it man-made?

I grab my man-bag and get to my feet. Squinting, I stride in their direction. The floor lurches up at me, cracking me in the jaw. I look down my prone body and spy the still body of Bombor.

"Bombor?"

Turn 5 - Gepetto

“They are either hostile, or not.”

Twix turns from his dragon to me. “His name is Chip”, he says, grinning .

“Yeah… can Chip protect us from 50 possibly hostile Imperials? Come to think of it have you ever known anyone who wears Imperial clothing *not* to be hostile? We don’t have much time.” I turn to the old Westingshire stove that has been converted to a smoke signal machine. The code book appears to be simply laid out. I open the stove and some coals are still there from this morning when we first spied smoke coming out of this. I throw in some of the wet wood with some of the dry, take the tarp out and vigorously fan them. “Here kid… fan this like your life depends on it.” I say as I hand the tarp to Twix. Just as he begins to do so, the dragonet reappears and seems to scoff at him… and blows a respectable burst into the stove.

“Great.” I hand the code book to Twix, “I need three words, ok? ‘Danger’, ‘Help Now’… ok? Look those up now.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t argue with me and starts leafing through the book. Meanwhile, I take the 4 bottles of whiskey and set them precariously on the edge of the tower wall, propped up by a few pieces of wood which I brace against the hot stove. The dry wood almost immediate starts smoldering on the side that is in contact with the stove. On the top of the little wood rig I made, I put some kindling and light a slow fire. I quickly smash the chairs and distribute the pieces and the remaining dry wood all over the top of the tower stemming out from below the balanced bottles.

“Page 6 and 10. What are you doing?” Twix says as the looks up from the book.

“Setting this to go off in about 14.5 minutes.”

“Go off?”

“Aye. The top of this tower is going to be roaring in flames in a little bit. Give me the book”, which he seems to have forgotten he is holding. I take it, and start to signal the first word using the crude but simple flue. “If grown men run here from that distance, it should take them about 20 minutes. The top of the tower should be rolling in flames by then and buy us more time as they deal with the fire. If it catches them by surprise enough… I might be able to ‘get’ a few of them. The roof might fall in on a bunch of them”

I turn to page 10 and finish the signal. I look out to the crowd down the beach, and sure enough the ones that were ‘glinting’ in the sun are now in a sprint towards us.

“Let’s go kid.” I say as I go down the stairs. “Shut the trap behind you.”

I seem to have stepped into the middle of an awkward moment as I see Dane, Heflam and Bombor all staring at each other.

“Down the floor trap” I say as I grab a torch. “Armed Imperials are running this way and will be here in about 19 minutes.”

“Huh? Armed Imperials? Why are they running here?” Says Heflam, flailing his pretty handbag. It matches his blouse and brings out his eyes.

“Because I told them to.” And with that, I pick the lock on the floor trap, flip it open and run down the now revealed stairs desperately holding the torch in front of me. “Last one through shut the door behind you please!” I shout out over my shoulder.

Turn 5 - Dane

Dane stretched and began the twelve poses of The warrior's Healing. He calmly worked through the difficult positions, ignoring the cuts and bruises that covered his body. As one part of his brain worked his muscles, the other part wandered.

There was an odor in the air - a mixture of burned cloth and hair, blood and sweat.
"This smell," he thought, "where have I smelled it before?"

And then a memory hit him, causing him to lose concentration and miss the jump-flip from Warrior in Forcefull Repose to Warrior Perched on Fingers. Instead of falling, he gracefully rolled, accidentally kicking the the broom out of it's corner. It flew out and hit Heflam on the forehead. Dane apologized sincerely, replaced the broom to it's corner, and returned to his exercise. The curses coming from Heflam's side of the room was another reminder not to lose concentration.

After a few minutes, the odor-triggered memory returned. He smelled the same now as he did when he inadvertantly led the dragon back to his village and it was burned to the ground.
"That gods-damned gypsy curse again." He muttered.

As Dane completed his last position - Warrior Nose - he saw the dragonet fly in the window with a small lump of charcoal. He eyed it and muttered, "Gods-damned dragons."

The small creature eyed him as if it were a bird with a full stomach looking at prey, and shot a small puff of smoke in Dane's direction.

Dane glanced and Heflam and said, "Sorry about the broom. It's in an awkward place, isn't it?"

Heflam gently rubbed the lump on his forehead, eyed the broom wedged into the corner and then scowled at Dane. "Did you say something about a gypsy curse?"

"Uh... no..." said Dane, "I said 'lovely purse'. Your handbag is light blue with flowers, just like your blouse."

Bombor guffawed, shook his head and said, "Poofters."

Dane covered his sudden nervousness with a smile and the question, "I wonder what Gepetto is doing up there?"

Turn 5: Twix

I've never named an animal before. It doesn't really feel right. I mean, most animals don't come when you call them anyway. I mean, they're there when you need them, and a lot of times they just sort of show up, but he used to watch old lady Maculkey call to her cats all day long and never got more than a view of their tails.

Still, the sense that the dragonet wants a name is very strong, like someone leaning on his brain. Oh well, I guess I need to call it something if it's going to stay with us, and it doesn't seem inclined to leave.

"How about, Xartoth, herald of doom?"

The dragonet's eyes flash in a color that somehow reads as disdainful. How can it express disdain without any eyebrows? I shake my head to rid myself of the question.

"Charicar Deathwing?"

The little dragon's bite wasn't enough to break skin, but maybe I should change my tactics. I go through another couple of names before I notice the looks of the others. They're trying to decide what to do about the approaching ... army? Trader caravan? Whatever it is, we're unknowns and easy pickings here. I need to get the name thing resolved, as my little friend is the only real defense we have.

"I'll have to think of something better later, but for now, can I just call you Chip?"

The dragon's eyes flash a deep blue and it chirps happily. It flies up to the top of the tower and returns with a lump of charcoal from the giant furnace and begins to gnaw on it. It looks like it eats more than meat. That's good. Meat for us, wood and charcoal for the dragonet.

As if it heard my thoughts, the dragonet stops gnawing the charcoal and snorts dismissively.

Maybe meat AND chacoal for the dragon.

Turn 5

It's a few hours after dark, which seems to fall early in this part of the world. You realize you're not really sure where you are, and couldn't find yourselves on a map, at the moment, having been blown a ways off course by the storm.

Gepetto, followed closely by Twix with the fire lizard on his shoulder, is on the roof, a dart of some kind deep in the crevice between two wall stones on the stairwell behind them. On the roof is a big rusty metal oven of some kind, as high as a tall man. From its top, the long smokestack reaches up into the sky, anchored by guy wires to opposite sides of the roof, its length silhouetted against a thick field of stars, since the moon is not yet up. There is a handle on the side connected to a flue that can open and close the smokestack.

Just as the sun is hotter here, the stars seem brighter and closer. Some of them are even different colors.

Next to the oven, or furnace, or whatever it is here on the roof, lie two huge piles of wood -- one is open to the elements, and looks fresh-cut, the other covered by a tarp and is bone dry. A box on the opposite side of the tower has a big clunky lock on it. Gepetto easily picks the lock and finds that it contains flint, steel, a leather-covered book of smoke signals explained in extremely simple Common Tongue that bears the same sigil as the banners in the tower, some poorly-drawn scrolls of cheap pornography, and several bottles of low-grade whiskey. There are a couple of simple wooden chairs up here, positioned to look out over the parapet towards the sea.

Twix pauses in his inspection of the tower roof. He has the feeling he is being stared at. He looks around, and sees the lizard crouching near him on the parapet, where he had flown as Twix started poking around. The lizard is looking at Twix intently. Twix gets the distinct feeling that he would like to be given a name.

Dane manages to fight off the large crabs on the beach, but his clothing is shredded and he's covered with small cuts. He and Heflam and Bombur drag what's left of the supplies, food for about a day, into the tower. The tide and the crabs have ruined the rest of the clothing. A few cheap metal cooking pots can be seen bobbing slowly out to sea in the starlight.

It's dawn. You fix a meager breakfast inside the tower, in a small fireplace on one side of the room. Gepetto happens to be on the roof when he spies a group of people coming out of the jungle and onto the beach, maybe a mile north. Gepetto has good eyes, and it looks like at least a few of them are armored and armed, based on how they glint in the sun. There are a few others in what might be Imperial-style merchant clothing. And lots of people not wearing much who are carrying burdens on their head. Maybe fifty people all told.

They are headed down the beach towards the tower. Gepetto is on the roof and the others of you inside. The party on the beach doesn't seem to have spotted him, and the minimal smoke from breakfast has long since dispersed. You have about half an hour before they get to the tower, based on their slow and burdened pace. There is a locked trapdoor below the main room of the tower which Gepetto has not yet tried to pick. You are all unarmed, and have about a half-day ration of food which you could easily carry. The lizard still wants a name, and gives Twix a harmless but noticeable nip to remind him.

Turn 4 - Gepetto

The lock can wait. What the heck is going on outside?

I poke my head out the door just in time to see Heflam rushing towards Dane, who is setting the supplies on fire screaming like a crazed harpy.

“What the…”

Heflam reaches the supplies and starts to bat at them with his frilly cape, and eventually Dane joins him.

It’s too late. The crates had dried up into wonderful tinder during their day in the sun and when combined with the packing chaff inside them… they are practically exploding in flames.

I poke my head back into the tower, “Hey kid… Dane just burned our supplies.”

I look back out just in time to see that Dane’s silky pantaloons are also aflame. He notices a bit too late, howls a different howl and starts to roll around in the sand while removing his fancy green garments.

For the first time, I notice the critters all over the beach… a swarm of them… as far as our meager flames can illuminate. They seem to sense the tender and slightly burned flesh of the Dane, because they are all running in his general direction. Just as I notice this, the once again naked Dane yelps a new brand of howl and leaps to his feet from the sand and starts dancing around yet again, batting violently at his crotch in desperation.

“He’s bad luck” I say to no one in particular as I head towards the stairs. I barely break stride as I push past the kid and open the lock with a quick twist of my whisk tine.

The whiz of the dart going by my ear startles me and thunks into the wall just past Twix.

“I guess we need to be more careful?”

Turn 4 - Heflam

The noise outside draws me to the door. Poking my head out, I immediately see the conflagration that Dane has set in motion. I turn to Gepetto and instruct him to help the stuttering kid with the lock. I hurriedly stuff my torch into the wall sconce before bolting out the door and down the stairs.

Holding his own torch away from the rapidly spreading blaze, Dane waves his free hand at the smoldering crates in vain. I reach into one of the lesser scorched containers and throw him a cape. He pauses to give me a confused look.

With a likewise fancy cloak in my own hands, we proceed to bat at the flames as they whip about in the onshore breeze.

Turn 4 - Dane

Dane had done some traveling before, and knows what it is like to travel while hungry. This experience gave Twix' words about supplies more gravity. He poked his head outside, and in the fading light he could see small creatures coming out to feed on their irreplaceable foodstuff.

He launched his athletic body down the stairs and ran to the partially opened crates, swinging his torch at the crabs and scaly creatures which seemed to find ship's crackers very appetizing.

"Back, vermin!" He croaked through his abused vocal cords.

Dane swung and smashed with his torch until the beach was free of small creatures, but was populated instead with several flattened and oozing piles which were not likely to threaten their precious supplies.

Smiling smugly at his contribution to this small party of survivors, Dane turned to find that he had inadvertently set their pile of crates aflame.

His mouth dropped open as the fire ate at the wood.

Turn 4- Twix

I bend my torch to Gepetto's, setting it aflame. Soon all of us have working light, but no one seems particularly anxious to move. "May-maybe we should move our supplies inside. I d-don't know if there are natives here or not, but I don't want to find out by having all our food get sssstolen."

One of the others mutters something about seeing buildings through the jungle earlier.

"Yeah, b-but we don't know if there are p-people. Thiss place lookss pretty uninhabited."

Bombur sneers at me and points out the broom and the conspicuous lack of dust. Abashed, I reconsider my position. "Well, I'm going to go check out the top of the tower. It'd be a good lookout point."

Nobody moves to stop or join me. I put on a brave face and start climbing up the stairs, noticing the lock for the first time as I get halfway up.

"Um.... I'm not very good with locks."

Turn 4

You have eaten your fill, entered the tower, and found a torch. You're all dressed in what only close inspection would reveal to be women's clothing, except for Bombor, who is wrapped in saffron silk like a monk. Geppeto is carrying his improvised lockpick, Heflam has his pack of utensils with him too, and Twix has his small passenger.

You're in the main floor room of the tower, which takes up two stories. The early evening light comes in as wind softly stirs the red curtains on the slit windows above your head. The curtains and red banners on the walls bear the emblem of a giant gold S with a vertical bar through it. The room contains a stone table with wooden benches on either side. One of the benches and the table are free of dust and sand, as is a path swept between the door and the table, presumably by a broom of twigs standing by the door. You notice a large wooden chest under the table. Further inspection by Gepetto reveals that it is locked and ironbound.

As Twix murmurs to himself, his meandering gaze picks out a pile of torches off to one side. He picks one up. As he does so, the little silver dragon on his shoulder suddenly opens his mouth, and ignites the torch with a gout of purple flame. The dragon shoots a meaningful look at Heflam.

The rest of you pick up torches. Gepetto holds a torch gingerly out towards the dragon. It pointedly looks away. Bombor chuckles.

You don't see anything else in the room. Torchlight reveals the spiral staircase reaching up to a locked trapdoor in the stone roof of the tower, and another at the base of the stairs, flush with the floor. Except for Heflam's pack, the supplies are all out on the beach just above the high-tide line where you made your fire. It's getting dark outside.

Turn 3: Heflam

I have to admit, this kid's incessant lisping and whining are really getting to me - so much so that I actually find myself shoving him to the ground. He all but vanishes into the omnipresent shadow of this place. His tiny dragon, on the other hand, shoots straight at me - biting, clawing, whipping that tail.

"Whadja do that for?" asks Gepetto, backing off to avoid any dragon spillover.

"Get it off! Get it off!!" I swat and dodge, but this formerly cute, little thing is like quicksilver. My thrashing dislodges something from the wall, knocking it to the floor. Dane digs around for it in the darkness.

Twix stumbles to his feet, managing to say, "C-c-come here." The beasty flits away from me with little hesitation, returning to its perch on the lad's shoulder.

As I compose myself, checking for blood and whatnot, Dane rises with an old torch. I dig through my jury-rigged pack and pull forth flint and steel. After a few tries, we manage to spark up the short staff, revealing little more in the room than we'd already seen - or not seen, as the case maybe. However, as I cast the flame about, we discover a stairwell, spiraling both upward and down.

Turn 3: Twix

It's dark in the tower, the only light coming from the door and from high above, where thin windows allow blade thin shafts of light to blaze against dark red banners. I don't recognize the emblem. The dragonet, who is resting upon my shoulder, his tail securely but gently wrapped around my neck trills slightly. I'm not sure why he doesn't fly back outside. He'd prefer the sun to the shade after all. I whisper as much to him, but he takes no more heed of me than the others do.

I feel ridiculous in my blouse, but at least there's no one here who can see me. At least no one that I give two shivs about. These sailors are no better than the ruffians back home. Part of me wants to prove myself to them, but for the most part, I just don't care. No, better to have them dead at my feet, their putrid bodies decaying, swarming with maggots, feeding the earth. Yes, death, the womb of life, the cradle of greatness, the way to power and glory. Kill them all, let them feed me, let their flesh house my children, my precious...

The shock of the dragonet's claws digging into my shoulder, the pain from my ear where it bit me, and the tightness around my neck bring me back to myself. I shake my head to to clear it. What was I thinking?

I look around the tower. It is not a welcoming place. I turn to see the others entering behind me.

"There'sss s-s-s-omething wrong here. Sssomething in... in my head. We sshould go ssomewhere elsse."

Turn 3 - Geppeto

With the flint and driftwood, a fire was easy. Little talking is had during our meal of hardtac and pork leather. The fresh stream water was easily the most sumptuous part of it, but we all choked down as much as possible not knowing ‘where our next meal was coming from’.

Surprisingly, the 12 inch dragon ate as much as the newly awakened fat man named Bombor. He never left Twix arm the entire time. Curious.

Bombor is a large man. Too bad, because all the vibrant silk clothing that would replace our storm ripped tatters was made for women. The rest of us managed a good semblance of fit… but not Bombor. He ended up simply wrapping the saffron bolt of cloth around himself a few times as would a holy man of Bas. Heflam tied some shirts and pant together to make a crude pack, placing the more useful utensils into it.

“What a bunch of poofters” despite my comment, I can’t help laughing. We look ridiculous. 4 cross dressers and an obese monk staring at each other on the beach in the late afternoon. Oh, and one (admittedly cute) dragon. Dane seems much less taken by the dragon then the rest of us. Wary, would be more accurate.

I grab a cheap whisk, one of the utensils deemed useless and left out of Heflam's pack. “I’m going in the tower… it will be nicer in there tonight then out here on the beach”.

“You can’t, its locked. I –really- tried to open it before”, whines Twix, but I ignore him and go to the door. I’ve never had much trouble with locks… you just need to be gentle with them and they usually want to open up for you. I put the bent end of a whisk tine in the keyhole and gently probe the interior. This lock feels different from others. The mechanism is mushy, not solid. Like feels like flesh.

With a “cluck” like a tongue coming off the roof of the mouth, the lock opens.

The door opens.

I turn to the 4 of them, “let’s go..” and am cut off as Twix rushes past me through the door.

Turn 3

Dane Greenhelm, waterlogged swordsman, staggers up the beach to join the rest of you. He is sunburned and gull-pecked. His clothing is in shreds. He looks almost as bad as the rest of you, and Gepetto grabs a rock as he approaches, looking like a wild beast. But his voice is clear and his language the Common Tongue of the Northern Empire, as he asks you for water and gulps it down greedily. And he and Heflam appear to know each other, but for the moment neither says how.

Gepetto returns his attention to the crate, which spills out an enormous pile of sumptuous silk garments. Pants, shirts, hooded cloaks, capes, robes, scarves, and long bolts of the stuff, dyed intense shades of every color, and embroidered in gold and silver thread. It must have cost a fortune.

There are several more crates and several barrels. As you all gather them together and open them up with rocks, you find pots, pans, silverware, small cooking knives, and other kitchen goods. It's all made of cheap metal, and none of it can be used as weapons, alas. There's also a few sets of flint and steel for lighting fires. The barrels all turn out to be filled with ship's provisions -- ship's biscuit (a really, really hard form of bread), and leathery salt pork that needs to be boiled to be edible.

It's midafternoon. You're all very hungry.

Twix happens to open the first salt pork barrel. As his arms are in the barrel up to the elbows digging through the contents, there is a sudden shriek from above, and a small shape plunges from the top of the smokestack like a little silver lightning bolt. The small winged lizard, for that is what it is, alights precisely on Twix's forearm. It weighs almost nothing, Twix notices, and it looks like a tiny little silver dragon, about twelve inches from nose to tail with a wingspan about the same. It wraps its tail around Twix's forearm as he holds a piece of salt pork in his other hand. It looks intently at the pork, then looks earnestly at Twix's face and cheeps politely at him.

Turn 2 - Heflam

As the abomination approaches, I release the fat man and instinctively ready my fists. I realize it has been far too long since I last bloodied a fellow on the dockyards of Bas or Queensmouth. I shuffle my feet in the sand while Gepetto readies his stone and Twix tries his best to blend in with the door on high.

Clearly some form of infection or madness has overtaken this denizen. My hope is that we can simply scare him off. As he continues his rasping and gesticulating, I raise my own voice in a series of shouts and howls.

It works! The fear and confusion ripples across his face. He staggers toward the lapping wavelets, neither advancing nor retreating.

"Come have a thrashing, you bastard!" I shout, hustling forward, still keeping my distance.

As the water swirls up around his ankles, my adversary leans down, quickly thrashing his hands about in the surf.

I freeze, expecting some new form of assault. Gepetto holds his stone high.

The supposed native slaps his wet hands across his face, scrubbing at the filth, slicking through his hair. He takes in some fluid and promptly spits it back out. Taking two steps forward, his eyes go wide in desperation - and then my own do the same.

"Dane?"

Gepetto furrows his brow and lowers his rock. Twix moves away from the door to get a better look.

The Fat Man sits up.

Turn 2 - Gepetto

Twix bangs on the top, as I kick the side edge of the crate. It looks to me like he is driving the nails in further with that rock, but enough banging ought to eventually shatter the wood, so I don’t tell him to stop. In between kicks, I glance at the tower, “Well that’s dumb”.

“Whaddya mean”, Heflam looks at me.

“Nobody builds a structure in the sand on a beach. The water will quickly erode it, if it isn’t washed away in a grand storm. I mean, sand –was- rock, right?” Heflam grunts as he flips over the body of the sailor.

“Unless iss magic”. Twix says. He bangs his rock one more time and stops. “Unless iss MA-GIC” as he turns and stares at the structure. A wild grin infects his face. He suddenly drops the rock, bolts up the steps and attempts to open the door. The lock halts his progress but not his enthusiasm as he alternately tries the handle and just pushing on the wood.

“It’s a magic tower! It is! I know it!!”

I had assumed the sailor was dead. His bloated form reminded me of others I had seen fished out of the river on a regular basis at home. This bloated dead sailor was moving though.

Huh.

Natural bloat, not dead guy bloat.

Heflam slaps his face (none too kindly if you ask me) and the bloated fellow sputters a bit.

Good enough for me.

I again kick the crate… which appears to finally loosen one side!

One more kick on the lip of the crate and it comes open.

Wow.

“Hey guys… look at this” I say.

Just as I am looking up to see their reactions, I see a horrendous site: a violent native assailant coming around the other side of the tower. His appearance is grotesque as he is disheveled, dirty and covered in vomit, sea jetsam and kelp. He is naked with mutilation all over his body and most notably on his genitalia. He is using a guttural incantation of some sort while waving his arms in what appears to be a summoning or spell.

I quickly duck behind the crate and pick up the rock Twix had previously dropped, ready to defend myself.

Turn 2 - Dane

Dane Greenhelm awakened to pain. His body ached all over, but it was the sharp pain in his groin which caused him to exhale a gasp. He curled into a fetus position and heard the raucous cry of a seabird, protesting this act of self defense.

His eyes did not seem to open on their own, so he pawed at them with his meaty fists. He managed to scrub the crusty film off his eyelids, but also grind gritty sand into his eyes. He moaned anew, the sound grating in his raw throat. Mercifully, a strong wave washed over him, tumbling his athletic form and depositing him further up the beach. Dane coughed, sputtered and then vomited. The retching caused enough pain in his throat that the complaints from the rest of his body were forgotten for a moment.

When he was finished, he rolled over onto his elbows and took stock of his situation. The ocean waves were close and loud in their relentless battle against the land. Just beyond the waves there was a outcropping of rocks which appeared to be a rookery for seabirds. The hard stone was painted white with bird droppings. The sun was close to apex, either before or after noon.

Dane instinctively reached for his sword and only found naked thigh. His sword belt was gone, as were his pants and one boot. What remained of his shirt was in tatters and the unusually exposed flesh of his legs, stomach and member were being sunburned to a deep, ruddy shade. His member had an endured the added attention of a hungry seabird and was bleeding from small cuts.

He stared at his exposed flesh and said, "Pants would be nice."

His voice came out as a flat croaking noise and the unexpected sound caused him to smile. His cracked lips changed this smile to a grimace.

Dane stood painfully and scanned the horizon. The obvious sights were a flat expanse of ocean on one side and a mountain of rock on the other. The shoreline was slightly more interesting in that one direction had a faint, glinting, object.

He thought, "It's as good a goal as any," and began to stumble toward the glitter. His legs felt rebellious beneath his body and his one boot made a squishing noise. His reddened and bleeding cock bounced painfully between his legs, causing a bowlegged gait.

After an apparent eternity, he approached a tower with a glittering smokestack. As he drew near, Dane saw people on the far side banging on a crate.

"Oh, Gods," he thought, "I hope they have water."

The sand on his face and matted hair began to fall away as he stumped toward the people waving his arms and croaking with joy.

Turn 2: Twix

Twix peers up at the flying, glittering thing in the sky for a moment, then turns to his companions. "What sort of thing do you figure that is? I know every kind of bird that ever roosted within ten miles of Monticello, but I ain't never seen anything that glittered."

The Coldlander simply grunts in reply, but Gepetto's face spits in a wicked leer. "Maybe it's your virtue. It must have flown off after what happened while you were unconscious back there."

Twix spits out "if that's so, then your peter must be thinner than a toothpick, for all that I'm walkin' normal." Still, he takes a step farther away from the boy with the rough hands and mad gleam.

"Well," he says, " whatever it is, I hope it hasn't taken a interest in these crates." He picks up a hand sized rock and begins to batter at the nearest crate.

turn 2

The two of you, Geppetto and Heflam, make your way up the beach to the stone tower, sunk deep in the sand, with a long metallic smokestack rising from its top. The tower is constructed of massive rough stones joined without mortar. The exposed part rises for a couple of stories. There are colorful curtains in the old stone window archways. A rude set of wooden steps leads up to an equally rough wooden doorway on the inland side of the tower, well above the high-tide mark.

Twix staggers up behind you, demanding that you wait, insisting that he wasn't drunk and that Geppetto had tripped him, and oh by the way, has anyone seen his flask?

You all squint up at the tower. Something besides the smokestack is glittering in the sun, as it flies around and then perches at the top of the stack. It's a good fifty feet higher than the top of the tower itself, so you can't quite make out what it is.
There are a few wooden crates and barrels scattered around the waterline here, freshly washed up, and a body as well. A quick examination shows that the body is indeed that of a sailor from your ship.

re: turn 1, from Brian

Having ripped a bit of the unconscious teen's tunic and fastened it into a bandage on the remains of that nasty bug bite, I shuffle my way up the coast, promptly joined by Gepetto.

"Cloth and household goods, right?" he asks.
"Huh?"
"On the ship." He gestures towards our glimmering destination.
"What makes you think that's part o' the ship?"
"We landed here. It only makes sense that--"
"Makes sense? What makes sense? That mountain that rose straight outta the sea and destroyed the ship? Or that monstrous howl that came before it?"
This shuts him down for a bit. We continue in silence for a bit. After a while I feel a little guilty, but only a little. He's barely more than a kid, despite the facial stubble and receding hairline.
"Where'd you learn to roll the bones like that?" I ask, looking to lighten the mood.
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. Still stinging from my earlier harshness, he finally offers up, "I'd spy on my father as a kid. He'd hunker down with a few other Coldlanders a few times a week. They'd play dice and drink mead."
"Coldlander, huh?" I look him up and down, scrutinizing his rather non-Coldlander appearance.
"My mother's from the tropics."
Maybe he's lying. Maybe he's not. Right now, I decide I don't really care. "Okay."
I squint at our objective, now more defined. A sunken tower, as if the sand had withdrawn to reveal a long forgotten.... Wait. Something rises from the tip, blurring the sunlight.
"It's a smokestack!" announces my companion. He stops dead.
I continue onward for a few steps before glancing back over my shoulder. "Come on, lad. We're nearly there."

re: turn 1, from Dave

“Sssmmtng sss o’ver ther” Twix vaguely indicates 110 degrees of a circle with a flaccidly outstretched pointed finger. He looks both pleased with himself at his power of observation and a bit impatient that we should know his intent. The callow youth managed to polish off a bottle of rum stolen from the galley in the middle of a storm, I guess he deserves credit for being able to keep it down after being jostled by nature’s grandest efforts, ejaculated from ship to sea and then from sea to (thank the gods) sandy beach.

Twix turns as though to set off in a direction. Either the effects of rum or being at sea have rendered his legs inoperable. He belly flops into the golden sand. His face, firmly planted in sand, he waves his arm over his head and yells “Fllow meh”. And appears to lose consciousness.

Heflam barely notices. He is looking at a welt on his forearm which is growing by the second. “Huh… just swatted that a minute ago. That’s not good”.
The normally talkative and genial fellow simply stares.
And the bump grows.
“Did I mention that I have a few allergies?” Heflam murmurs.
“Peanuts. I can’t eat peanuts. I tried a peanut liquor once, that was ok… but the actual peanuts make me swell… just like this welt actually”. Heflam's eyes never leave the welt as he talks. I think he is -staring- it into being bigger.
“Watch this” he says. The welt is now about the size of a walnut.
It pops. Literally it makes a small popping noise.
It oozes.
If I wasn’t so exhausted, I would definitely vomit.
Heflam seems non-plussed and he starts to pat down Twix’s clothes. “See if that rum bottle is still… aha!”
Sure enough, Twix’s bottle is crammed in the front of his pants. It is empty save for a few drops… which Heflam sprinkles on his pustule after rinsing it in the stream.
“Its either that or piss on it” he says. “I reckon I’ll have to do that later if we get more of those buggers. You might want to watch out for them… they have a rainbow thorax and sound like a small symphony while they fly.”

I nod.
I survey.
It would seem that Twix was actually trying to point out an object up the beach… possibly from the ship. Good lad.
‘Cloth and household goods’, I was told… but to be honest I didn’t really care… until now.
“I’m going to go have a look at…” I start to say to Heflam. As I turn to talk to him, he is already walking toward the object.
I double step to catch up. I figure Twix can wait till we return… he isn’t going anywhere.

re: turn 1, from Dan

Twix gazes at the forbidding forest. It is thick, and even from here he can see that little of the brutal sun that currently beats upon him will reach the ground under that dense canopy. As long as he has lived, men have feared the forests back home, but he's never come to harm there. Still... he looks to the glinting object up the beach. He turns to his two companions, for so he already thinks of them. His Companions on his Great Adventure. For after all, is he not Ravage Deathbringer: Eater of Souls? He breast swells briefly, but even he cannot help but notice the looks they give him.

Twix speaks, and his own voice sounds too high, too reedy for his own ears. One would think that the sand caking his vocal cords could have dropped his register to something more appropriate.

"Something has washed ashore up the beach. We should gather what supplies we can before looking for shelter, or they may be pulled out to sea at the next tide"

turn 1

(Kurt, you're not in here yet, let me know if you want me to work you in...)


Turn 1:

The three of you embarked on a ship from the sprawling port city of Monticello, on the coast of the Northern Empire. The ship was headed far to the south, to the island kingdoms that border the empire. Your ship was a middle-sized trading vessel, carrying cloth and household goods for trade, and a few passengers as well. The three of you met playing dice aboard ship to kill time: Twix Goodhearte, Gepetto Twist, and crew member Heflam Madringo. The game, in which two of you slowly lost all your money to Twist, became a pleasant nightly excuse to get acquainted, drink cheap wine to excess, and complain about the captain.

Suddenly, two weeks from port and a week from your destination, somewhere near the empire's sea borders, a storm. The passengers huddle below as the crew, Heflam included, fights a losing battle with the weather. As the howling of the wind in the rigging climbs relentlessly in pitch and volume, it is temporarily drowned out by a roar like an earthquake. Something far, far bigger than ship rises next to it like a mountain in the dark, and picks it right up out of the sea.
The three of you are lucky enough to fall out of the ship as it disappears upwards into the howling night.
The weather lifts and you are washed ashore on a beach, exhausted but unhurt, the only survivors. All you have is your torn-up clothing. You make your way to a stream running to the beach and drink your fill.

It's morning. The three of you are on a beach of golden sand. It's early, but already hot. The beach stretches out straight north and south to either horizon, bordered by palm trees, and then a thick forest of all sorts of trees you don't recognize.
In the middle distance, to the east straight inland through the forest, you can see distant structures of some kind through the haze, maybe buildings. There is an overgrown path leading that way.

To the north, up the beach maybe a mile, something is glinting and sparkling in the sun.

What do you do?


***********************************************
A reminder of your characters:

Wilson: While he would like to be known as Ravage Deathbringer: Eater of Souls, Twix Goodehearte has always been referred to by his schoolmates as "twig". He is what bards often refer to as a "callow youth". A human boy, Twix has just endured his sixteenth birthday, which involved his siblings stuffing him into a sack and throwing him onto the ship that has just crashed upon these mysterious shores. When he was found, he feared he would be thrown overboard, but the other passengers merely laughed at him.

His great uncle was a wizard of some renown, at least in his village. Twix has always wanted to follow in his great uncle's footsteps and has desperately held onto the belief that magic "skips a few generations". While he managed to steal a third rate spell book from a traveler once, he only managed a basic light spell. Animals are very fond of him and often follow him around everywhere. Just before the ship foundered, he had been drinking from a bottle of rum he snuck out of the galley and inventing ritual spells, using oddments that had been lying around in the storeroom.



DAG: Geppetto Twist just seems to be able to make things work. He always has.
As a boy he would be able to make a wind up toy walk further then any other child was able to coax motion out of the machine. It wasn't until he picked up his first recorder that this knack for things translated into something that his dismissive Coldland father actually took interest in. Geppetto's olive skinned mother from the tropics supported everything he did or said, which amounted to the same thing as his father's dismissiveness but was a whole lot nicer to be around.
Geppetto could play almost any instrument you placed in his hands as well as he could manipulate machinery. His musicianship could buy him admittance to almost anywhere.
It was just this ability that allowed him to start his "big travel" at the age of 19, which was cut short by his ship running aground here.



Schirme': Heflam Madringo, Sailor, Male, Human